AMES WAS POSSIBLY a little bit drunk.

The thing was, he never really could hold his liquor. His father and brothers, man, those guys could pound beers like coal miners or teamsters or some other group who drank a lot of beers. And these lobstermen, damn, they were drinkers, too. But James had been working in the hot sun all day; he hadn’t slept much the night before because of that kiss, and he might’ve been pretty dehydrated and fairly exhausted before those beers hit his system. Three beers, one cheeseburger, a very loud bachelor party with guys making toasts to things like “not being a priest” and “Maggie’s desserts” and stuff like that.

Jonah, the brother of the bride and Chantal’s husband, lucky bastard, was sitting next to him, talking about nothing the way men do—why Boston could beat the Yankees in practically every game this season yet still be in third place. Guy stuff. Same sort of nothing James talked about with his buddies in Providence.

All in all, James felt slightly dizzy, pretty foggy and generally happy. “I got a question for you, Jonah,” he said, watching as Malone won another game of pool. “How’d you get Chantal to marry you?”

“Got her pregnant,” he said. “Then I kept bugging her till she said yes. Why? Oh, hang on a sec. Georgie’s calling me.”

“Here’s the deal,” James said, possibly slurring a little, “I have a thing for this woman, right? A big thing. But it’s like her heart is…I dunno. Made outta Plexiglas. Stuff bounces off Plexiglas, right? And that shit’s hard to break, know what I mean?”

“Dude, you are whipped,” a female voice said. James blinked. He thought he’d been talking to Jonah, but this was not Jonah next to him. No. It was a woman. A very, very, veryveryvery beautiful woman who could even give Perfect Parker a run for her money. If you liked black-haired, blue-eyed Liv Tyler type of princesses, that was. Which guys did.

And you know what? He was a guy. Who probably should look for a woman whose heart wasn’t made out of Plexiglas. She looked like…what was that thing that turned into a seal? Mary Elizabeth loved that book. A selkie. That was it.

“Hi, I’m James. You are so beautiful, I shouldn’t even look directly at you or I might go blind.”

She smiled, growing even more beautifuller, if that was a word. “Hi, I’m Emory. Malone’s eighteen-year-old daughter.”

“Shit. I take it back and apologize, and if we could pretend this conversation never happened, that’d be great.” He looked at her glass. “Also, I hope that’s soda, because I’m an officer of the court.” Yep. Drunk.

She laughed. “It’s root beer.”

“Why are you here? Aren’t women banned from these things?”

“Nah. I hardly get to see my dad, so I got to come. Dad! Come over here!”

“No, no, that’s fine,” James said, but Malone turned, his eyes locking on James in an unmistakable look—If you touch my daughter, I will kill you, cut up your body and use it as bait. James shoved his chair a little farther away from the Liv Tyler selkie thing as Malone approached.

“Is he bothering you?” Malone growled.

“No!” James said. “No. I’m not. Absolutely not. I barely even know her. Besides, I like someone else.”

“Father dear, James was telling me his romantic woes. He’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. It’s really tragic.”

Malone’s face creased a little. “I know.”

“You do?” James asked. Malone here was psychic or something. Cool.

“Ayuh. Parker, right?”

“Right! Parker,” James said, nodding. Nodding made him feel a little sick, so he stopped. “You guessed? Is it really obvious?”

“Ayuh.”

Okay, here was a guy who had spoken maybe three sentences that James could remember, but he was marrying the cutest girl—woman—in town. There was Jonah, who wasn’t even as old as James, and he’d dated and mated Chantal the Delicious.

“So how’d you do it, man?” James asked. “’Cuz I’m trying my best, and she doesn’t seem to even notice. Her heart is like Plexiglas. Or cement. Something really hard, whatever.”

“Jeezum crow,” Emory said, taking a sip of her soda. “It’s like watching a puppy being put to sleep. Help him out, Malone.”

“Yeah. Help me out, Malone,” James said. “’Cuz you got Maggie, who’s so cute.” Another glare from Scary Lobsterman Guy. “Sorry. She’s not. I mean, she is… I’ll stop now. Good job, is what I meant to say.”

Emory laughed. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t that easy, James. My dad was as pathetic as you are. Right, Dad?”

Malone took a sip of his beer. “Ayuh.”

“So whatja do?” James said.

Malone shrugged. “Waited her out, I guess.”

Emory shoved his shoulder. “He didn’t wait. He kissed her, and according to her, he’s a great kisser, which made me throw up in my mouth. I mean, ew! We have to have a talk about boundaries, since she’s gonna be my stepmother and all. And why anyone would want to kiss that ugly mug…”

Malone slid his arm around his selkie’s shoulders and smiled.

“I tried the kissing,” James said. “Didn’t work.”

Malone grinned. “Try again.”

James leaned back in his chair and pretended to fire a pistol at Malone. “Good advice, partner,” he said, just before the chair tipped over.

An hour or so later, James followed his uncle upstairs to the little apartment.

“You have fun, kid?” Dewey asked.

“Definitely,” James answered. “Thanks for letting me crash here.” He’d switched to water after Beer #3 and was feeling much improved.

“Your mom called today,” Dewey said, pulling a blanket out of the closet and handing it to James.

So much for feeling improved. “How’s she doing?”

“Good. Worried about you. She saw something on the news about your boss and whatnot. Figured out you’re unemployed.”

James nodded. “I paid Beckham for the next few years. She doesn’t have to worry.”

Dewey folded his arms across his massive belly. “I think she was worried about you, Jamie. When was the last time you saw them?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Ayuh. Well, they’re your parents.”

“Yep.”

His uncle sighed. “I know it’s tough, kid. And for whatever it’s worth, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. Wouldn’t mind having you around more. You were always my favorite nephew.”

James gave a halfhearted smile. Staying was a nice thought. Find a sweet, easygoing girl, do some blue-collar job. Carpentry, maybe. Those options, however, had died when he was much younger. “Thanks, Unc. But I can’t. Gotta make the big bucks. Or at least as big as I can manage.”

Dewey nodded. “Right. Well. You’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Sure.”

“All right. Sleep well.”

He probably wouldn’t. The clock was ticking on getting a real job, taking care of his responsibilities. He couldn’t play house with Parker forever, and the thought of leaving her, of not seeing her anymore—ever, maybe—made his chest hurt.

Tomorrow, he’d be helping Dewey set up for the wedding, basically transporting the bar over to the town green, serving drinks, cleaning up. Parker would be doing the flowers and whatnot.

It occurred to James that the last time he’d been at a wedding with Parker, they’d ended up in bed.

A guy had to wonder if he might get that lucky again.

As he lay there on Dewey’s lumpy couch, James felt the beginning of a smile. Weddings had always been good to him.

Maybe there was reason to hope tomorrow’s would be, too.