Free The Chapel Wars by Lindsey Leavitt Page B

were wearing a cloud sweater, remember?”
    “That’s a large ‘unless.’ ”
    “So I take it you’re not in love with the fashion show?” Dax asked.
    “We don’t sell dresses, and we already refer to a bridal rental store. This isn’t applicable to our chapel.”
    He looked around the convention center. “Then did you want to go look at floral arrangements instead?”
    “Not really.”
    “Limos? Seamstresses? You do know I couldn’t care less about any of this, right?”
    “Oh.”
    Why was he looking for excuses to talk to me? More important, why was I looking for excuses to talk to him?
    I scanned the convention center. We couldn’t be within view of my family. The ideal spot would have been the hair and makeup booth, where you could try out a wedding style for free.
    Oddly enough, Dad was already there, talking to one of the stylists. She was younger than him, but not too young, maybe late thirties. Dad was laughing and smiling. Flirting. Even from across the room I could see that. Did my dad flirt with women now? He could, of course. My parents could flirt, or even date, or hook up with other people or get married again.
    But it wasn’t until I saw Dad touch the arm of that hair girl that I saw the truth. The truth and the future, that my parents, no matter how well they got along, were each other’s past now. Our family as it was
was
past now. We were the Used to Bes.
    I was shaking, not like it was cold in there. I expected my dad to feel my stare at any minute. To look at me, his daughter, and feel ashamed for how he was acting. Because it was shameful. Mom was back at the booth; they had just laughed together and discussed my classes this semester. How did he move so seamlessly from one role to the next?
    “Holly?” Dax asked. “You okay?”
    I didn’t want to go
Parent Trap
on my parents. I got that they were done. I sort of got it, because I didn’t know
why
they were done, but I could deal. It’s just, my dad shouldn’t be having flirtatious conversations in the same space that I was having flirtatious conversations, certainly not at a wedding show when he was recently divorced.
    Plus he was
old
and this was
weird
.
    “I should go back,” I said. “To the booth.” To my mom. Sam.
    “I’ll walk with you,” Dax said.
    I tore my gaze away from my dad and that woman, who looked like she might unhinge her jaw and devour him at any moment. “No. If my family sees me talking to you it could be World War Three. Well, Four. I think World War Three went down when our families had that little chat at the funeral.”
    “I have bruises from that chat,” Dax said. “Your sister can kick.”
    “She went back to school, so you’re safe there.”
    “I get it.” Dax jerked his chin toward my booth. “You don’t want to be seen with me. I should probably be careful too. We don’t do a booth, but Poppy sends us to network. Minerva is walking around somewhere …” He breathed out. I don’t know why, but I felt more centered when he breathed, like he was taking in oxygen for us both. “Or, if your best friend and/or fake boyfriend wouldn’t mind, we could get out of here.”
    “Here?”
    “And go somewhere.”
    I stared down at my hands and smiled. Why was eye contact so hard? Those moments when it happened with Dax, it felt like he was seeing the things I didn’t say.
    I glanced back at my dad. He had his phone out now, and I had the sinking feeling he was getting the girl’s number. It’s not like I could work now with Mom and pretend that I hadn’t just seen Dad score a girl’s digits. And work-wise, it didn’t matter who was manning the booth. It was the same five questions again and again. Camille could cover for me, even if it meant Samhad to miss his truck time. “Yeah, I can sneak away for a bit. You want to go walk around?”
    “I love walking.”
    I sent Sam a text, telling him I wouldn’t be back for a while. I’d pay double. I didn’t respond to the tirade he wrote