Two
Amy
The wedding officiant—my family’s longtime pastor—smiles at my big brother, Logan, and his beautiful bride-to-be, Kennedy, both of whom are standing before him in casual clothes and paper crowns supplied by the bride’s niece. “And that’s when you’ll turn around and lead the recessional down the center aisle,” the pastor explains. “Hand in hand, as husband and wife.”
Everyone in the church cheers, even though we know the man is only saying those exciting words for pretend tonight.
“Can we practice the recessional?” the wedding coordinator pipes in, her business-like tone in sharp contrast to the pastor’s festive one. She begins rattling off detailed instructions to the wedding party—the groomsmen and bridesmaids, including me, all of whom are currently standing in opposing lines. “Amy,” she says, shifting her dark gaze to me, “I’ll play the part of your assigned groomsman now, so you’ll have someone to practice walking with.”
Well, that hardly seems necessary, I think. Walking is walking, right? But I’ve no sooner had the thought than a door at the far end of the church swings opens and the groomsman we’ve been waiting for, Colin Beretta, appears and begins bounding down the center aisle in all his muscled, tattooed, charismatic glory.
Swoon.
That’s my body’s instantaneous reaction to seeing my lifelong crush again, in person, for the first time in nine years. The exact same one I always used to have as a kid.
As I recall, I first swooned over Colin when I was five years old—although due to my tender age, I didn’t know how to label the mysterious sensations overtaking my body. It was my first day of kindergarten and my mom had tasked Logan, four years my senior, with walking me to school that day, since my brother would already be making the trek with our next-door neighbor, Colin.
I don’t remember the walk to school. All I remember is Logan ditching my whimpering ass in the hallway once we got there. Knowing Logan, I’m sure he left me right outside my classroom doorway, but it felt like Siberia to me. Which is why I started to whimper and freak out.
And that’s when Colin swooped in to save the day. As Logan ran away, presumably headed to the playground for some fourth-grade “me time” before the first bell, Colin grabbed my hand and led me into my classroom, straight to my new teacher. “Take extra good care of her,” I remember Colin saying to the pretty lady with bright lipstick. “Amy’s really sensitive.”
I didn’t know what that word meant. Sensitive. All I knew was it sounded like a beautiful thing, the way Colin said it about me. So much so, hearing him call me that caused a riot of sensations inside me. Butterflies. Warmth oozing like molasses into my core. Shortness of breath. Dizziness. All the things I now understand were the ingredients of my very first Colin-Beretta-inspired swoon.
After that, feeling like my insides were melting over Colin Beretta became a regular thing. Sometimes, it happened after he’d done something sweet for me, like on that first day of kindergarten. Other times, it happened when Colin simply smiled at me from across a room. And still other times, it happened when Colin had no idea I was watching him. For instance, during those last few years, when he’d practice playing his new drum kit in his bedroom at night, shirtless and sweaty, and I’d spy on him from my darkened bedroom window.
Over the years, I came to accept my crush on Colin was and always would be a one-way street. For one thing, our four-year age gap felt insurmountable. For another, he always treated me like a kid sister. But mostly, I knew I’d never get to fulfill my fantasy of kissing Colin Beretta because, instinctively, I knew the flat-chested, frizzy-haired tweener I saw in the mirror would never be able to compete with the stunning, curvy girls I saw Colin regularly sneaking through his parents’ side gate, under cover of darkness.
And so, after my parents divorced and Mom and I moved away from Cedar Street, after Logan had gone off to college, and my chances of seeing Colin again in person became slim to none, I started thinking of Colin as my “celebrity crush.” The sort of guy I hoped to have as a boyfriend one day—the blueprint of my dream man—but not someone I’d ever meet.
But then one day, about a year ago, I got a text from Colin, out of the blue, telling me he’d arranged a job for me, at Logan’s request. He said I could be a production assistant on a world tour, if I wanted. Not with Colin’s band, sadly, but with Red Card Riot. One of the most popular bands in the universe. So, of course, I said yes and thank you.
Colin replied that he was happy to do it and that he hoped I’d have a blast on the tour. He told me whom to contact at River Records. Wished me well. And that was that. My long-awaited reunion with Colin Beretta was over. Womp womp.
I was grateful for the job Colin had arranged for me, of course. Thrilled. But I can’t deny I also felt a bit disappointed he hadn’t been more interested in catching up with me. Not that I had anything particularly interesting to tell him.
But then, I had the exciting thought: “Maybe Colin will come to one of RCR’s shows and we’ll catch up in person!” I’d seen the gorgeous dancer all over Colin’s Instagram by then, thanks to my regular stalking of him, so I knew nothing would come of any such in-person reunion. But, still, a girl can dream, right?
But no. One quick Google search shot down any idea that I might see Colin again during Red Card Riot’s tour. Apparently, there’d been some kind of kerfuffle a few years ago between Dax Morgan, the lead singer of Colin’s band, and Caleb “C-Bomb” Baumgarten, the legendary drummer of Red Card Riot, and the two bands had steered clear of each other, ever since. And so, I accepted the truth that I’d never see Colin again, in person. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
But then, seven months into my job on the world tour, my future sister-in-law, Kennedy, called to tell me some shocking news: Colin had not only RSVP’d yes to her upcoming wedding with my brother, he’d not only agreed to serve as one of Logan’s groomsmen, but he’d also RSVP’d for only one!
In a frenzy of excitement, Kennedy and I both went straight to Colin’s Instagram during the call to see if we could discern the reason for Colin’s surprisingly stag RSVP. And that’s when we discovered yet another shocking thing: Colin had deleted every photo of that gorgeous dancer from his Instagram page!
Obviously, Kennedy and I realized Colin being suddenly single didn’t guarantee he’d feel attracted to me during the wedding weekend. But, still, I can’t deny we were both excited about our discovery, because it meant I stood a snowball’s chance in hell with him! Not great odds, but better than nothing.
When I hung up with Kennedy, I was buzzing. I told myself to knock it off and not think about Colin again. I told myself celebrity crushes are fine and fun, but delusions are not. I nonetheless couldn’t stop my fantasies from coming, against my will. Every time I tried to sleep on the next lumpy mattress during the tour, I imagined Colin seeing me at the wedding and not recognizing me. I imagined him looking me up and down and saying, “You can’t possibly be Amy!” and then proceeding to pay special attention to me throughout the entire wedding weekend, until, ultimately, we were naked in Colin’s hotel room after the wedding reception, and Colin was making all my sexiest fantasies about him come true.