I didn’t like the way she hesitated over the word boyfriend, but I forced myself to smile and be pleasant. Her son had gotten married today to my friend’s daughter; I could be pleasant.

   I fought the urge to smooth my top over the gun, because nothing attracts attention to a concealed carry like constantly touching it. “Well, then, Ms. Conroy, you know the answer to your question, don’t you?”

   “It’s Mrs. Conroy; I have no desire to be a Ms. anything.”

   “I do prefer Ms., but have it your way, Mrs. Conroy.”

   “I’d like you to take the gun off and leave it with the coats, please.”

   I smiled a little harder, trying to keep it up in my eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

   “Can’t, what do you mean you can’t?”

   “I can’t hand over my firearm to a coat-check girl like it’s a purse.”

   “How dare you bring a dangerous weapon into my son’s wedding?”

   “You do know I’m a U.S. Marshal, right?” I was having to really work at the smile now.

   “I don’t see what difference that makes.”

   “First, I’ve had firearms training, so trust me, it’s a lot safer on me than in the coat room.”

   “It’s my son’s wedding, and I don’t feel safe with it in the room, so I’m going to have to ask you to put it in with the coats.”

   “Second, I am required by law to be able to respond in a satisfactory manner if an emergency arises, and that may require a gun.”

   “I must insist that you take that thing out of this wedding reception.”

   “The only way to do that is to leave the reception altogether, Mrs. Conroy.”

   “I don’t know why you’re being difficult, Ms. Blake; just put the thing away where it’s not a danger to everyone.”

   “It’s not a danger to anyone on my hip, but handing it over to a coat-check girl who probably has never handled a gun in her life makes it a serious threat to her and others.”

   “You’re just being stubborn.”

   “No, I’m telling you that legally and responsibly I cannot give up my sidearm to a civilian stranger because you’re having a moment.”

   “I’ll send my husband over to speak with you about this.”

   “You do that; it won’t change my answer. A gun is not a magic wand, Mrs. Conroy; it isn’t a danger just by being near people, it’s only a danger when it’s in the hands of someone who has no training, or not enough training.”

   “I’m sending my husband over.”

   “Suit yourself.”

   “You are spoiling this reception.”

   “I’m doing what I’m legally required to do; you’re the one who’s being difficult.”

   “It’s my son’s wedding.”

   “It’s my friend’s daughter’s wedding, too.”

   “I’ll tell Rosita what you’re doing.”

   “Go ahead, she’ll be on my side.”

   “She will see it as a danger to her children and everyone here, just like I do. For heaven’s sake, her son was just shot this month.”

   Since I’d been one of the people who saved Tomas and made sure the bad guy got shot dead for his troubles, I thought her argument lacked validity. “You obviously haven’t heard all the story,” I said.

   “I’ve heard enough.”

   I shook my head. “Go tell Rosita that you want me to give up my gun to the coat-check girl; go on.”

   She gave me a doubtful look, not liking how sure I was that Rosita wouldn’t agree with her. “I’m telling Rosita and Manuel and sending my husband over,” she repeated.

   I’d never heard anyone call Manny Manuel before, though I knew it was his first name. “You do what you think best, Mrs. Conroy.”

   She huffed off with a billow of long blue skirts. The groomsmen had all been in black tuxedos, white shirts, and royal-blue ties and cummerbunds. The bridesmaids were in royal blue, which looked good on everyone. The dresses hadn’t even been too horrible; they didn’t look good on everyone, but they didn’t make anyone look like a blue flower had exploded all over them and then frozen in place.

   Nathaniel came over to me smiling, tie undone and a few buttons open to show more of the strong lines of his throat and just a hint of chest. “Great DJ,” he said.

   I kissed him, and he hugged me close enough that I could bury my head against his chest. I let him wrap me in the warmth and vanilla scent of him. He always smelled like vanilla to me, which was part his choice of shampoo, soap, and such, but underneath that it was just the sweet scent of him. I wasn’t sure if it was the vanilla, but I remembered a snow day before my mother died when we’d made sugar cookies and spent the day decorating them. That was how he made me feel, like my mother’s sugar cookies on the perfect snow day, when there was icing everywhere to lick, and spread over those hot cookies, and my mother was still alive and smiling down at me. It seemed silly that someone who made me think of sex almost every time I touched him made me remember my mother and a snow day, but he did, in that moment he did.

   He pulled back from the hug first, which was unusual, but when he put out one arm I knew why he’d done it. Micah was there to walk into the other side of Nathaniel’s hug. Micah put his face next to mine and we wrapped an arm around each other, the other one going around Nathaniel’s waist. He was five foot nine, so we both fit under his arms, our faces pressed against each other so I could nuzzle Micah’s face while Nathaniel leaned down over both of us. Micah smelled warm and spicy like cinnamon and things I couldn’t name, and suddenly I was back in my mother’s warm kitchen. She’d fixed us Mexican hot chocolate that day, a mix of regular American hot cocoa and that much spicier, darker, richer drink. She’d made it full strength for herself, so dark it was bitter. I could still remember the taste she’d let me have, but mine had been sweet chocolate with a hint of the spices and heat of hers. Micah’s skin smelled like exotic spices, cinnamon, and dark, rich chocolate, and a memory that I’d almost forgotten. My mother would die the summer after that snow day. I’d been eight.

   I held them as close as I could and for some reason I felt my throat tighten, my eyes hot with tears that weren’t quite falling yet. Micah said, “Are you crying?”

   “Almost,” I said.

   “What’s wrong?” he asked.

   “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

   “So why the tears?”