Joe leaned in front of Vicki so he could see the woman’s feet. She wore chunky black heels with a strap around the ankle. They were stylish, maybe wrong for the occasion, but not unattractive.

“You’re right,” he said playfully. “The shoes are horribly wrong. She has committed a fashion crime.”

“He broke Hannah’s heart,” Vicki said, her voice suddenly quiet, her eyes locking with Joe’s, pleading. “Seeing him with someone else—this woman—it’s going to break her.”

“Why?” Joe asked, confused. “Were they married? Did he cheat on her?”

“No,” Vicki said, defensively. “They just…broke up. Years ago. They lived together in New York, and he decided to move to live near his family in Boston. And she’s just not over it.”

“Why not?” Joe asked, still puzzled.

“Because…” Vicki shook her head, frustrated. “Well, I—I don’t know. I think she thought Tom was the kind of guy who’d never leave. And then he did. Sometimes it’s hard to move on, you know? Especially when you thought you were safe.”

Joe wondered for a moment whether his own girlfriend, Sarah, would describe her situation as safe. It wasn’t.

“I get it,” Joe said warmly, patting her back with the hand behind her chair.

Suddenly a woman in a tan pantsuit hurried past their seats, down the aisle, and pointed a strong finger at the string quartet positioned at the front. They began to play an almost somber march, which Joe recognized but couldn’t quite place.

From behind the pack of chairs, bridesmaids began to emerge in long black gowns, each woman arm in arm with a man in a matching tuxedo. Hair had been blown straight, eyebrows tweezed. The women wore matching pearl necklaces and tiny pearl earrings.

Joe snickered to himself, remembering the dozens of times he’d served as a groomsman for friends when he was in his twenties. Most of those guys were divorced now. He’d escorted more jealous bridesmaids down aisles than he could remember—women of all shapes and sizes. He’d even slept with a few.

In his peripheral vision, Joe saw Vicki light up with the widest smile he’d seen on her face since meeting her. She was beaming at the pack of bridesmaids, her body almost half-standing as she leaned toward the end of the aisle to see the procession.

“Which one is your friend?” Joe whispered to her, now that bridesmaids and groomsmen were quickly making their way to the flowered altar where Bee’s fiancée waited, his hands clasped in front of his waist.

“She’s the third one down the line. The shortest one.”

“She’s beautiful,” Joe said, now eyeing Hannah. “You’re right—she is better looking than our friend with the bad shoes,” he added, knowing it would make Vicki smile.

Sharing the same instinct, Joe and Vicki snapped their heads to the right to see if they could catch Tom’s reaction to Hannah’s big entrance. As expected, Tom was staring at Hannah, watching her closely as she continued her timed march. Tom rubbed his forehead and winced as he watched Hannah reach the altar and then turn to face the guests. She stood in the center of the row of bridesmaids, next to the rosy-cheeked matron of honor, who positioned herself just a bit too close to the bride, as if she longed to be the center of attention.