Kennedy and Xander lifted theirs, along with the rest of the wedding party, and repeated his toast. “Thank God for Pru.”
Thank God for Pru. Their well-intentioned words echoed through her head as they drank. Thank God for Pru. The stable sister. The reliable sister. The one who will always be there, always put everyone else first. The one no one ever questions because she’s never done one damned thing in her life to step a toe out of line.
She gritted her teeth as she tipped back her own champagne.
Thank God for Pru. The boring, predictable sister, who has no life, so of course, we can count on her for everything.
She simmered about it through the rest of the speeches. She stewed during Kennedy and Xander’s first dance. By the time the rest of the crowd flooded the dance floor, she’d made her decision. Pru Reynolds wasn’t going to be the boring sister anymore. Not tonight, anyway.
She downed some of Denver’s spiked lemonade and pushed back her chair.
A hand entered her field of vision. “Would you be ready for a dance, then?”
Pru smiled up at Flynn. “I definitely am.” She placed her hand in his, devastatingly aware of the strength of his fingers curling around hers. If things went according to plan, she’d know a lot more about the feel of those hands before the night was through.
He lifted her hand to his lips. “You’re beautiful.”
Heat flooded her cheeks as she stared, transfixed, into the deep blue of his eyes. “You’re charming.”
Those eyes twinkled when he tugged her from her seat, and she wondered if he had dimples beneath the beard. As they stepped onto the dance floor, the music rolled over to David Gray. Flynn spun her into his arms and began to sway them both. Because she could, Pru relaxed against him, letting him lead and enjoying the heat of his body so close to hers.
“So the deed is done and everyone survived,” he observed.
“I’m holding off on declaring the latter, until I see the number of hangovers in the morning. I expect more than one sore head by breakfast.” There’d be mountains of breakfast to cook, no matter how little sleep she got, unless someone sweet talked Athena into kitchen duty.
“Easily dealt with. I know Kennedy’s hangover remedy and can vouch for its efficacy.”
“You may get called on to make it. But yes, the worst is over. Kennedy and Xander will be leaving for their honeymoon in the wee hours, and both Maggie and Athena are flying out tomorrow afternoon. The rest of our foster siblings will be heading out at some point tomorrow, as well.” She braced herself. “I figure you won’t be far behind, now that Kennedy will be off. Just so you know, we can shift your reservations around to come back later, when she’s home.”
“That’s thoughtful, to be sure.” He twirled Pru out and back, settling his arms more firmly around
her. “I’ll be here at least a couple more days, as I’ve no shows lined up for that span. I suppose you could put up with me on my own that long.”
“That’s not exactly a hardship.”
His lips curved, drawing her attention. “Good.”
Nerves she hadn’t felt earlier kicked into high gear. She needed to put things in motion before she chickened out. She lifted her gaze back to his. “Flynn?”
“Mm?”
“Do you remember what you said to me when we danced the first time?”
For you, mo stór, I would gladly do anything you asked.
His pupils sprang wide. “I do.”
She swallowed. “Did you mean it?”
“I did.”
Oh, thank God. As the song drew to a close, Pru pressed closer, lifting her mouth toward his ear. “Then meet me in twenty minutes by the bench at the overlook in the back yard.”
She didn’t wait to see his reaction before walking away. If she was reading this all wrong and he wasn’t on the same page, she’d rather realize it in the dark by the overlook than look him in the face in a crowd.
The tempo of the music picked up. Pru threw herself into a line with her sisters for the Cha Cha Slide. She shook her groove thing with Ari for the Harlem Shake. She even threw caution to the wind and proved she still knew every move of the Macarena. The Chicken Dance was where she drew the line, stepping off the floor and heading for the bar. One of the other bartenders from Elvira’s Tavern provided her with a second cup of the spiked lemonade. Ordinarily, she’d stop at one, but tonight was about pushing her limits and acting out of character. With one last glance around the floor—mostly to verify that all of her sisters and assorted foster siblings here for the wedding were occupied—Pru slipped out of the barn and into the night.
The air hummed with cicada song and crickets. This far into summer, night brought little relief from the heat. That made her plan all the more delicious. She crossed to the far side of the yard, watching for stray guests, but everyone, it seemed, was still packed into the barn. Good.