Meet Me at Midnight

14 | Wedding Bells

Nick

The room is too bright, the sheets too warm, my suit from last night crumpled on the floor like a bad decision. I lie there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of last night on a loop I can't turn off.

Her dress. Her laugh. Her eyes when she looked at me like I didn’t exist.

That one stings more than it should.

I drag myself out of bed and splash cold water on my face until my skin burns. It doesn't help much. Nothing does. Not the coffee I chug while staring out at the snow-covered pines. Not the freezing air that hits me when I c***k the window. Not the silence in my room that feels way too loud.

Everyone else is probably buzzing by now, curling hair, ironing shirts, posting “wedding day!” selfies with champagne in hand.

Me? I’m trying not to drink before 10 a.m.

I throw on some jeans and a hoodie, grab my jacket, and head downstairs. The lodge is alive with movement already. Sarah’s bridesmaids are squealing somewhere in the hall. Someone's playing Taylor Swift on a Bluetooth speaker too loud. The smell of fresh pastries wafts from the kitchen.

And there she is.

At the far end of the hallway, Stella stands with Grace and one of the other girls, coffee cup in hand, laughing at something. Her hair’s pulled up into some messy knot, loose strands curling around her face. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt and somehow still looks like trouble.

She doesn’t see me. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care.

That possibility messes with my head more than I want to admit.

I duck into the dining room and grab a banana I won’t eat just to give myself something to do. I don't want to hover. I don't want to stare. But every cell in my body is tuned to her.

Always has been.

“Rough night?” Andrew claps a hand on my back, grinning too wide for someone this cheerful in the morning.

“Define rough.”

He plops down at the table across from me, stealing the banana I had no intention of eating. “You were brooding so hard last night I thought you were gonna combust.”

“Thanks for the concern.”

“I mean, it was kind of hot. Mysterious bad boy vibe. Real Darcy energy.”

I glare at him.

“Just saying.” He shrugs. “Looked like you were gonna say something to her. Then she walked away and poof, there you went, all moody and silent.”

I say nothing.

He peels the banana. “Still think you should just talk to her.”

“And say what? ‘Hey, remember that time I broke your heart and never figured out how to fix it? Cool, same.’”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You could start with hello.”

“Too late for that.”

“You sure?”

I don’t answer. Because no, I’m not sure. But pretending I am is easier.

He lets it go, thankfully, and starts rambling about the wedding schedule. Ceremony at three. Photos at four. Dinner at six. Dancing until we all regret our shoe choices.

I nod in the right places, sip my coffee, check my phone. No messages. No missed calls. Not that I expected any.

By midmorning, I’ve showered and thrown on the suit for the ceremony. It’s charcoal grey. Tailored. Clean. Safe. The kind of thing you wear when you’re trying to convince people you’re fine.

Spoiler... I’m not.

I run into Sarah in the hallway. She’s in curlers and a silk robe, balancing a mimosa in one hand and a clipboard in the other. “You seen Stella?”

I tense. “Not lately.”

She gives me a look. Not suspicious. Not angry. Just…knowing. Like she sees more than she lets on.

“She’s helping with decorations downstairs. You should go say hi.”

I shake my head. “Probably not a good idea.”

Sarah sighs, sips her mimosa, and walks away.

I spot Stella again just before lunch. She’s hanging string lights with Grace and some guy I don’t recognize. He’s laughing at something she said, handing her a spool of twine like they’ve known each other for years. She tosses him a smile and doesn’t look my way once.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That we had our moment, our shot, and we blew it. That I was stupid and cowardly and twenty-two when I let her walk away without an explanation.

I tell myself that, but I don’t believe it.

Because watching her now, lit up from the inside, playful and grounded and beautiful in ways I forgot how to handle, I know something for sure.

I never stopped wanting her.

Not for a second.

Later, while everyone’s getting ready, I find myself standing alone outside the lodge. The air is thin and cold, the snow untouched except for a few stray boot prints leading toward the tree line. It’s quiet here. Finally.

I sit on the porch railing, watching my breath fog in the air.

I think about what I’d say to her if I had the guts.

That I didn’t mean to hurt her. That I was scared and stupid and thought pushing her away was the only way to protect what little of myself I had left. That every version of my future I try to picture still has her in it.

But none of that means anything if she’s already moved on.

And if that guy from earlier, the one with the easy smile and soft voice, if he’s what she wants now? Then I’ve got no one to blame but myself.

I head back inside and try to shake the cold out of my bones. The hallway smells like perfume and curling irons. Everyone is buzzing with energy. Someone’s playing piano in the lounge. People are laughing.

I catch a glimpse of Stella in the reflection of a framed painting — she’s walking with Sarah now, holding a bouquet sample and giving feedback like she’s just another bridesmaid, like she doesn’t see me burning holes into the carpet.

God, I’m pathetic.

Andrew appears beside me again, this time in a tux. “Still lurking?”

“I’m not lurking.”

“Totally lurking.”

He follows my gaze, then lowers his voice. “Listen, man. If you’re gonna go for it, today’s the day. If not? Let it go.”

“I don’t know how to do either.”

“Well, that’s your problem.”

He claps me on the back again, a little gentler this time. "Isn't there some rule where you can't see the bride before the ceremony?" I change the subject. "Duh, which is why I need to bail right now before my bride murders me before we can say I do."

I go find a quiet spot near the back deck and light a cigarette. I told myself I quit months ago, but that was never going to happen.

I let the smoke curl around the ache in my chest, and I wonder if this wedding is the beginning of something new for everyone else... or the end of something old I’m not ready to lose.