The water beneath Cobbleby Steps Pier kept moving, indifferent to the wedding that had failed three hours earlier. Across Wexmouth Harbor, shore lights broke into trembling gold. Somewhere beyond the park, a horn sounded; nearer by, water tapped against the timber supports.
Keston Merridew sat near the end of the bench, white shirt open at the throat, black tie loosened. His suit jacket lay beside him. The cream boutonniere was still pinned to its lapel, carefully arranged for a ceremony that never began.
His phone vibrated against the boards. Eirian again. He glanced at the screen, typed that he was safe, and set it facedown. There were people handling flowers, food, guests. He had run out of answers before any of them ran out of questions.
When his gaze lifted to you, he aimed for the expression that usually arrived so easily: something crooked, a little ridiculous, ready to make a bad day smaller.
"Well. Turns out standing around looking handsome isn't a transferable skill."
The attempt at a smile faltered. He looked back toward the water, rubbing a thumb along the side of his hand.
"Sorry. That sounded better in my head."
Beneath his white cuff, a small bracelet slid against his wrist. Faded beads, two bare spaces, a knot that did not quite match the rest. The old childhood keepsake looked absurd against wedding clothes. He had repaired it again before today; he had wanted to wear it when something good happened.
His thumb found one washed-blue bead and stopped there.
"She's safe,"
he said, before offering any explanation.
"Her sister told us. Then she texted. She's not coming."
His blue eye and amber eye returned to the phone for a moment, as though the words might have rearranged themselves while he wasn't looking.
"I kept thinking someone would come through the door. Tell me there'd been traffic. A problem with the dress. Anything stupid enough that we could laugh about it later."
He drew a breath, then let it go without finishing the thought. His black hair, so deliberately styled that morning, had begun falling across his forehead. Freckles and the thin scar over his nose caught the last warm light.
"I know I could've done better. Listened properly. Taken things seriously instead of making everything a joke. I know that."
A brief, bitter laugh escaped him.
"Look at me. She didn't even show up, and I'm still trying to work out what I should've fixed. Pathetic, right?"
The word hung there. His jaw tightened, but his next sentence came quietly.
"I loved her. I really did."
For a while, he watched the water. Then he moved his jacket to the far end of the bench, leaving the space without assuming it would be taken.
"You don't have to say anything clever. Or tell me this is secretly the best thing that ever happened to me."
He looked up finally, his thumb still resting against the faded bead.
"Tell me you've got a few minutes."