the extreme heat and humidity.
Going from 29 degrees to a balmy 82 with 95 percent humidity is a huge shock to my system. When you have always been well-endowed plus, the boob sweat becomes real people. I had to put deodorant under the girls this morning to keep myself dry. It’s not working. Thank goodness I brought more than two bras for a long weekend. This one is going to be a sweaty mess by the end of the night.
Carrie dances her way toward me, a huge smile on her face. Why wouldn’t she be smiling? She is marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in the world of cover models.
Honestly, it still kind of blows my mind. I know I figured out she had a crush on him years ago, but it’s still hard to reconcile that my friend, who has often shared very specific details of her latest book boyfriend, is marrying Matthew Roberts. The man who represents many of those same book boyfriends and is the leading man in many book nerds’ fantasies. It’s a little surreal. Most of all, it’s amazing. Her fiancé is more than just abs on a cover. He’s a great dad and loves my friend unconditionally. He has even accepted her affection for narcoleptic rodents.
Throwing her arms around me, Carrie pulls me into a giant sweaty hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. It’s a long flight from New York City.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this shindig. I am, however, wondering how you live through summer around here. It’s so hot.”
Her eyes widen slightly like I’ve read her thoughts. “Isn’t this weather weird? This is like the third time in history we’ve recorded temperatures this high in January. But at least it means we can enjoy the outdoors.”
“You mean sweat my ass off?”
Carrie laughs, and I’m wondering if part of her delight is being drunk on love. “Just be glad you have curly hair. My hairdresser had to do all kinds of magic to make sure my hair doesn’t frizz today. Matthew and I made sure to have contingency plans for rain and snow just in case, but it never crossed our minds to be prepared for a historical heat wave. So tell me—how is the screenplay coming?”
I should have known she’d bring that up. Ever since I excitedly told her I had a plot bunny in my brain and wanted to write it for film, she asks me about it regularly. Problem is, I’ve been working on it for over two years now and I can’t seem to make it work.
It’s not a hard plot line—an aspiring dancer trying to make it in the big city. Yes, it’s reminiscent of all those 90s movies I loved growing up, but it’s grittier. Harder. Truer to life as a starving artist who isn’t a teenager living on a scholarship at a fancy school. In my brain it’s fantastic. On paper—not so much.
I groan in response. “I never should have told you about that. If I ever attempt something like this again, I’ll be sure to wait until it’s at least close to being finished before telling anyone about it.”
“I’m glad you told me, Celeste. It’s your dream to get it written and produced.”
“But today is about you, Carrie. You and your impending marriage to your dream man.”
She glances around the outdoor space decorated with dim lights and flowers on every available surface. Sighing deeply as she no doubt takes a moment to absorb the romantic setting, she faces me with a dopey grin on her face. Yep. Drunk on love. This is the stuff romance books are made of, and it’s her real life. For a book nerd, it doesn’t get any better than this.
“It turned out really beautiful, didn’t it? The party?” she asks, her expression turning wistful.
“It’s absolute perfection. I’ve seen quite a few people talking about it on social media today. It’s like the hottest event in the book world right now.”
“You think?”
I look at her like she’s lost her mind and point at the couple Matthew is talking to. “Your cover model boyfriend, sorry fiancé, is chatting up best-selling author Donna Moreno and NANA award winning narrator Hawk Weaver. Yeah. I’d say this engagement party is a big deal. By the way, why are the guys wearing those weird shirts?”
Both Hawk and Matthew have on black T-shirts that are covered in what looks like pictures of boutonnieres. The only difference is Matthew’s says, “I am the groom”