The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(55)

“After a busy day in London.”

“After a long day in London.”

“The longest,” Oliver agrees. “I don’t know about you, but the last time I slept was during that stupid duck movie.”

Hadley laughs. “That’s not true. You passed out again later. On my shoulder.”

“No way,” he says. “Never happened.”

“Trust me, it did,” she says, bumping her knee against his. “I remember it all.”

He smiles. “Then I suppose you also remember getting into a fight with that woman at the gate?”

Now it’s Hadley’s turn to look indignant. “I did not,” she says. “Asking someone to watch your suitcase is a perfectly reasonable request.”

“Or a potential crime, depending on how you look at it,” he says. “You’re lucky I came to your rescue.”

“Right,” Hadley says, laughing. “My knight in shining armor.”

“At your service.”

“Can you believe that was only yesterday?”

Another plane crosses the patch of sky above them, and Hadley leans into Oliver as they watch, their eyes trained on the bright dots of light. After a moment, he nudges her forward gently so that he can stand up, then offers her a hand.

“Let’s dance.”

“Here?”

“I was thinking inside, actually.” He glances around—his eyes skipping from the carpeted steps to the restless bellhop to the cars lining up outside the entrance—then nods. “But why not?”

Hadley rises to her feet and smoothes her dress, and then Oliver positions his hands like a professional ballroom dancer, one on her back and the other in the air. His form is perfect, his face serious, and she steps into his waiting arms with a sheepish grin.

“I have no idea how to dance like this.”

“I’ll show you,” he says, but they still haven’t moved an inch. They’re just standing there, poised and ready, as if waiting for the music to begin, both of them unable to stop smiling. His hand on her back is like something electric, and being here like this, so suddenly close to him, is enough to make her lightheaded. It’s a feeling like falling, like forgetting the words to a song.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says, her voice soft. “I can’t believe you found me.”

“You found me first,” he says, and when he leans to kiss her, it’s slow and sweet and she knows that this will be the one she always remembers. Because while the other two kisses felt like endings, this one is unquestionably a beginning.

The rain begins to fall as they stand there, a sideways drizzle that settles over them lightly. When she lifts her chin again, Hadley sees a drop land on Oliver’s forehead and then slip down to the end of his nose, and without thinking, she moves her hand from his shoulder to wipe it away.

“We should go in,” she says, and he nods, taking her hand. There’s water on his eyelashes, and he’s looking at her like she’s the answer to some sort of riddle. They walk inside together, her dress already dotted with specks of rain, the shoulders of his suit a shade darker than before, but they’re both smiling like it’s some sort of problem they can’t shake, like a case of the hiccups.

At the door to the ballroom Hadley pauses, tugging on his hand.

“Are you sure you’re up for a wedding right now?”

Oliver looks down at her carefully. “That whole plane ride, you didn’t realize my father just died. You know why?”

Hadley isn’t sure what to say.

“Because I was with you,” he tells her. “I feel better when I’m with you.”

“I’m glad,” she says, and then she surprises herself by rising onto her tiptoes and kissing his rough cheek.

They can hear the music on the other side of the door, and Hadley takes a deep breath before pushing it open. Most of the tables are empty now, and everyone is out on the dance floor, swaying in time to an old love song. Oliver once again offers his hand, and he leads her through the maze of tables, weaving past plates of half-eaten cake and sticky champagne glasses and empty coffee cups until they reach the middle of the room.

Hadley glances around, no longer embarrassed to have so many pairs of eyes on her. The bridesmaids are not-so-subtly pointing and giggling, and from where she’s dancing with Monty, her head resting on his shoulder, Violet winks at her as if to say, I told you so.

On the other side of the room, Dad and Charlotte have slowed almost to a stop, both of them staring. But when he catches her eye, Dad smiles knowingly, and Hadley can’t help beaming back.

This time, when Oliver offers his hand to dance, he pulls her close.

“What happened to those formal techniques of yours?” she says into his shoulder. “Don’t all proper English gentlemen dance like that?”

She can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m doing my summer research project on different styles of dancing.”

“So does that mean we’ll be doing the tango next?”

“Only if you’re up for it.”

“What are you really studying?”

He leans back to look at her. “The statistical probability of love at first sight.”

“Very funny,” she says. “What is it really?”