12 | Second String
1053 Words
Stella
The fire crackles in the corner of the lodge lounge, casting a warm glow over the polished timber and worn leather armchairs. There are about fifteen of us gathered here post-rehearsal dinner, spread out in clumps like we're all pretending not to be digesting ten courses and way too much wine.
I sink onto a low couch with Grace, who promptly kicks her shoes off and sighs like she just got back from war.
"If they bring out another speech tonight, I'm walking into traffic," she says.
I snort. "It's a mountain lodge. You'd have to walk pretty far for traffic."
"Fine. Off a cliff, then. Whatever's closer."
She reaches for her wine and eyes me over the rim. "You good?"
"Peachy," I say, lifting my glass.
She narrows her eyes. "You always say that when you're avoiding something."
"I'm not avoiding. I'm ignoring. Subtle difference."
Grace follows my gaze, which is deliberately not fixed anywhere near Nick. He's over by the fireplace talking to Andrew and a couple of the groomsmen. He hasn’t looked my way since dinner, and I haven’t given him a reason to. That’s how it’s going to stay.
"Still ignoring Nick, huh?"
"I’m not ignoring him. He’s just… not part of my night."
"Uh-huh. And that dress you wore had nothing to do with blowing his mind?"
"Grace," I sigh.
She holds up her hands. "Hey, you look hot. I’m just saying if you weren’t trying to stir something, it was still nice to watch him choke on air."
"His problem. Not mine."
Grace grins, clearly enjoying herself far too much.
The door creaks open and a few people shuffle out for smokes or cold air. I’m about to follow when someone slides onto the couch arm beside me.
"Did it hurt?"
I glance up. The guy is handsome in that rugged, ski-instructor kind of way. Plaid shirt. Short dark hair. Confident smile.
"Did what hurt?"
"When you fell from heaven."
I groan. "Seriously?"
"What? Too much?"
"You started with a line that’s older than my grandma."
He laughs. "Alright, fair. Let me try again. I’m Liam. And I’m hoping you’ll let me buy your next drink."
I glance at Grace, who raises her eyebrows and does an over-the-top nod. Traitor.
"Sure," I say. "Why not."
We head to the bar and he orders us both something warm and laced with cinnamon. I forget the name before he finishes saying it. He leans casually against the bar, watching me, I awkwardly look anywhere but at him.
"You here for the wedding?"
"Yep. Bridesmaid. You?"
"Friend of the groom. But not like, inner circle. More like backup friend."
"Ouch. That sounds like a demotion."
"I’m comfortable being second string. Less pressure."
I chuckle. "Smart."
He nods at the firelit lounge behind us. "You and the tall guy with the jawline thing… that a story?"
I glance over my shoulder, pretending to be confused. "Who?"
Liam laughs. "Cool. No story, got it."
"Let’s keep it that way."
We clink glasses and drink.
Liam’s easy to talk to. He doesn’t ask invasive questions. Doesn’t try too hard. And for the first time all night, I’m not thinking about Nick or what he might be feeling or not feeling or pretending not to feel.
"So what do you do when you’re not dressing up for weddings in mountain towns?" he asks.
"House-sitting. Cleaning. Working. Surviving."
"Sounds glamorous."
"It’s the dream."
He smiles like he gets the joke. I sip my drink and lean into the quiet buzz of it all. The heat. The laughter behind us. The feel of someone’s attention without the history clinging to it.
"You wanna go outside?" Liam asks.
I hesitate. Not because I’m nervous... I’m not. But because I see Grace watching me from across the room. Her eyes flick to Nick, who hasn’t moved from his spot by the fire.
He’s not watching me. Not obviously, anyway.
"Sure," I say. "Let’s get some air."
We step onto the back patio, snow crunching lightly underfoot. The cold bites instantly but the bourbon buzz softens the edge.
"This place is unreal," Liam says. "Like something out of a movie."
"Yeah," I murmur. "One of those rom-coms where everything looks perfect until it all explodes."
He chuckles."Messy explosions make the best stories."
"You say that like you’ve been through one." I tease.
"A few."
He leans on the railing. I do too. Our arms barely brush.
He doesn’t try to move closer. He doesn’t say anything else. Just stands there, breathing in the cold with me.
And for once, I’m not pretending.
I’m actually okay.
We stay there for a while, talking about nothing important. Music. Food. The way the stars look clearer here. He tells me he grew up skiing every winter and I tell him I barely learned how to fall down a slope without dying.
Eventually, we head back inside and rejoin the others. Grace gives me a look, half curiosity, half smug approval, but she doesn’t say anything. Thank God.
Nick is still by the fire, deep in conversation with Andrew. He doesn’t look over.
Fine by me.
I grab another drink and settle onto the couch again. Liam flops into the seat beside me. He's warm and relaxed and entirely present. The complete opposite of Nick.
“Are you staying long after the wedding?” Liam asks.
“Heading back the next morning,” I reply. “You?”
“Couple days. Gonna hit the slopes. You ski?”
“Not well. But I can pretend.”
He grins. “We’ll make a day of it. Or a disaster. Either way, sounds fun.”
I laugh. And it feels real.
That’s the best part about tonight. Everything feels light. Like maybe I don’t have to carry all that weight all the time. Like maybe letting go, even just a little, is allowed.
When the night winds down, Grace comes over and loops her arm through mine.
“You good to head up?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
I glance at Liam. “Thanks for the drink.”
He nods. “Any time.”
As I walk away, I don’t look at Nick, I glance back at Liam. He's smiling, a big cheesy grin.
And that, more than anything else, feels like power.
- Writer
