We were nearly done with our job when the best man, Holt McNabb, came into the room gripping a longneck beer, his other arm around bridesmaid Courtney’s waist. The tattoo on her back right shoulder, a cobra ready to strike, clashed with the strapless taffeta gown. Before Holt spotted us in the breakfast alcove, he planted one on Courtney, a kiss that left no doubt saliva was being exchanged. She in turn grabbed his well-toned butt during this semipornographic moment. It ended when he opened his eyes and spotted me.

He lifted her chin and smiled at her. “Hey, Courtney—could you get me a plate of those baby-back ribs? Meanwhile, I’ll give these ladies a proper thank-you for all their help.”

Courtney hesitated. “You’ll be waiting here, then?”

He smiled. “Maybe. And that’s final.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He gripped her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the dining room. “Yes, I’m kidding. Now, get going.”

She left.

Kate hadn’t had the honor of meeting the rest of the rehearsal dinner crew, if you want to call it an honor. I’d met Daddy James, Momma Sylvia, the gruesome twosome cousins/bridesmaids, best man Holt, and Uncle Graham—the one who had tried all last evening to outdrink his daughter Courtney. I think Graham won.

“Good to see you again, Abby.” Holt set his beer bottle down on the table. But though he was addressing me, he focused on Kate. His pale blue eyes seemed to like what they saw, but then who wouldn’t be mesmerized by Kate’s classic Audrey Hepburn look?

“Hello, Holt,” I said. “Nice wedding.”

“Care to introduce me to your friend?” he asked.

“My sister, Kate Rose,” I said.

He placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her. “Thank the lord the stepsister brought Cinderella to the ball. Where did I put that glass slipper?”