One Hot Summer by Melissa Cutler

haven’t told me who she is. The girl you mentioned.”
    With a chuckle, Granny June raised her cane and pointed across the reception patio. Strings of twinkle lights zigzagged in the air above the dance floor where the die-hard wedding guests were boogying down to a disco tune from the band—on the stage that had, indeed, been relocated according to Micah’s specifications. Remedy Lane stood at the edge of the festivities surrounded by an eager gang of tuxedo-clad groomsmen who were falling all over themselves trying to reel her in. Even in the shadows and mood lighting he could read her polite-yet-distant expression clear enough.
    The longer Micah watched, the more idiotic the groomsmen looked, like Dusty and Chet had when Remedy crashed their Sunday barbecue at the river. What was it about her that had the men in town twisting themselves in knots to get her attention?
    Then it hit him what Granny June was playing at. He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to play matchmaker with me?”
    Granny’s eyes twinkled. “The only matchmaker I know is the Good Lord himself.” She nudged Micah’s thigh with her cane. “I’m just giving you a push.”
    He gave her his best rakish grin. “Oh, so now you’re calling yourself the hand of God?”
    â€œMaybe I am, honey. Maybe I am. It’s been far too long since you’ve had yourself any fun.”
    Since Micah’s last steady relationship had run its course a couple years before, he hadn’t actively sought out anything more than the occasional romantic fling. Work and his other civic duties kept him busy enough and happy enough. Totally drama-free—a term that in no way described Ms. Remedy Lane. “And here I thought my life was already a barrel of fun.”
    â€œGet on with you now. Time for me to get some beauty rest.”
    He walked around to the driver’s side and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the ride, sweet stuff.”
    By every indication, the wedding reception was getting long in the tooth. The near wall of the tent had been peeled open, revealing a cavern of mostly empty round tables—the correct number of them now, he noted—as everyone had shifted outside for dancing under the stars now that the stifling heat of the day had given way to a muggy but temperate night. Little plates of cake slices littered the outdoor tables, uneaten, though the bartender was still jumping with orders. It looked like the photographer had already left, the food servers were done, and the tables inside the tent had been cleared of everything except a smattering of glasses.
    He focused his attention on Remedy again. She was still dressed as she had been earlier that day, in a simple short-sleeved black dress topped with a tasteful blue scarf that coordinated with the wedding colors. She was pretty—there was no denying that—but there was nothing fancy or outstanding about the outfit or her long, wavy hair that had been pulled back with a black headband. He bet she’d dressed that way to blend into the background, like the Dulcet Theater backstage crew did. None of which explained how she’d drawn such a moony-eyed crowd of men around her—or why Micah hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all week.
    One of the particularly dopey-looking groomsmen tugged on Remedy’s scarf, pulling her off-balance. He caught her in his arms and, though she squirmed away without forfeiting the pleasant smile she wore, a spark of impatience flared in her eyes.
    Micah had seen enough. He strode her way, suddenly and acutely aware of his appearance. Deodorant still working? Check. Hair not sticking out funny around his hat? Check. Shirt tucked in? Check. He huffed out a laugh. Who was the idiot falling all over himself now?
    When she noticed him, her shoulders stiffened and that pleasant smile flattened. She squared up to him and folded her arms over her chest. Her eyes