Strangers In The Night

2. 38 Hours, 54 Minutes Until It Ends

Just got your sketches. Good but not great. Where did you take them? The lightings really bad. Remember, they have to look like I did them. Stop with the regionalism shit and go even more modern, bro :)

Ian clenched his teeth and pocketed his phone. Reed knew he was at a wedding. Reed also knew he had little spare time to sit down and draw. He was, after all, off from work.

That's what Ian told himself.

The restaurant was buzzing, glowing under the circular chandeliers. Just what Ian needed to ignore Reed's text. 'Fuck you, you worthless underachiever.'

Rachel zeroed in on him the second he stepped into the steakhouse. Her eyes narrowed with determination. "Hey, did you get my texts?"

"Yeah, sorry I'm late. Trying to find a parking space out there was absolute Hell," Ian laughed, a CVS bag wrapped around his wrist. She had texted him another two times before he left the CVS five minutes off the hotel's property, and the tingling feeling in his stomach left him sick and dizzy.

He forced another laugh. Just enough to force Ian to feel giddy – or, rather, giddier – about the whole weekend again. "Had to park at the Holiday Inn and then hike up the hill to get a spot. But, here you are. Managed to get the last few ones." He'd try and find a closer parking spot when things were quieting down.

Rachel scoffed in disbelief, grinning. "You're an absolute saint, Ian."

Ian sank into the compliment, warm but not nearly enough to make him feel better. "Hey, I know I said I'd help the bridal party, but...I am a guest, too. Can you...I don't know, pull back on asking me to run errands? I want to enjoy –"

The bridesmaid pushed the bag back towards Ian. "Can you put it by my stuff?"

"What?"

"I'm at table 4. I just – you know. I'm helping Melissa handle everything –"

"No, no, I get it." His eyes darted about the restaurant before he found table 4. "Do you want me to put it with your purse, or –" Ian turned back to see the space Rachel had taken up was gone, having moved off to another group of guests. Standing alone with an angry rumble in his gut was not how he wanted to spend the evening, so he shook his head. Pursing his lips, he contemplated leaving the bag with Rachel and telling her to do it herself. 'No, that's...petty,' he thought, thinking about every errand he had been sent on for the past couple of weeks. She hadn't paid him back yet.

Streaks of gold spread from the recessed ceiling lights, and strikes of red, brown, and stone melded together in harmony. The scattered tables were brimming with wedding guests, and the outdoor terrace was packed with people desperate to escape the room's humidity. Chefs worked behind a partially opened kitchen. Great plate windows turned the event into a display.

Ian considered taking a picture of it for design inspiration. He didn't.

Forcing a smile, he left the CVS bag with her purse. At least, he thought it was her purse. It was at table 4, which was better than nothing. Dropping his things in his seat at table 11, Ian ordered a drink and started making rounds.

He found Mr. Ozechov in a corner with his wife, who looked more than happy by his appearance. "Ian, my boy," he laughed. "How are you? Thought you weren't coming."

"Who said?"

Mr. Ozechov guffawed. "I didn't see your RSVP."

Ian waved the comment off. "Sir, I RSVP'd the moment I got it. It's rude to keep people waiting like that." He had contemplated not coming. He and Melissa weren't on bad terms, but...distant ones.