Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103)

by Elle Brownlee

  “Right. Like we promised.” Holt glanced into the bakery front and caught Kit waving both hands in laughter at their parents. He snuffed his earlier hope and sealed the crack in his heart. “A lot of people are counting on it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Holt sighed, let Wiley get ahead of him, and then followed.

  “Try this one,” Margery said as he approached. “Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate. Or as I called it, heavenly.”

  Holt had a modest bite and pitched his voice low. “I am sorry you found out like you did. Wiley and I….” He wasn’t certain what to say that wouldn’t make her worry. “It all went so much faster than I could keep up with.”

  “Which, maybe it’s better that way.” Margery leaned close. “Your father and I endured a year and a half engagement with his parents and my parents bickering over every detail and wound up with the wedding of his mother’s dreams. It was hardly our wedding in the end. We just showed up to her show.”

  Holt laughed. If only she knew. “Still, I can’t imagine why I didn’t think to tell you.”

  Margery glanced at Wiley and back to Holt. “Oh, sweetheart. I can.” Her quick smile faded. “I’ll admit it was a jolt at first. Even a little bruise. But Kit called and explained, and you know his way of making things make sense.”

  “Don’t I ever. And Dad?”

  “He’s fine. He’s long assumed you’d come home married with a couple of kids before you decided to tell us.” She waved a hand. “Besides, he’s always liked Wiley. Me too.”

  “Me three.” Holt stared as Wiley bantered with Brent and Kit. Had he imagined this, over the years? Returning to Odalia and getting to know Wiley as more than his kid brother’s friend but a great person—an enticing, attractive person he’d never fully allowed himself to want? Holt’s jaw tightened with the sure answer. “I like him a whole lot.”

  “I know, and I’m so glad.” Margery straightened and nabbed the strawberry chiffon. “Let’s return to the important business of cake and deciding our top three so your brother can ignore it and order the cake he’s had planned all along.”

  Holt spent the rest of the morning trying to catch Wiley’s eye or get him alone, but Wiley proved elusive. He put coconut-cherry as his number one flavor on the card Carla handed out and stared at it until his mom tugged it from his hand.

  “You’re almost there and Wiley is almost all yours.” She squeezed his arm. “You’ll make it.”

  “I hope so.” He smiled for her and ignored the dark and doubt trying to take hold in his heart.

  WILEY blinked at the ceiling from the daybed in his office because he couldn’t stand to lie in his bed. Getting back home and picking up their discarded clothes he hadn’t had time to deal with the previous morning—when he’d also thought he’d had all the time in the world—was bad enough.

  Trying to sleep where he and Holt had just been together, in a bed still thick with their scent? Impossible.

  He imagined Miss Sarah would be disappointed with his efforts to get rest. He flopped onto his side to change the view and wished they’d had a lesson tonight. Something to help him get over how his heart had maybe quietly broken over cake and small talk as his mind caught up to the full ramifications of what they’d done and couldn’t have and demanded he see reason.

  Talking to Holt’s family had been nice. In a vacuum. The full force of being with the kind people who were your soon-to-be not-in-laws was far less nice.

  He was relieved their surprise arrival was a huge cluster that Kit had worked to contain and not purposeful.

  But that didn’t make spending the day with them and Holt and keeping his smile up and his distance held any easier.

  It didn’t get him any closer to knowing how to end this. Or how Holt wanted to talk to him about something important and he’d done everything possible to avoid that, even as he was desperate to know what it was.

  His phone buzzed, so loud in the quiet room it startled a yelp from him.

  “Carla?”

  “Wiley, I’m sorry to wake you up, but—”

  “I’m awake. I’ve been awake.” Carla sounded edgy and like she was in a cave. “Where are you?”

  “The staging shed. Don’t imagine the very, very worst, but you should get over here. Now.”

  “On my way.”

  He flew through getting dressed and together and out the door. Wiley mostly walked, so he kept his car in the garage, and the minutes that added to getting away seemed to take forever.

  Wiley drove way over the speed limit, but it was four in the morning and no one was out. Way over the speed limit was as slow as he could endure going, anyway. He kept his eyes peeled for the landmarks that meant he was close to the out-of-business self-storage lot where production rented a huge hangar to warehouse everything gathered and needed for the wedding.

  Good thing. He might not have remembered how to get there otherwise.

  He pulled in and parked behind Carla—the only other car—and ran to the side entrance where a light was on.

  “Carla?” Wiley burst through the door and knew immediately why she called in such a state. He hadn’t been here before to know an exact configuration of waiting boxes and bins, but it didn’t matter. There were no waiting boxes and bins, only disarray. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Are you hurt? Did you get mugged?”

  “I got here and found it like this.” Carla patted a plastic bin set on an otherwise empty table. “I woke up in this cold sweat, realizing I forgot to add rose-gold nonpareils to the fondant tufts on one layer and figured I’d just come over and do it. I have the keycode for the door, and this isn’t early for me, you know. And. Well.”

  Wiley scanned the wreckage for any sign of the cake. “Is it gone?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t find hunks of it anywhere, so I guess whoever did this carted it off with everything else. Even your suits. Who takes suits?”

  “Carla, your cake. No. The whole reason to be in this mess. The only reason you’re here at four in the morning to tuft fondant. For a fake wedding.” A fluorescent bulb hummed incessantly, and he shivered. “It’s cold in here.”

  She nodded. “To preserve the cake and flowers. Those are gone too.”

  “Who takes cake and flowers?”

  “And candles and linens and the ugly stick silverware. And Wiley,” Carla said miserably, “your village. I looked all over but couldn’t find it.”

  Wiley blinked rapidly and cried anyway.

  “Oh, oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Carla pulled him into a hug. “There’s been robberies in town, and Chief Wilkins had a talk with downtown business owners to be on alert, but I never thought about anything like this happening.” She squeezed tighter. “We can figure this out. We have so far.”

  He shook his head against her hair. “I love him,” he whispered. The confession escaped on its own.

  “Oh, oh. Oh, Wiley.” Carla pulled away and took hold of his arms. “I thought so. From almost the start, but I didn’t want to say anything unless you got all stubborn about denying, like you do.” She frowned, and sympathetic tears shone in her eyes. “We can figure that out too. If you want.”

  “I don’t know if he wants,” Wiley said miserably. “He definitely wanted me, and that was incredible….” He blushed as he admitted it, and Carla’s arch look registered as he batted back her rising questions. “Yes, fine, whatever. And the morning after was amazing, and it gave me ideas I never should have had.”

  “Ideas?”

  “Suffice to say I wanted to maybe get married for real.”

  “I knew it,” she exclaimed. “Sorry, just…. Called it.”

  “Points to you, then. And I also thought it could be possible Holt did too.” Wiley remembered the warmth in his belly that whole morning, from waking together and it feeling right, to getting ready in sync with Holt, through walking hand in hand to the bakery. “But then suddenly we were at the bakery and his whole family and the camera crew were there, and it totally threw m
e. Then when I said hey, no regrets, but let’s not dwell on it and move on, he agreed.” He felt himself pout.

  Carla groaned. “Of course he agreed, you lout. What else was he supposed to do? Hustle you behind the pantry racks and have a huge heart-to-heart to hash out the details of probably being in love with you back, with his whole family and the camera crew there? Have you seen how he looks at you? I have. Same way you look at him when you think no one sees.”

  In love with you back zinged around Wiley’s chest.

  “Holt wanted to talk to me about something important. That’s what he said that morning. I thought it was going to be good, but then, the bakery. And things snowballed and now we’re here.” He grimaced when Carla punched him. “Ow! What’s that for?”

  “You earned it. The big hunk you’re in love with wants to make serious talk after an amazing night together and you get in your own way and decide business as usual, then? Of course, he could have come after you and insisted and explained, but of course he didn’t because he’s stoic and only wants to fix things, not cause damage.” Carla huffed. She pursed her lips and glanced around. “Wow, well. That’s too much to sort out all at once. But we will. So, let’s deal with each of the steps for dealing with this and then go from there.”

  Wiley’s mind raced. “Have you called anyone else yet?”

  “No.”

  “That fancy boutique mall you like so much and I rarely let you drag me to is not even an hour away, right? South on the highway?”

  Carla frowned. “Yes. But what does that have to do with working this to for-real marry Holt?”

  “I don’t know.” They connected in Wiley’s mind, but he couldn’t explain it. “But I do know that’s a start, and I have to do something.”

  “Or… you could find Holt and have that talk?”

  “Nope,” he said before he really thought it. He had to do the fixing, and fix this first.

  She sighed. “I like you two together. I always have. Even when we were dorks and he didn’t much notice us, he was always far kinder and cooler to us than Kit ever was. And I’ll do whatever I can to help you make it work. But Wiley, after being in Odalia this long and saying yes to all this—” Carla gestured to the mess around them. “—don’t you dare run now.”

  “I’m not running. I promise. Thank you.” Wiley kissed her cheek and then walked toward the door. He patted his pockets by rote and noted his keys, wallet, phone as adrenaline surged through him. “Okay. You stay here and call the police. And Elaine. She’s probably best to start coping with all this. I’ll be back.”

  “Back from where?”

  “Doing whatever I can.”

  “Wiley,” Carla called. He stopped, and she huffed but waved him on. “Good luck.”

  Chapter Nine

  HOLT paced without cease.

  The mansion swarmed with activity as everyone pitched in to try to rescue the apparent ruin of the wedding. Everyone except Holt, who found he could do nothing but check his phone, pace, grab someone and ask if there’d been any updates, pace, and check his phone again.

  Everyone stayed out of his way.

  He’d given a brief statement to the police, who had come to interview everyone. He’d tried and failed to help Ben arrange seating for the ceremony. His father had talked him down from going in search of Wiley, making the infuriatingly good point that Wiley would know to come here, but Holt had no sure idea where to look for Wiley.

  So he paced.

  For efficiency he had started pacing a circuit. He passed through the mansion, onto the porch, along the front, onto the other porch, and back inside. He avoided the oval patio.

  He counted seven circuits and paused at the room meant for him to get dressed and ready for his not-wedding that was still barreling toward happening, and tried to pull a plan together from the scatter in his mind.

  “Here you are.”

  Holt whirled around and nearly doubled over in relief. “Wiley.” He shook his head. “Here I am? Of course I’m here. Where have you been? Carla said something about a boutique, and you’ve been gone hours and not answering your phone. Are you all right? She said you weren’t hurt but are you hurt?”

  Wiley was pale but grimly determined and holding so many bulging paper shopping bags the handles of several slinked up his arms like bracelets.

  “What is all this?” Holt stepped forward to grab the bags, throw them, and drag Wiley to him.

  He stopped and clenched his fists when Wiley stepped back.

  “There’s more in my car. We should get all this out and make sure it’ll do. I couldn’t get anything exact, but I think it’ll work. It’ll be good enough.”

  “Good enough for what?” Holt rubbed his temple. “Wiley, don’t make me stand here asking endless questions. Why didn’t you answer my texts or talk to me? What is this?”

  “Flower arrangements. Placemats and chargers. Centerpieces—no village buildings, those aren’t upscale enough to find at trendy boutiques.” Wiley’s mouth quivered. “I didn’t get plates. Carla has plates. Chef Pete has to have plates.”

  “What do I care about goddamn plates?” Holt roared.

  Wiley rose to his full height and nodded once. “Well. Someone might.”

  He opened his hands and dropped the bags in a quick succession of dull whacks. One snagged at his wrist and he unceremoniously ripped it free, tossed it on the rest, and then turned on his heel and walked resolutely away without looking back.

  “Wiley,” Holt called and started after him but tripped on the pile of bags.

  He growled and kicked the pile. Twice. Then he started to see what Wiley had gotten.

  Nothing matched the notebook clippings or paint chips or plan. No pale colors, no pearl sheen, no fucking rose gold. Textured fabric in colors warm and earthy, hand-turned wood, rustic bouquets of wildflowers. Holt dug in a bag, and out tumbled several ceramic bowls. Down in one stood two goats, and in another, a fat pig.

  He buried his head in his hands and groaned.

  Then something occurred to him, breaking over his gloom and confusion like sunlight. He jack-knifed to stand and tore from the room.

  “Wiley?” He careened through the mansion.

  Elaine and then Janet and then Ben pointed. Front, outside, down the lawn.

  Holt launched from the porch and ran.

  Wiley hadn’t even gotten that far, but Holt felt every jarring step.

  “Wait,” he called and sprinted the final distance. He only caught his breath because Wiley came to a stop. “Kit would hate everything.”

  Wiley tensed and then his shoulders fell, but he didn’t turn around.

  “I looked in the bags. I get it, but I don’t.” Holt inched closer to and then around Wiley. He said what he hadn’t been able to stop thinking and hated more than anything. “That could have been it, you know—our exit.”

  Wiley looked at him at that.

  Holt nodded. “And who could blame us if we postponed our dream wedding after everything got ransacked and ruined?”

  He watched Wiley’s eyes widen in realization and hoped Wiley had thought only to save the wedding for the same reason he’d paced, unable to concentrate on doing anything about it with Wiley gone.

  “Even if production could scrounge up replacements, we could say the upset was too much, that it felt wrong to go ahead, any number of things. It’s a sympathetic story. People would understand.”

  Holt hooked a finger under Wiley’s chin. “Coy.” His voice cracked and he swallowed. “Please tell me.”

  “And we needed that exit more than replacement anything, didn’t we? Why replace what you’re not—” Wiley huffed a short laugh. “I didn’t even think about that. All I could think about was fixing it. For Carla and her cake—they even stole her cake. And your family. The show, well, the crew. And even Kit.”

  Holt let Wiley ramble, but it wasn’t the answer he longed for.

  Wiley went quiet for a bit and then asked, “What did you do?”

&nb
sp; “Do? When?”

  “While I was gone. Build some benches? Toss together a rose-covered trellis? Make Kit a fainting couch?”

  “Wished you back here with me.”

  Wiley frowned. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all I could manage.”

  Wiley let out a low, soft breath. “Is it still a good story if we bravely go forth and not cancel?”

  “Motivation?” Holt’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Can-do spirit. Save the show.” Wiley stared into Holt’s eyes. “Because all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to marry you.”

  “And why would that be?”

  Wiley smiled. “I love you.”

  Holt closed his eyes and fought to breathe. He easily found Wiley’s lips with his and pulled them into a tight embrace. He kissed Wiley’s ear and eyebrow and dimple and chin, went up the other side, and drew reluctantly back.

  “I love you. So much.” Holt traced the curve of moles on Wiley’s cheek and thrilled at the heat of Wiley’s blush under his touch. “I think that would probably be the best story ever told.”

  “Okay, good. Let’s do that, then.” Wiley leaned back. “So we’re clear, I don’t care about plates either. Or the wedding.”

  “Not the wedding?”

  “Just the marriage.”

  Holt had to kiss Wiley again. Hard. “Then let’s get married.”

  WILEY let Kit fuss with his bow tie and pocket square and smiled as Holt walked into the room.

  “It’s too late for you not to see each other, but you know you’re not supposed to see each other.” Kit gave a final primp and moved to admire his work. “You’ll do. It is a very good thing this shifted to plucky and sincere in the face of adversity, because the fashion and everything else that shifted—not my standard.”

  Holt held out his arms and surveyed his outfit. “Maybe not, but I’m comfortable.”

  “Of course you are, Holty dear, you’re in your own terrible clothes.” Kit adjusted Holt’s tie. “It’s good you had something resembling a suit. I was about to make you wear Dad’s.”