wedding reception

They met at an impact panel. One of those events where they sit you down and make you look at horrific photos of car accidents and tell you stories, hoping it’ll scare you into being a good driver. Ian, teenager that he was, had been court-ordered there for his speeding tickets; Loretta was just trying to get through driver's ed. Once the interminable panel ended, Ian made his way outside to find Loretta on her knees, arm twisted up behind her back. A peer from Loretta’s class had been messing around and somewhere in the roughhousing he'd gotten hold of Loretta, wrenched her arm behind her back, and put her on the ground. Ian stepped in, telling the boy to let her go. The boy didn’t move. Ian gave a short, incredulous laugh before making it clear it wasn’t a request. The boy, wishing to avoid a confrontation and growing embarrassed by the number of eyes on him, decided to let go and leave. Ian helped her up, and then quickly found himself held captive by a pair of enchanting green eyes, her dry humor, and the way their wits matched each other so effortlessly. They started talking beneath a sky neither of them would remember, surrounded by a world they were oblivious to. Both unable to disengage from the other. The conversation flowed effortlessly. They were delighted. As is it does with all of the best things in life, time flew by too quickly. They were getting ready to go their separate ways when she looked at him and with a boldness that would forever be etched in his memory asked, “So, are you going to ask for my number, or what?”