Second order. Apparently Odalia is feeling the full force of our fandom powers. We’re packing hotels and motels and B and Bs to the brim (protip, you’ll have to filter a fifty-mile radius on every booking site search to have a chance), we’re scouring local stores and buying up the goods (owners, do nail down anything you want to keep), and we’re keeping close tabs on filming. (Hey, stalkers, I appreciate you and your pics, kiss kiss.) Play nice out there.
Say, network bigwigs? We prove once again we’re a mighty economic engine! That could be us, but you’re playing c-o-y with renewing.
To that, our third order. Noises off and little birdies landing on my shoulder are whispering that this season will be the end, but not because the network pulled the plug. Kit needs his space to shine—not that there’s clashes on set, but there are some tensions and odd decisions being made—and I fret even Handyman Holt won’t fix this one.
As always: Claws out, drills drawn, and match your BFF heart pendants together—let’s get into it in the comments!
HOLT threaded past the shooting setup inside a local restaurant and the milling crew members eating the extra samples the chef had set out, saying good morning as he went to corner Kit. Once he had Kit pinned down, he waved Wiley over.
Wiley had arrived fifteen minutes after him and hadn’t avoided him but had fallen into immediate, animated conversation with Elaine, which didn’t annoy Holt. There was no reason for annoyance. But he was relieved Wiley finally glanced his way so he could initiate a much-needed confab.
“How is the dance going, darlings?” Kit said as Wiley approached. He lowered his voice. “You should really talk to me more, tell me the updates and where things are.”
Wiley’s blush momentarily distracted Holt, but not for long. “That’s what this is for.” He didn’t bother saying Kit could go both ways on that street. He checked and saw no one near them but still kept his tone pitched down. “Today is menu tasting, correct? Anything else?”
“I’m going to make you go sit in a cozy romantic setting and choose music for the reception. You won’t have to pick more than, say, ten songs. Give the DJ a sense of your preferences.” Kit’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? Is there something else I don’t know about?”
“No. I just wanted to go over the game plan so we know what to expect once we’re rolling.” Holt tapped Kit’s notebook. “Can we have a look at our options and which ones you’ve circled to lead us to the best choices? And we are settled on this restaurant, correct? You’re not surprise dragging us to others?”
Kit huffed in exasperation but complied. “Holty darling. I only huff because it’s already in your inbox.”
“I liked the sound of the cheese boards, assorted savory hand pies, build-your-own salad, and the miniroasts. Beef and veg options. Everything is family style on the table except two catered salad bars, which seems like a good balance. I’ve always wanted to try this place, but it’s pricey—this one is going well for me.” Wiley smiled and looked askance at Holt. “What? I got the emailed list and ‘confirm this restaurant made the final cut’ too.”
Kit draped an arm around Wiley’s shoulders. “Always the star pupil. My star. Thank you. At least one of you is still taking this seriously.”
Holt sighed, but Kit’s light kick to the toe of his right shoe made him smile. It was something Kit had done ever since they were little to let Holt know he wasn’t actually mad. Especially when their parents had them called on the carpet and Kit was trying to weasel them out of trouble by any means necessary.
“Those all sound fine with me.” Holt made a cursory glance at the menu options. Almost everything Kit had circled was something Wiley mentioned. “Are those really fine with you, or did you know they’re Kit’s idea of the best possible choice?”
“Well, do they really sound fine with you?” Wiley shot back.
“Yeah, this place is known for its hand pies, which I think is great to highlight and support. Can we make sure there are strawberries on the salad bar, and who doesn’t like cheese?” Holt caught Wiley’s expression—a twinkle in those pretty eyes and the corners of his mouth fighting a smile—and he conceded Wiley’s point with a grin. “Here’s to nice and easy.”
“That’s hair coloring, dove. Here’s to delectable and delightful,” Kit said airily. “Anything else?”
“Will you insist the ten songs we pick be slow dances or…?”
“No, you’re off the hook there. I won’t torture you with more than your one performed dance.” Kit looked from Holt to Wiley. “Seriously, though, how’s it going? Will you totally embarrass me? Yourselves? Find your inner flamenco and run away and join a traveling ballroom troupe? Have you learned anything?”
Holt remembered Sarah’s advice from last night. He also remembered waking to find a pliant Wiley in his arms and how even an errant thought of their kiss enflamed him.
“You know, we have.” Holt gave Kit the notebook. “Let’s meet at Carla’s in the morning and compare any other pending notes.”
“Yes, of course. Elaine is anxious for more rolls anyway, so I can pick up a bag or two.” Kit nodded. “Wiley, just continue being your darling self. Don’t overthink or worry. Your off-the-cuff riffs and questions are great. Great flow, great pop of wit without being pert. We don’t want to affect either, so don’t change a thing. But definitely send up a tiny rescue flare if you’re unsure in any moment. ’Kay?”
Wiley regarded Kit with a look Holt could place from when they’d been friends in junior high. Appreciative, a touch awed, and wanting such direct consideration.
Holt grunted. “Yes, do that. I’ve been paying attention.”
“I know.” Wiley’s expression softened to an inscrutable smile. He nudged Holt. “Thanks.”
Kit chuckled indulgently. “Do make it clear if something isn’t quite your thing, even if it doesn’t make it bad. Per the usual, reserve final decisions until after you’ve discussed it, have some yeses and maybes. But I’ll do the reveal in a talk-time segment with the chef.” He let out a pleased breath. “Good! That’s settled. Shall we?”
Holt swept his hand in a flourish toward the set.
Wiley let Kit go but waited for Holt. “Thanks also for doing that. I’m kind of getting the hang of this, but it’s so much easier establishing stuff from the start.”
“It makes it equally easy on me, believe that. And it is only fair to you. This is already outside the norm as it is. Sweating on-the-spot protein main dish choices? No one needs that.” Holt’s chest expanded when Wiley took his hand.
“Is Janet ever not taking pictures for social media?”
“If Janet is conscious, Janet is on the job.” Holt tamped down disappointment. Of course Wiley would be conscientious to notice that and do his part.
“Holt, Wiley? Over here.” Elaine gestured at them across the large dining room, where she stood near two marks taped on the floor. “Kit and the chef are going to stand behind the bar, and you’ll be on this side. Wiley, is standing okay? It’ll make a better shot if Holt’s seated and you’re at this height.”
“I don’t mind.” Wiley looked everywhere but at Holt.
“You’re already perfect as-is, so they know better than to mess with that.” Holt said it lightly but didn’t tease.
Elaine and Rick laughed. Wiley blushed and snuck a glance at him, so he winked.
“The chef will go over a brief explanation of each dish as staff brings out some tasting plates. Kit might ask for impressions, but feel free to react in the moment. Three cameras for this one. On you two from here, and on the chef and Kit from here.” Elaine pointed them out. “And Rick will be on the move. Got it?”
“Ready steady.” Holt settled on the stool someone brought over and remained still as Elaine positioned Wiley next to him.
“Can you just… yes, like that,” Elaine said as she turned Holt in the seat so he faced center, closer to Wiley than directly across the bar.
He could easily pull Wiley to stand between his legs this way. His thigh brushe
d Wiley’s, and for his sanity he should move it. He didn’t.
Elaine moved around as crew styled the bar top and finished the backgrounds, and then the lights came on and makeup did a final pass to buff and powder them.
“Okay, everyone. You should know where we are and what we’re doing. At slate we’re going to start filming for the episode and the livestream.” Elaine counted down on her fingers, and someone ducked in to drop the slate. Then she pointed at Kit.
“Hello, hello—it’s one of my favorite layers in the process. The food. The dreamy delectable delightful food.” Kit cupped the chef’s shoulder and arm and said to the camera, “And speaking of dreamy and delightful, this is Chef Cortez. Chef, meet our grooms, Wiley and Holt.”
“Wonderful to meet you, and congratulations. Odalia is so excited to have you boys back filming, and even better, one of you is marrying another local boy.” Chef Cortez was stout, dark-haired, with a dark beard and mustache combo, and he flashed a generous smile. He held out a kitchen-scarred square hand. “Call me Pete.”
It wasn’t often Holt’s hand was engulfed, but Pete’s firm grip did. “Thank you, Pete. Along with our obvious excitement about what this is for, we’re excited to try your food. Didn’t I read you introduced the hand pies as an homage to empanadas, but with local ingredients changing seasonally?”
“You did, you did. And thank you for taking the time to read up on Mushroom & Mole. It means a lot to me and my whole staff that, of all the restaurants in town, you chose us to cater your special event.”
Holt didn’t dwell on not feeling even a twinge of guilt or wrongness at being congratulated and considered a happy couple in front of yet another person they were deceiving. Getting comfortable with the front was part of what made and would keep it successful.
Pete shook Wiley’s hand. “You work with Carla at CarlaCakes sometimes, don’t you?”
“Yes. Mostly before hours, the Sunday rush, and deliveries.” Wiley’s smile in answer to Pete’s friendliness was quick. “I’ve been in here a time or two.”
That made Holt like Pete even more.
“I knew we knew each other. Good, good. Makes sharing my food with you all the better.” Pete turned to Holt. “Maybe Wiley has told you—depending what my menu is wanting week to week, I get breads and rolls from Carla.” He patted his belly. “They make the best.”
“They do.” Holt hadn’t known, but that was a good answer nonanswer. He covered Wiley’s hand and liked how his engulfed Wiley’s.
Holt knew from experience and talking to hosts of other shows that there was a practiced art to appearing fully engaged while the brain was busy on things like shopping lists and planning vacations. But he never learned that art. He hadn’t wanted to because he valued what the various couples and local businesses brought to the show and were eager to get from it.
So he listened with sincere pleasure to Pete talk about the parade of dishes they were shown and got to taste, all beautifully presented in single portions, and each with an introduction to a different staff member, sometimes front of house, sometimes the kitchen.
Five years of overpreparation had not prepared him to sit here realizing he really didn’t know much about the wedding other than what he and Wiley agreed to, and he didn’t mind that one bit.
Aside from the frontloaded research, he hadn’t done any work on this episode. Kit had offered the advice to stay fresh. Elaine and the others razzed him for not being on set before they arrived and after they left, nailing down literal and figurative details, and congratulated Wiley for some superpower to keep him out of their way.
Being a participant and not the planner was part of it. But since the announcement upended everything, he hadn’t thought about visiting the set or taking on a twelfth project or making sure Kit had it covered. No guilty pangs either.
He watched Wiley eat and smiled. So. Turned out he was definitely ready to leave the show. It was somehow reassuring to see that with such clarity here, doing this.
“These are amazing,” Wiley said after another bite of a fresh basil, sundried tomato, and yellow potato hand pie. “This crust is so flaky, I’m jealous.”
Pete chortled more than laughed. “My abuela would thank you. It’s her recipe.”
Wiley’s smile turned misty and fond, and Holt tightened his hand over Wiley’s. He hadn’t realized he’d kept it there, but it looked right between the stack of empty plates and pots of sauces.
“Wiley was raised by his grandmother.” Holt smiled at Pete’s respectful, understanding nod. “Everything has been amazing, but I think we have a decided favorite in these, don’t you?”
“I’m going to have to….” Wiley trailed off and finished by stealing the last of Holt’s pie.
Pete chortled again. “I can come up with a very special wedding selection just for you.”
“Thank you, Chef.” Wiley blushed.
Holt hoped it wasn’t from any lingering guilt.
“Now that everyone has had the chance to try Chef Cortez’s offerings, I’m sending the affianceds along to marinate on their menu.” Kit flicked his fingers their way. “Chef has set up a very special table for you. Off you go.”
Holt craned around to follow Elaine’s off-camera direction to the far corner of the restaurant, where a booth flickering with low-burning candles and flutes of champagne waited.
“Shall we?” he asked as he slid from the stool. He kept hold of Wiley’s hand and his legs opened to brace around Wiley, bodies touching from the spread of Holt’s ribs as he breathed to his spread thighs, and they stood a moment staring at each other.
A single sharp clap ripped Holt’s attention back to the bar.
Pete nodded sagely. “Now that is happiness,” he said with an exaggerated eyebrow raise. “This is a couple who is clearly meant to be.”
Kit smiled. “For certain. But first, go and do your work.” He shooed them away again.
Holt tugged Wiley toward the booth as Rick followed. Rick stayed, so Holt motioned for Wiley to sit and then folded himself into the booth and left an arm along the back as he settled in. His sitting jostled Wiley enough so Wiley ended up against his side, hand splayed on his chest.
Wiley stayed close but let go to hand Holt a flute and take one for himself.
“To flaky hand pies.”
“Cheers.” Holt clinked their glasses and sipped instead of downing it like he wanted.
“And, we’re out.” Rick patted the table. “Great job, guys. We got some good stuff here.”
Janet filled the space Rick vacated. “Elaine and company are headed to the kitchen to film the menu reveal. Hang tight in case we need any pickups. After that you both are done for today.” She shook a wagging finger at Holt. “Must be so nice. Don’t get too used to these hours.”
Holt’s hand dropped naturally to Wiley’s shoulder. “It ain’t bad, that’s for sure.” He finished his champagne and made puppy eyes at Janet while holding out his empty flute.
“I’d say you have more capable hands than most and could just do this, but I get it. Otherwise occupied, super way more important than letting go a few seconds to get your own.” She rolled her eyes, but Holt knew her too well to think she actually minded. Janet filled both their glasses and as she headed to the kitchen, yelled, “Ugh, stop being adorable.”
“Impossible,” Holt shot back and liked it when Wiley laughed.
“So.”
“So.”
“So, we have champagne and some downtime and this.” Wiley set his phone on the table between them and tapped to open a notepad app.
“And this is?”
“Carla’s recon. We should at least do the basics, because flowers, outfits, and the cake remain, and that’s when these questions really come up.” Wiley moved from Holt’s side to fold his leg under on the bench seat and cradle his phone to face Holt.
“Let’s try rapid-fire.”
“I’ve always liked the lightning round.”
“Do you like actual lig
htning?” Wiley’s phone dipped. “That’s not on here, but I do.”
Holt nodded. “Oh yeah. I love a good storm. The boomier the better.”
Wiley grinned. “Nice.” He checked his phone. “Okay, here we go. Favorite color? Probably earth tone something.”
“I thought I was supposed to rapid-fire answer?” Holt tilted his head. “But that’s right. I like woodsy colors best.”
“It’s the camping and nature thing, I knew it. That and every flannel you’ve ever worn.”
“Every one?”
“Ever.”
“Ever?”
“Still.” Wiley poked Holt’s arm and his woodsy-colored flannel.
Holt had a closetful since he was five and could tell his parents “like this one.” He’d worn many to help around GB’s place. That Wiley thought about it, knew it, speared at his heart.
“Favorite season? I’m sure it’s fall, because we agreed it was fall at the barn, where we won’t have our wedding reception with the goats and Mr. Pig.”
“Right again. As is yours. And—blue. Any and all blues.”
Wiley peeped a look at him over the phone. “Yes.”
Holt swelled with silly pride. He ticked off on a hand, “You wear a lot of it, you comment on the color of the sky and cornflowers along the road, and your house is decorated with several shades of blue.” He shrugged. “The power of deductive reasoning.”
“Very observant. Favorite landmark?”
“The Grand Tetons. I think. Maybe. This one’s harder—how about mountains.”
“I think it’s fine to go with landscape instead. I like—”
“The ocean,” Holt interrupted, because he wanted to guess and know he was right. “GB took you and Kit to the shore when you dorks were twelve, and you told me all about it. Every day for weeks.” He glanced out the big windows with an overlook into trees and rolling hills. “But also around Odalia.”
“Yes, also just around Odalia.” Wiley smiled and followed Holt’s glance. “I’m appreciating it more and more lately. And, wow. You remember that?”
“Every day for weeks makes an impression.”
Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103) Page 13