We’re probably supposed to wait for the end to hug and kiss and cry like babies but who cares? If you can’t throw things off a little at your second wedding, when can you?
We finally get to the actual ceremony, and I fumble my way through impromptu vows, say I do to my already bride, and everyone blows out the candle as we kiss. Which is a good thing because this is NOT a chaste courthouse kiss.
Lights explode above us as someone sets off fireworks. I catch sight of James and Chase up on a nearby rooftop, lighting the fuses.
My heart swells with joy and pride and a sense of rightness as I look around this square. It’s Tank’s vision starting to come to life, only bigger, grander, better. It’s my dream too, I think, looking at Lindy, then Jo. My dream and then one bigger than I ever could have imagined.
And until an apologetic Chevy shows up with the sheriff to shut the whole thing down due to an ordinance from city council about public gatherings and fireworks in the town proper, I’d say it’s the best wedding in the world.
Winnie
“Don’t fret. They’re going to love it,” I say, smoothing the wrinkle of worry from Val’s forehead with my fingertip. We’re sitting in Mari’s at the counter after my dumb brother shut down the party. I mean, fine—it’s not his fault. It’s probably Billy Waters using city council as his own personal playpen again, but whatever. I can still blame my brother some.
“But if we’d had more time to plan—”
“You would have found more things to add to the itinerary, and it still would be perfect. Stop worrying.”
While Lindy was secretly planning tonight’s wedding as a surprise for Pat, he’s had our help planning a secret European honeymoon. The two of them are disgustingly, adorably in love. Val and I helped with tonight as well as the travel plans, and it was hard as heck not to slip up and tell one person what we were doing for the other. We somehow managed that and the caretaking schedule for Jo while they’re gone.
Val sighs and takes a bite of pumpkin pecan pie. “Fine. Ooh, this is good, Big Mo.”
“Thank you. I think it’s the bourbon,” he says, passing by with a wink and a grin.
“There’s bourbon in there?” I perk up. Because if I weren’t primarily into app development, I’d want to be a mixologist. “I want a slice!”
“Coming right up,” Big Mo says, ducking—literally, he has to duck—into the back.
“So,” Val says, wiping the corner of her mouth. She’s finished her pie and swiped up every last crumb with her fingertip. “Dale was a no-show again?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe he’s really in the CIA. So when he says he has an accounting emergency, what he really means is he’s off catching an assassin or pulling out someone’s fingernails in an interrogation.”
Big Mo chooses that moment to set the pie down in front of me, now that I’m imagining straight-arrow Dale yanking out someone’s fingernail. Gross. And impossible. He’d more likely pull out a manicure kit and push back their cuticles.
“He might still come,” I say. “And anyway, I wouldn’t be dating him if he gave off CIA vibes. The last thing I want is that.”
“You wouldn’t find it the least bit exciting and romantic?” Val asks.
“Nope. My idea of romance is …”
I can’t finish that sentence, because my idea of romance is a guy who simply shows up when he’s supposed to. Which is starting to feel like a very low bar. While I keep pretending things are fine with me and Dale, he’s not even able to handle my very low bar.
I’m getting tired of this long-distance thing and being the one who always drives to Austin to see him. Maybe Dale is right, and I should just move. But something keeps me anchored here in Sheet Cake. I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that Dale hasn’t given me a ring, which would be a real reason to relocate, or if it’s the Sheet Cake roots I wish I could pull up. But so far, I don’t want to leave. And I’m getting tired of driving for Dale when he can’t do the same for me.