Sitting in a packed chapel, Cassie cursed her lack of foresight.
She should have known the ceremony would get to her and prepared accordingly. Didn’t she always cry at Hallmark moments? Plus, the emotional roller coaster she’d been on lately made her even more prone to loss of control. The measly single tissue she’d stuffed in her jacket pocket wasn’t going to cut it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She’d dredged an emergency backup tissue from her purse, but it was stained with lipstick and slightly decomposed. Water would melt it faster than it would a Wicked Witch.
Oh damn. There went another one.
Cassie carefully dabbed at the new tear sliding down her cheek.
She’d suspected she was doomed early on, when the bride’s seventy-five-year-old grandmother presented Trisha with a beautiful embroidered tallith. Cassie had been helpless to prevent the first tear from spilling free.
In her experience, that was the deciding tear. Hold it back, and chances for sustained composure were good. Let it fall and others pushed and shoved from behind to blubber free, dignity and makeup be damned.
Drew dropped his handkerchief like a nuke into her lap. So much for tact, the woman was leaking! Damn weddings. His six-date tolerance for other women didn’t often land him sitting in a pew watching the ball and chain firmly attached. That certainly didn’t mean he was emotionally incapable of making a commitment.
Of course, he had to attend since the mother of the bride was an employee. Sitting by Cass just made sense. Weren’t wedding supposed to make women happy? Jeez. Her lips tilted up on one side and she accepted the handkerchief. Thank God, he was almost ready to use his sleeve to wipe away the salty drops.