Meet Me at Midnight

10 | Sunlight and Regret

Stella

I woke up to sunlight and the sound of Sarah humming beside me.

She’s already halfway through curling her hair, standing in front of the mirror in a fluffy white robe, a picture of glowing pre-wedding bliss. I lay still for a moment, blinking at the slant of light spilling across the wooden ceiling. There’s a dull ache blooming behind my eyes, a mix of champagne, dancing, and everything I’ve been trying not to think about.

I sit up slowly, every muscle sore in that heavy, over it way. Not from the club, but from holding everything inside.

Sarah glances at me in the mirror. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Fine.”

She grins. “You looked like you were having a good time last night.”

“Sure,” I say, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor is cold. I welcome it.

She turns back to her curling iron, and I wrap myself in motion. Clean face. Moisturizer. Light makeup. I pull on leggings, a sweater, and the thickest socks I packed. I don’t need to look cute today. I need to look like someone who is entirely unbothered by anything and anyone.

Especially him.

“I'm almost ready.” Sarah glances at me in the mirror, her eyes studying me. “Is that what you're wearing?” She taunts but disguises it as a question. I shrug. “Yep, I want to be comfy before tonight. You know how I feel about fancy parties.”

She chuckles, walking back over to me, reaching around me for her outfit she had perfectly laid out on a chair behind me.

Outside, everything is white.

“I know, I know, and for the record I like when you look homey. You're lucky you're hot enough to pull it off and still look good.”

Snow lines the trees like frosting, and the mountains stretch in the distance, quiet and massive and uncaring. I zip my coat up to my chin and tuck my hands into my pockets as we walk down the icy path toward the lodge. The crunch of fresh snow under our boots is the only sound for a while.

Sarah chatters beside me about seating charts and desserts and whether it’s too late to change the signature cocktail. I nod when she looks at me. I hum in agreement. I smile on autopilot.

It’s easier that way. Easier not to feel anything.

The lodge is buzzing when we get there. Warmth pouring out from the big stone fireplace, the scent of cinnamon rolls and espresso lingering in the air. Twinkle lights are wrapped around the wooden beams overhead, and soft music hums beneath the noise of people arriving.

Grace is already at our table, camped out with a mimosa in one hand and her phone in the other. She waves us over when she spots us.

“I got you a cappuccino and a warning,” she says as I slide into the seat next to her.

My eyebrow arches. “A warning?”

She leans in, lowering her voice. “Nick just walked in. With Andrew. Thought you’d want to know.”

I nod once. Nothing else.

I don’t turn around.

I don’t ask where he’s sitting because if I know Nick, and I do, I'm expecting him to sidle up beside me any moment now.

I sip the cappuccino slowly, savoring the bitterness, and focus on the heat blooming in my hands.

People filter in steadily. Cousins, friends, members of the bridal party still yawning from the night before. There’s laughter, clinking silverware, napkins unfolding into laps. It’s normal. Easy.

I stay locked in, one detail at a time. Sugar packet. Spoon. Swirl. Sip. Smile. Repeat.

Grace nudges my arm with her elbow. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” I say, and I almost believe it.

She doesn’t push.

I feel him before I see him.

It’s like pressure in the room shifts. A gravitational pull I’ve trained myself to ignore. The scrape of a chair pulls at the edge of my hearing. Voices rise and fall. Someone laughs. It’s probably Andrew.

I stare down at my plate.

Keep my eyes on the fruit I’m not eating.

Keep my hands steady around my coffee cup.

Keep my thoughts in lockdown.

I don’t ask how close he is. I don’t look. I don’t check.

Because I don’t care.

That’s the story I’m sticking to.

Sarah’s glowing across from me, talking about the weather and whether it’ll snow during the ceremony. I say things like “That would be perfect” and “So romantic,” because that’s what’s expected of me.

I keep nodding. Keep sipping.

My hands aren’t shaking. That’s something.

At some point, someone asks about the rehearsal dinner plans. Grace and Sarah bounce ideas back and forth. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom halfway through. No one stops me.

Inside the bathroom, I run my hands under cold water for a full minute. It doesn’t help, but it’s something to do.

When I come back, he’s still at the table, lucky for me he chose not to be near me. Probably for the best.

I don’t let my eyes flick in his direction. I sit back down and refill my coffee. The world keeps spinning.

Someone passes around cinnamon rolls.

I take one, but I don’t eat it.

“Can we take a walk after brunch?” Sarah asks, already pulling on her coat.

“Sure,” I say.

Grace glances at me but doesn’t comment. Smart girl.

I button up my coat and wrap my scarf tighter than necessary.

We step outside into the cold.

It bites at my cheeks and stings my eyes. The sky is low and gray, and the trees look like something out of a postcard. Sarah loops her arm through mine and leans her head on my shoulder for a moment as we walk.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she says softly.

“I’m glad you asked,” I tell her. And I mean it.

Even if parts of me are screaming. Even if last night is a jagged blur. Even if I spent most of brunch pretending someone didn’t exist.

Some things are still worth showing up for.

We loop the snowy trail behind the lodge. There are footprints from earlier guests and little animal tracks crisscrossing the path. Everything smells clean and crisp and pine sharp.

Sarah talks about her vows. About how nervous she is. About how she doesn’t know if Andrew will cry but she definitely will. I listen. Really listen. She deserves that. This is her moment, not mine.

And I’m done giving mine away.

“Andrew is going to be a mess and you know it.” I shove her arm and shoot her a teasing smile, she giggles knowing im right. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, I'm not sure if it's from the cold air or from thoughts of Andrew crying when he see's her.

A little part of me is jealous of what they have, but I'm so glad they found each other. They make me believe in soul mates.

“How are you really doing?” She stops walking and pulls on my wrist, forcing my eyes to meet hers. I know what she's asking but I refuse to bring him up. This isn't my time, we can deal with that after she says I do.

“I'm good, seriously. Don't worry about me.” She rolls her eyes, but doesn't push the subject.

By the time we return, the group is breaking apart, some heading out for sleigh rides, some staying back to nap before dinner.

I take the long way back to the room, letting the wind slap the last of the ache out of my bones. I need a nap before tonight if I want to survive.

I don’t think about his voice.

Or his hands.

Or the look he gave me when I left him standing there last night.

I don’t think about anything.

And that’s exactly the point.