Just Some Stupid Love Story by Katelyn Doyle EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Katelyn Doyle
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.2 MB
- Price: Free
Molly
If you ever find yourself hosting an event that requires a rented white tent,
you can be certain that I, Molly Marks, will RSVP with regrets.
If your tent is festooned with off-season flowers, or thousands of fairy
lights, or embossed linen place cards—if it’s bedecked with a dance floor, a
wedding band, a dais for the giving of toasts—rest assured I’ll be there in
absentia, cheersing you, my dear friend, from hundreds of miles away.
It’s not personal. I’m sure your event is momentous and that you’re a
wonderful host.
But the rented white tent is a monument to public displays of emotion,
and sentiment makes me squeamish. If I must evince a feeling—and, gross
—I want to do it at home, with the blinds drawn and the lights off, in a robe
covered in frosting and dribbles of sauvignon blanc.
You can thus understand why, on this sultry night on this star-glimmered
island famed for its champagne-colored beaches, I have the enthusiasm of a
woman hobbling on heels to her tropical, waterfront grave.
For approaching us in middle distance in the pearlescent glow of the full
Florida moon is the hungry white mouth of a tent the size of a cruise ship.
And beneath it, draped in fake bougainvillea and lit up in spotlights
flashing from violet to rose, a banner proclaims in a jubilant font:
WELCOME TO YOUR 15TH REUNION, PALM BAY CLASS
OF 2003!!!
Three exclamation points. Lethal.
I will allow that under the right circumstances—if I were another
person, for instance—the atmosphere that greets me beneath the billowing
canvas might be called dreamy.
The air, after all, smells like jasmine, and orange blossoms, and the salty
breeze rippling off the Gulf of Mexico. Tiki torches cover the dance floor in
flickering light. There’s a champagne bar and a lobster station. Carefully
dressed men and women are embracing with genuine sincerity, beaming at
each other. On a few faces I even spot tears.
I put my hand to my throat to feel my fluttering pulse. It was a mistake
not to take a Xanax at the hotel. Perhaps I can hide in a lifeguard station.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to my best friend, Dezzie, who along with
her husband, Rob, is the closest thing I have to a date for the evening.
She squeezes my hand with immoderate pressure—a gesture meant to
be either reassuring or painful enough to scare me straight.
“You will do this,” she whispers back.
“This is how I know my wife went to an obnoxious prep school in
Florida,” Rob remarks, unperturbed by my nerves. “Her fifteen-year
reunion looks like a destination wedding.”
“Actually, this is ten times nicer than our wedding,” Dezzie says,
dragging me past a table of welcome bags full of sparkly flip-flops and bug
spray. We pause to take in centerpieces that involve pineapples, orchids, and
foot-long diamanté palm trees.
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