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As other wedding guests lined up at the buffet, Ivy looked around for Bennett. She spotted him strolling toward her carrying two vintage crystal champagne coupes.
“Would you like to join me by the firepit before dinner?” he asked. “Looks like we have a few minutes before the buffet line clears out.”
“I’d like that,” she said, tucking her hand through the crook in his elbow. Shelly and Mitch were at the head of the line, and all the nieces and nephews and friends were queued up behind them. They had time to slip away.
Ivy slipped out of her sandals and lifted the blush-pink silk above her ankles. The sand was cool between her toes.
They strolled across the beach toward the firepit and eased onto one of the curved benches that flanked it. Flames danced in the sea breeze, spewing fort
