Misty nodded, slipping her phone back into her clutch.
“And he tried to sleep with me, too,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“Back in March. Sent me a sob story about how lonely he was and how Judy didn’t understand him. I told him to go cry to someone else.”
My mouth opened, but no words came.
“You okay?” Misty asked gently.
I blinked a few times.
“I think so,” I said.
“I mean… no. But also, kind of?
I don’t know.”
We both looked toward the front again, where Oliver and Judy were still trying to scrub red paint out of their clothes. The guests had mostly dispersed — some shaking their heads, others hiding grins. The wedding cake stood untouched.
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