Always, in December(69)
“No,” Josie said quickly. “No, of course not.” What the hell were Jess and Tom talking about? And where the hell was John’s friend Erin? She’d gladly take anyone to get out of this conversation right now.
“Anyway,” Graeme said, narrowing his eyes again at the table he’d apparently been supposed to be sitting at. “I told John I wouldnae sit over there with all of her friends.” So, maybe the wife wasn’t even here? Josie didn’t dare ask. “I told him he had t’ move me when I saw the plan for tonight.” Josie nodded, inwardly thinking how Laura must have hated the last-minute change.
A waiter came round with a bottle of champagne, pouring it into their glasses on the table, which thankfully provided Graeme with a brief distraction from Josie. She’d taken her first grateful sip of the bubbly liquid when a slim blond woman approached, wearing a dress of brilliant red with lipstick to match, her eyes framed with gold eyeliner in a way that made them almost scarily blue. Josie choked on her champagne, and saw Graeme frowning at her.
Jess looked around Graeme to give her a quizzical look, but Josie’s attention was on the woman, whose eyes were on Josie now. She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
Fuck, Josie remembered this woman. Erin. Max’s girlfriend. Fuck, fuck. She took another gulp of champagne. What were the bloody chances? She hadn’t even thought it would be the same Erin—why the hell would she? Oh God. Her plus one. Josie felt a jolt and immediately looked around, her eyes still watering from her choking fiasco. She couldn’t see him. So maybe it wouldn’t be him after all—maybe they’d broken up since she’d last seen them, just like her and Oliver.
When she reached the table, Erin’s full, sexy lips quirked into a smile when she saw Josie, though she only looked mildly surprised to see her here—or else she was better at hiding it than Josie. “Hi all,” she said as she took her seat, right next to Josie. “I’m Erin.” Unlike Graeme’s, Erin’s accent was all lilting and musical, and a quick glance at Jess and Tom told Josie that they were having the exact same thoughts that Josie had first had when she’d met Erin in New York—literally no one would be able to look at this woman and not think she was sexy. Graeme was staring at her, his glass of champagne halfway to his mouth, and Josie swore she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d licked his lips. She cringed internally, trying not to let it show on her face.
“My plus one’s running a little late,” Erin said, indicating the empty seat. She shot a small smile at Josie, tilted her head. How could even that action exude class? “Nice to see you again.”
Josie forced out the words “You too,” at the same time as Tom grumbled, “See, she’s allowed a plus one.”
Graeme immediately engaged Erin in conversation, which Josie was thankful for, because it meant all she had to do was “mmm” in agreement occasionally, whilst trying both not to study Erin and not to look around the room, waiting for her plus one’s imminent arrival. Her body felt twitchy, unable to concentrate on anything, and she didn’t realize she’d drunk a full glass of champagne until the waiter came round to top her up. The starters—asparagus and poached egg for the vegetarians, asparagus wrapped in Parma ham for the omnivores—were coming out and they were all talking about how they knew the bride and groom—Erin was one of John’s best friends from school, apparently—by the time Erin’s plus one arrived.
And there he was.
Max.
Max, of all bloody people, was here, at her friend’s wedding. Here with his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend, while she was so completely and obviously single, sat next to John’s fat uncle. She wanted to slam her head down on the table. She wanted to get up and leave so she didn’t have to face him, so she didn’t have to smile and pretend that she was totally over him, that she had literally not given him a moment’s thought since she’d bumped into him in New York, that of course he’d had nothing to do with why she’d come home again.
But she couldn’t do either of those things. Instead all she could do was watch as he crossed the room toward them, looking uncharacteristically flustered, auburn hair a little messed up, the cuffs of his dark grey shirt not done up properly, his tie on a little wonky. He was thinner than when she’d last seen him, she thought, and his face was a little pale, like he could do with a good night’s sleep, but other than that he looked just as handsome as ever, still moving with the long stride that she remembered so well.
“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we?” Erin hissed as he sat down.
Max mumbled his apologies, straightened his tie—waving away Erin’s help—then looked over across the table, directly at Josie. Their eyes held, and she felt her heart jolt, even as she refused to look away, refused to let on that she was thrown by it. The rest of the table could have been utterly silent or in full conversational flow, for all she knew in that moment.
Max gave her a small nod, then cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said simply. He didn’t look surprised enough to see her here, she thought bitterly. He was sitting straight, perhaps a little tense, but his gaze was measured on hers. Maybe he’d known she would be here, given whose wedding it was, whereas she could have had no idea. He’d met Laura and John, hadn’t he? He would have known that she must be coming to Laura’s wedding.