Maybe we should go with the darker gray, Darla suggested, circling him like a shark. It has a slimming effect. Clayton’s jaw tightened.
He wasn’t overweight. Years of physical labor had given him a solid, muscular build that most men would envy. I like the blue, Delaney countered, surprising him with a small act of defiance.
It brings out his eyes. Darla pursed her lips. Well, at least make sure they tailor properly.
We don’t want him looking like he rented it from a discount shop. The tailor, a slight man with measuring tape draped around his neck, pretended not to hear as he marked adjustments. Later, as they exited the boutique, Darla pulled out her phone.
We should head to the caterer next. I’ve been thinking the salmon option might be too common. Perhaps a beef tenderloin instead.
Mom, Delaney protested weakly. We already confirmed the menu and now we’re unconfirming it, Darla replied briskly. The Hendersons had salmon at their daughter’s wedding last month.
We need something more distinctive. Clayton watched this exchange with growing frustration. He caught Delaney’s eye, silently asking if she was going to stand firm.
She gave an almost imperceptible shrug surrender. Actually, Clayton said his voice firm but calm. I need to head to Warren’s.
We’re helping his brother move today. Darla’s expression soured. On a wedding planning day, surely your friend can handle moving furniture without you.
I gave my word, Clayton replied simply. I’ll be there for the cake tasting tomorrow. He kissed Delaney goodbye, feeling Darla’s disapproving gaze on him as he walked to his truck.
That evening, while helping move Warren’s brother into a new apartment, Clayton felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Here, among friends who asked nothing of him but his company and occasionally his strong back, he could breathe. Earth to Clayton, Josie Mercer, his cousin, snapped her fingers in front of his face.
Petite but fierce, with the same stubborn Mercer chin. Josie had always been more like a sister than a cousin. Where’d you go? Just thinking, he replied, sitting down a box labeled kitchen.
About the wedding from hell, her directness was refreshing after a day of Darla’s passive aggressive comments. Clayton shrugged. It’s important to Delaney.
Is it Josie challenged? Or is it important to her mother? Because from where I’m standing, Delaney’s letting you get steamrolled. Before Clayton could respond, Warren joined them, beer bottles in hand. Steamrolled is putting it mildly.
It’s more like watching someone being slowly erased. Clayton accepted the beer but frowned at his friend. That’s a bit dramatic.
Is it Warren countered? When’s the last time you went fishing? Or came to poker night? Or did anything that wasn’t wedding related or Brock family approved? The question hit home. Clayton realized it had been months since he’d engaged in any of his usual activities. Somehow, between work and wedding planning, his life had narrowed to what the Brocks deemed acceptable.
I’m just busy, he deflected. It happens. Josie and Warren exchanged knowing looks.
Look, Josie said gently, we like Delaney. She seems sweet. But this whole situation feels off.
You’re not yourself lately. Clayton wanted to disagree, but deep down, he knew they were right. The subtle erosion of his independence had happened so gradually he’d barely noticed.
It’ll settle down after the wedding, he said, more to convince himself than them. Once all this planning madness is over. The following week, Clayton found himself at a dinner with some of Delaney’s oldest friends, people she’d apparently known since childhood, but whom she’d never mentioned until the wedding planning began.
The restaurant was upscale with white tablecloths and servers who described each ingredient as if it were a rare artifact. So Clayton asked a woman named Vanessa, who wore enough diamonds to fund a small country. Delaney tells us you’re in manufacturing.
The way she said it made it sound like he built bombs in his garage. A machinist, he replied, cutting into his overpriced steak. Lead supervisor at precision tool and dye.
How fascinating. Vanessa’s husband remarked with precisely zero fascination. I suppose we all need practical skills in this world.
Delaney jumped in. Clayton’s being modest. He’s up for operations manager next year.
The company produces components for aerospace and medical equipment. Very specialized work. Clayton shot her a grateful look.
Well, not everyone grows up knowing which fork to use. Darla commented with a thin smile. Thank God Delaney’s teaching you.
A ripple of polite laughter circled the table. Clayton felt his ears burn as he realized he’d been using the wrong fork for his salad. Delaney squeezed his hand onto the table, but her laugh joined the other softer, but present.
That hurt more than Darla’s jab. The conversation drifted to topics Clayton couldn’t contribute to vacation homes in the Hamptons, boarding schools, mutual acquaintances he’d never meet. He felt like a spectator at what was supposedly his own engagement dinner.
Driving home afterward, silence filled the car until Clayton finally spoke. You didn’t have to laugh. Delaney stared out the passenger window.
What? When your mother made that comment about the forks. You laughed. She sighed.
It was just a joke, Clay. Don’t be so sensitive. A joke at my expense.
In front of people I just met. She didn’t mean anything by it. Clayton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Yes, she did. She absolutely did. Delaney turned to face him, her expression hardening.
What do you want me to do? She’s my mother. I want you to stand up for me, he said quietly. The way I stand up for you.
When have you ever had to stand up for me, she challenged. Last week, when Warren made that comment about your shoe collection. I shut it down immediately.
Delaney rolled her eyes. That’s hardly the same thing. How is it different? It just is.
Her voice rose. God, why are you making such a big deal about this? It was a stupid joke about forks. Clayton pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine.
In the sudden silence, he could hear both their breathing is measured. Hers quick with annoyance. It’s not about the forks, he said finally.
It’s about respect. Your family doesn’t respect me or where I come from. And sometimes, I wonder if you do either.
Delaney’s face softened. She reached for his hand. That’s not fair.
I love you, Clayton. I chose you. The sincerity in her eyes made his resolve waiver.
When she looked at him like that, it was easy to believe that what they had was real, that it transcended the class differences and family objections. I know he conceded. It’s just been a lot lately.
The wedding’s stressful for everyone, she said, unbuckling her seatbelt to slide closer to him, but it’ll be worth it. I promise. As her lips met his, Clayton pushed his doubts aside.
It’s the connection between them was what mattered. The rest was just noise. But later that night, as Delaney slept beside him, Clayton stared at the ceiling, Warren’s words echoing in his mind.
You sure you want to sign up for life with this circus, Clay? He wasn’t so sure anymore. Friday evening found Clayton working late, finishing a rush order for a client whose production line had gone down. By the time he clocked out, it was past eight and his dinner plans with Delaney had been cancelled.
She’d been understanding on the phone, suspiciously so, considering how she usually pouted when their plans changed. It’s fine, really, she’d assured him. I’ll just grab dinner with Madison.
We’ve been meaning to catch up anyway. Clayton had been relieved, but also slightly curious. Madison was a friend from Delaney’s college days who rarely made appearances in their social circle.
He stopped by the Rusty Nail on his way home, hoping to grab a quick beer and unwind after the long day. The bar was busier than usual for a Friday, packed with the afterwork crowd. Clayton nodded to a few regulars as he made his way to the bar.
The usual? Tom, the bartender, asked. Make it a double, Clayton replied, rolling his stiff shoulders. Been a day.
As Tom set the whiskey in front of him, a familiar voice called his name. He turned to see Josie pushing through the crowd toward him, her expression unreadable. Didn’t expect to see you here, he said as she reached him.
Josie glanced around before speaking, her voice low. I need to talk to you. Privately.