Cynthia Thomason - The Bridesmaid Wore Sneakers

“Yes.” She made a quick summary of the guests in the room. How many could she actually call friends? “Most of them.” She frowned. “Some, anyway.”

“Then no one will be critical of your dancing.”

She stared into glimmering brown eyes that seemed lit from within by tiny gold sparklers. What man had eyes that perfect? She shouldn’t trust this guy. “Don’t count on it,” she said.

They stopped on the fringe of the dance floor. Jude couldn’t think of a way to escape.

“Everyone’s having fun,” he said. “And you just pointed out that you’re an important member of the wedding party. Joining in and adding to the general spirit of the occasion is part of your job, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t argue. Alex had told her, “It’s just one day, Jude. I’m counting on you. You can at least pretend to have fun.” If spinning around the dance floor one time would endear her to Alex, she could do it. Besides, pretending to have fun was what she did. She was good at it. Liam held up one hand to hold hers and slipped his arm around her back. And then, when he should have been gliding or whatever, he just remained still, staring into her eyes.

“What?” she said.

“Weren’t you taller?” he asked. “When I watched you walk down the aisle a while ago, I could have sworn you were tall. Now I wouldn’t peg you at more than five and a half feet.”

“I was tall then.”

“What?”

She raised the hem of her gauzy, satiny concoction of shiny pink, showing her bare legs almost to her knees. Laced securely to each foot was a simple but expensive running shoe. She almost laughed out loud when she saw his shocked expression.

“If you want me to put the stilts back on, you’ll have to walk me over to my table where they’re hidden under the drape. But then I won’t dance, so it’s a catch-22.”

He fidgeted with the layers of dress in her hands, trying to smooth the fabric so it covered her legs again. Was he embarrassed to be seen with a woman who’d abandoned her high heels? Too bad. Jude had never enjoyed the fashion sense of her two sisters, even though they’d tried. The shoes for the wedding had cost her fifty bucks, and they would end up gathering dust in the back of her closet.

“No, no. It’s fine. The shoes are fine,” he said, returning his arms to dance position. “We’ll dance a few minutes and then adjourn to the tennis courts outside where we can play a couple of sets.”

She almost smiled. After about thirty seconds of keeping time to the five-piece orchestra, Jude had decided that maybe she was a dancer after all. Or maybe Liam Manning was so accomplished at leading that she didn’t feel like the wallflower with two left feet. His arm pressed with authority on her back, and her hand felt light as a feather in his. His feet seemed to move with precision, stepping around and between her own so that her toes were protected while she managed to follow his unspoken directions.

At one point, he grinned down at her. “See? You’re dancing like a pro,” he said.

She chuckled. “Let’s not get carried away with the flattery, Liam.”

What is this guy’s game? she wondered. He seemed to be a mixture of propriety and charm, and Jude still didn’t trust him. She had a hard time trusting anyone who didn’t smell a little musty and have straw stuck to his boots. Although Liam Manning could possibly change her mind about all that.

She didn’t ask to sit down after the promised spin around the dance floor. Instead he slowed the pace to an easy-breathing, conversational level. “You never told me,” she began. “What’s going on between you and my father?”

“We’re back to that, are we? I hope my explanation won’t make you angry.”

“I suppose we’ll have to see about that.”

Liam cleared his throat. “Your father just asked me if I remembered you from an outing twenty years ago. I told him I didn’t, but then you reminded me of the snake incident. He mentioned how pretty you are and said I should ask you to dance.”

She grimaced. “Oh, Dad.”

“It’s okay,” Liam said. “You are pretty, and I would have asked anyway.”

Some women might have ruffled feathers after hearing such an admission. Obviously Martin Foster didn’t believe Jude could snag her own dance partner, so he decided to fix her up. But Jude wasn’t terribly upset. Making certain his daughter enjoyed a dance or two was the kind of goal Martin Foster would try to achieve on a day like this. Jude hardly ever lost patience with her father. Everything he did was from love.

She nodded, accepting that she was the daughter least likely to have dance partners lined up. “I see. And are you sorry you got stuck with the job?”

He smiled again, showing a row of perfect white teeth. If she ever found herself with Liam in good lighting, she was going to study that face until she found a flaw. There had to be one.

“Not at all. Despite your reluctance to dance with me, I think we’ve done quite well.”

So did Jude. He stopped dancing and walked with her out the door to the country club portico. “I could use some fresh air,” he said. “It’s unseasonably warm for November, but in that dress, you might be too cold.”

“No. I’m okay.”

“Good. Let’s find a place where we can sit and get acquainted.”

“This is as good a place as any.” She hopped up on the concrete railing surrounding the patio, pulled her skirt to her knees and dangled her sneakered feet as if she were anticipating plunging them into a cool stream.

“Aren’t you worried about your dress?”

“I am worried—about the next person who’ll have to wear it once I drop it off at Goodwill.”

He jumped up beside her. “I take it you’re not a, what do they call it these days? A fashionista?”

“I suppose I’m not. I buy most of my clothes at Winnie’s Western Wear, and I get my son’s school uniforms at Target. Everything else I buy online. I don’t have time to traipse through malls.”

She clutched her hands in her lap and lifted her face to catch the breeze coming through the fall maples and oak trees. There was no place more beautiful than northern Ohio in autumn. When a strand of hair whipped across her face, she tucked it behind her ear. The elaborate French something-or-other the hairstylist had perfected for her this morning was probably hanging on by a few last-gasp pins.

She and Liam sat on the railing without speaking for a moment. They both looked into the country club where wedding guests were still dancing and lining up for cake. Wesley, who was probably as uncomfortable in a tux as she was in her pink fluffy dress, was dancing with his aunt Carrie. His head only came to her chest, but they were keeping perfect time to the music. The photographer was busy snapping everyone in the throes of Alexis’s marital bliss.

“The kid in the tux who was ring bearer,” Liam said. “That’s the son you mentioned?”

“It is.”

“Cute kid.”

This guy seemed to say all the right things. Jude sighed with unexpected contentment. She felt more like herself outside, away from the festivities. And she was happy for Alexis. She deserved this wedding and this fairy-tale beginning of a new life. She and Daniel, the state’s newest young senator, were perfect for each other, and despite many problems, they’d found their way back together to share a life and a daughter.

Amazing, Jude thought. Two of the three Foster daughters had been widowed at a young age. Alexis had lost her beloved Teddy almost a year ago, and Jude had lost her Paul. Well, life had turned around for her Allie-belle today, and sitting next to this dark blond, good-looking guy, Jude had the first warm flickering of hope for a happy ending for herself one day. But the feeling was just a flicker, nothing upon which to base a future. Paul was gone. He was never coming back. Part of her would never forgive him for that. Part of her knew she would never experience the same love again.