Chapter Twenty-Four. Leslie twirled the wineglass methodically between her fingers, trying so hard to listen to the conversation--to be interested in the conversation--but

Leslie twirled the wineglass methodically between her fingers, trying so hard to listen to the conversation--to be interested in the conversation--but truthfully, she was bored to tears. She'd obviously been to weddings before, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember there being this endless discussion of weddings and proceedings. And honeymoons. My God. They'd dissected it to death. Surely there were more interesting topics to discuss?

Like famine in Africa, for instance. She smiled to herself, glad she hadn't lost her sense of humor this evening, even if her feet hurt from the high heels she'd chosen to wear.

She watched those around her, all cute couples paired up nicely, talking animatedly in groups. The bride and groom were the perfect match. Or so she'd been told a hundred times. And you and Michael look so happy. When's your big day? She swore if one more of Michael's friends asked her that question, she was going to throw up.

And there he was, chatting away with his buddies from college. They all hung on his every word as he was no doubt describing a new computer game he was working on. Suddenly, she couldn't take it any longer. She bypassed the wine table, which was free to the wedding party, and headed to the bar instead.

Who has a wedding at a bar anyway?

"I'm complaining?" She shook her head. No.

She chose a barstool on the corner, away from people, away from the TV where a group sat watching a college football game. Instead, she stared into the mirror behind the bar, meeting her eyes, not surprised at what she saw.

Confusion, and just a hint of depression. These were Michael's friends, Michael's people. Not hers. She didn't know them. And judging from the conversations she'd been subjected to, she didn't want to know them.

"What can I get for you?"

She leaned her elbows on the bar and rested her chin in her hands, smiling at the bartender. Yes, indeed. What could he get for her? She lifted a corner of her mouth in a smile, trying at least. "Something strong," she said.

"Straight up on the rocks?"

She shook her head. "Better kill it with something."

"Double Crown with a shot of Coke?"

"Perfect. And run me a tab."

"Sure thing."

She turned, watching the wedding guests through the double doors. Good Lord. Again, who has a wedding at a bar?

"Are you with the wedding?" he asked as he placed the glass in front of her.

"Sort of." She picked up the glass and took a sip, nodding at him. "Perfect. What's your name?"

"Thank you. It's Paul." He pulled a rag out and wiped the wet spot in front of her, then tossed the rag behind him. "So, are you in the wedding?"

"God, no." She leaned closer. "Who gets married in a bar anyway?"

"They met here."

"So?"

"They come here a lot."

"His family owns the hotel, right?"

He laughed. "No. But I think it's kinda romantic. You know, they meet here as strangers one night, fall in love, then come back often for dinner, a few drinks, a room upstairs in the hotel. Why not tie the knot here too?"

"Good thing they didn't meet at the dry cleaners," she quipped.

He laughed and moved closer. The look in his eyes was one she'd seen many times before. And mostly at bars.

"So? You here alone?" he asked.

She picked up her drink again, staring at him. "No." She took a sip. "Because if I was alone, I wouldn't be here."

"Weddings aren't your thing, huh?"

"Leslie, there you are. I've been looking for you."

She met Paul's eyes. "That would be Michael. My fiancé," she added.

"You don't look like you go together," he whispered.

"I'm beginning to see that." She turned as Michael grasped her shoulder.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I got tired of wine," she said as she held up her glass. "Paul is just the best bartender."

"I'll take your word for it. But they're ready for dinner."

"We're having dinner here, right?"

"In a private room, yes. I'm sure Paul won't mind if you bring your drink."

"Do you mind, Paul?" she asked as she fished out some money from her purse and laid it on the bar.

"Not at all. I hope you'll come back later."

"Absolutely," she said as Michael led her away.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Well, other than I'm trying to get drunk. Why?"

He pulled her up close. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"For God's sake! I've been stuck in a group discussing weddings and honeymoons for hours. It would drive the freakin' Pope to drink. If I'd had my weapon with me, I may have shot someone."

He laughed. "Aren't you exaggerating just a bit? Besides, I thought the wedding was perfect. I hope ours goes as smoothly." He led her by the arm back to the wedding party. "I think it was a great idea to have it at the hotel. Everything's right here. Your guests just grab an elevator to their room. You don't have to worry about partying too much and then driving." He looked at her. "I like it."

She stared at him. "You're not serious?"

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, your mother will kill you."

"It's our wedding, not hers."

"Since when?" She finished the last of her drink, feeling a slight buzz from the double shot. Paul was a good man. She just might be able to make it through the night.

He pulled her close again. "Please don't embarrass me."

"You mean tonight? Or at our wedding?"

He smiled. "Both."

She took a deep breath. "I'm not drunk, Michael. This is my first drink. I was just escaping...all this," she said, waving her hands at his friends.

"They're really fun people, Leslie. Give them a chance. I think you'll like them."

She took a deep breath. "Sure, Michael. I'm sorry. I'll try."

But as she pushed the food around on her plate, she was convinced she would never be friends with these people. Not that they didn't try. It was her. She simply wasn't interested. And after another hour of trying to fake conversations with strangers, she escaped again. But not to the hotel bar this time.

She found herself on the third floor where the outdoor patio bar overlooked the pool. It was still crowded on this Saturday night, despite the late hour. She walked to the edge, leaning over the railing, looking down at the pool then up into the night sky, blocking out the chatter around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, finally letting in thoughts of the one person she'd been trying to keep at bay all weekend.

Casey.

Trying to keep her away, yes, but she'd been there all along. She pulled out her cell, looking at the time. After eleven. Was she still awake? She was out with Tori and Sam, out on their boat. Could she dare call? If they were all three awake, how would she ever explain it?

She closed her phone. Don't do anything stupid.

But as she stared overhead, seeing the faint twinkling of stars above the city, she opened her phone again, her thumb punching through the numbers, stopping when Casey's number came up.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then pushed the call button. She only wanted to hear her voice.

The air, while warm, still had a freshness about it. Maybe it was simply being on the water, but it lacked the stifling effect it had in the city.

Casey tilted her head up, watching the stars. She loved it out here. The gentle rocking of the boat, the light breeze over the water, the sounds of the frogs and insects, the sounds of night.

It had become a ritual. Ever since she'd been joining Tori and Sam, she'd made it a point to stay up on deck after they went to bed. Privacy. She didn't want to get into theirs. So, as was her habit, after they went to bed, she pulled out the wine and brought it on deck with her. Some nights, she'd sit only for an hour. Other times, she'd still be out in the early morning light. Just sitting. Thinking.

Like now. Thinking.

She smiled. Or trying not to think.

But her heart skipped a beat when her cell phone vibrated against her leg. She pulled it out of her pocket, squinting in the moonlight to read the name.

Leslie. Damn.

"Casey," she answered quietly.

"It's me."

Casey held the phone tightly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." A pause. "Are you alone?"

"Uh-huh. Are you?"

"If I don't count the thirty or so people on the patio, yeah."

Casey grinned, looking out over the water. "Okay, so let's don't count them."

There was only a beat of silence, then she heard the quiet sigh. "I miss you."

She gripped the phone tighter. "I...I miss you too."

Again, a sigh. "I shouldn't have called. I just needed to hear your voice."

"It's okay," Casey whispered. Christ, she didn't know if it was okay or not. She didn't know anything anymore.

"Is it, Casey? Is it okay really?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She heard a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, I was afraid that would be your answer." She cleared her throat. "I should go."

Casey stared up at the stars again. Yes, go. Back to Michael. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend," she managed.

"See you Monday."

And so she sat, phone still held lightly in her hand, listening as the sounds of the night faded away and all she heard was the steady beating of her heart. And the quiet words that echoed in her brain. I miss you.

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