I knew my fantasies were exactly that. I told myself not to expect anything to actually happen. I vowed to myself I’d remain calm and collected when I saw Colin again. I swore to myself I wouldn’t blush or stare—or, God forbid, swoon. Which makes me a liar now, I suppose, given the way my body is reacting as I watch Colin’s gorgeous frame bounding down the center aisle of the church.
“Colin!” Logan bellows, as I breathe through the butterflies ravaging my belly. My brother leaves his post to meet and then hug his old friend, before proudly introducing Colin to Kennedy. Her brown skin glowing with excitement, Kennedy hugs Colin in greeting—and suddenly, everyone around me, other than the wedding coordinator, seems on the cusp of leaving their assigned positions to head over to Colin, as well.
“Hold on, everyone!” the wedding coordinator pleads. “We only have the church ‘til six. Can we finish the rehearsal real quick, and have everyone say hello to Colin when we’re done?” Without waiting for anyone’s reply, she moves to Colin, grabs his tattooed forearm, and guides him to the end of the groomsmen line—to a spot mirroring mine with the bridesmaids. “When it’s your turn to escort your assigned bridesmaid,” she explains to Colin, “offer her your arm like this and escort her with a big smile on your face for the cameras.”
At the words “assigned bridesmaid,” Colin looks at me, smiles politely, and returns his attention to the wedding coordinator.
Oh my god. Yes! Colin clearly has no idea who I am! And I couldn’t be more thrilled about it.
It makes sense. When Colin last saw me, I was barely fourteen and looked twelve. I was flat as a pancake, with braces on my teeth, zits on my face, and my hair looked like an auburn poodle taking a nap on my head. Plus, I was a hot mess back then, emotionally. My best friend had recently moved to another state. My parents were getting divorced, Logan had gone off to college, and Mom had decided to downsize and get a smaller place across town. The day I said goodbye to Colin, I knew I was going to be attending a new school, where I’d have to make all new friends, and, on top of it all, I also knew, instinctively, I’d never see my lifelong crush ever again.
I like to think I’ve had quite the “glow-up” since that last goodbye with Colin. Partly, because I was a late bloomer. But even more so, because of my first roommate in college, Lily. On day one, I took one look at my new roommate’s sparkling, easy charm and beauty and eked out, “Help me, Lily.” And that’s exactly what that superstar did, in every conceivable way.
Besides giving me a much-appreciated physical makeover, Lily more importantly laughed at all my jokes, in a way my family never did. She took me along to parties with her amazing friends, who also laughed at my silly jokes and coaxed me out of my shell. I doubt I’ll ever possess Lily’s level of confidence in this lifetime. The woman is a force of nature. But thanks to Lily and her outgoing friends, by the end of my first year of college, I felt like a whole new person. A much more sparkling version of myself than the hot mess Colin had hugged goodbye on Cedar Street.
“Okay, Logan and Kennedy,” the pastor says, now that everyone has moved back into position. “After I’ve introduced you as husband and wife, you’ll lead the recessional down the center aisle. Let’s practice that now.”
As instructed, Logan and Kennedy turn and cheerfully take off down the aisle, followed by pairs of their attendants, until suddenly, Colin is standing mere inches from me, shooting me a breathtaking grin and offering me his muscled arm.
“Hello,” Colin says, his dark eyes twinkling. “I’m Colin.”
Swoon. “Hi.” Swoon. “I’m Amy.” Swoon. “O’Brien. I lived next door to you for the first fourteen years of my life?” I link my arm in Colin’s, giggling at his shocked reaction. If I could have custom-ordered Colin’s facial expression in this moment, I couldn’t have improved on this one.
Colin looks me up and down during our short walk, and when we reach the end of the aisle and come to a stop behind the already mingling crowd, he exhales, runs his hand through his dark, tousled hair, and blurts, “How the hell are you Amy O’Brien?”
A few nearby people swivel their heads toward him, at which point Colin realizes he’s loudly blurted the word “hell” in a church—which, not surprisingly, makes both of us burst into laughter.
A gorgeous smile on his face, Colin leans into me and whispers, “Seriously, though. How the hell are you Amy O’Brien?”
I’m absolutely giddy. But, somehow, I manage to keep myself from totally spazzing out. “Time stops for no one,” I say, returning his grin. “I’m all grown up, Colin. I’m twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three!” He looks me up and down again, and this time, I can’t help thinking his gaze lingered on my cleavage for a long beat. Or was that wishful thinking? That’s certainly what I was hoping would happen when I slipped on this lowcut dress and my new push-up bra earlier, even though I knew my mother would have a shit fit and say my neckline is “inappropriate” for church, which is exactly what she did when she saw me. But can I rationally expect my tits to impress Colin—a rockstar who must sign his name in Sharpie across at least a dozen pairs of them per week?
“Are you back from the tour for good now?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s been over for a few weeks.” I take a deep inhale to keep my voice from quavering, and then clear my throat. “Since then, I’ve been staying with my mom. Decompressing from the grind, helping Kennedy with wedding stuff, figuring out my next move.”
“I feel ya on the ‘decompressing from the grind’ thing. Touring takes its toll.”
“Ach, it’s brutal. Fun, but brutal. Brutal fun.” Stop talking, Amy. I take another deep breath, and then another, before calmly saying, “Thank you again for getting me the job. It was amazing.”
“You’ve already thanked me. What was your assignment?”
“C-Bomb. I was his personal production assistant during the whole tour.”
Colin hoots with laughter. “No way! You were Caleb’s assistant, the whole time?”
“Yep. I was his personal assistant, lackey, gofer, waitress, bartender, suitcase-packer . . .” Therapist. That last word springs into my mind, but I’d never say it out loud. The surprisingly earnest conversations I wound up having with Red Card Riot’s famed drummer toward the end of the tour, when he realized he could trust me completely, are locked in my vault forever. And not because of my NDA. But because I came to genuinely care about that enigmatic, tempestuous man.
Colin chuckles. “I bet you’ve got some fantastic stories. Caleb is anything but boring.”
“I sure do,” I agree. “Not only about Caleb, but about the crazy shenanigans of my fellow crew members, too. Too bad I can’t tell my very best stories because of my NDA.”
Colin smirks. “Come on, Ames. You have to know you saying ‘NDA’ only makes me want to hear your stories, even more.”
Ames. That’s what Colin used to call me as a kid. Is it a good or bad thing he’s slipped right back into calling me that, like no time has passed?
“I assure you, nothing all that scandalous happened. At least, not in relation to Caleb. He was honestly pretty chill during the tour—and really sweet to me. At least, once he realized he couldn’t make me quit by sending me on a thousand wild goose chases.”