In the doorway Chloe was holding out a glass of water with her phone light on.

“Your hem is wet,” she said.

“Nobody will know.”

The reception was in the smaller room off the lobby, the one with the fireplace that had no fire in it and long windows facing the side street.

Six tables of family.

Ethan’s parents had the table nearest the cake, and his mother had already put her purse on the chair beside her to save it.

We sat at the sweetheart table, two chairs instead of the twelve on the original seating map.