by Beth Carter
Suzy rubbed her belly. “Two to three weeks.”
“Two or three weeks?” Alex asked. “We need to book the venue now.”
“Easy. It has to be at Coconuts,” Hope said. “That’s where Suzy had her reveal party.”
“Plus, it’s our favorite hangout,” Cheri added.
“Our oasis,” Suzy, Alex, and Hope said in unison.
Alex set her phone on the table. “If we have it early on a Sunday evening, Gus will let us name the date. I’ll get with him and text everyone soon.”
“Perfect.” Suzy rubbed her temples. “The twins will be here soon.”
“What are you naming them?” Alex asked.
“Have you finally decided?” Hope asked.
“Will their names rhyme?” Cheri asked. “Alliterate? Start with the same letter? I love baby names.”
All three women swiveled toward Suzy. “I think I’ll tell you at the shower. Ken and I can tell you together. Tonight, I desperately need some entertainment. My pepperoni pizza cravings and middle-of-the-night leg cramps are getting old. That, plus I’m bigger than my SUV.” Shifting position yet again in an obvious attempt to get comfortable, she turned to the New Yorker. “Cheri, how’s the cowboy? I want to hear a love story.”
Taking a deep breath, the socialite said, “I think I told you guys Sebastian made a big scene when he caught Cole and me in the woods while we were having a picnic.”
Alex leaned forward. “Yeah and we didn’t even know you were engaged. But what about the cowboy?”
Cheri ran her fingers through her sleek hair. “Sebastian, my then-fiancé, enticed me back to New York, saying my parents had flown in from Europe, People Magazine supposedly had the exclusive, and Mom had hired a superstar to perform.” Cheri shivered.
“It was all a lie. When I ended my engagement publicly on the sidewalk of Manhattan, paparazzi jumped out of the bushes. I can still see the camera flashes.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I fell for his deceit about the extravagant event because it was exactly something my mother would do, remember?”
The sides of Hope’s mouth twitched. “I remember saying it was almost a mirror image of my life.” She snorted. “Not.” She waved her hand dramatically. “Sorry, go on. Did you fly back to tell the cowboy?”
“After breaking up with Sebastian, I took care of a couple of things at Fifth Avenue Catering since my head chef quit, then I flew back as soon as possible. After I landed in Crystal City, I drove directly from the airport to Soggy Bottoms, Cole’s farm.” Cheri paused, remembering the flat tire, hilly roads, and wondering if she’d make it in one piece—and most of all whether he’d forgive her. “He, uh—” Grinning, Cheri chewed on her bottom lip. “Damn, he looked handsome. I can still see Cole standing on his front porch wearing tight jeans, an even tighter tee, with his arm propped up against the doorframe. He rather enjoyed letting me sweat.”
“And?” Alex asked. “Did he forgive you or not?”
Suzy cocked her head. “Alex, I’m enjoying the romantic tension. Do you always have to be such a bottom line person?”
“Yes. I’m blunt in case you hadn’t noticed all these years.” Alex crossed her arms. “Does he know exactly who you are now? The rich part, I mean?”
Cheri stared at the circulating palm frond blades of the overhead fan. “Yes and no.”
“I hate that answer,” Alex said.
Hope put her chin on both hands. “I’m enjoying this drama too. Go on, Cheri.”
Feeling her face flush and glad the bar was dark, Cheri continued. “He invited me in—oh, first he carried me over the threshold.”
“That’s so romantic.” Hope winced. “No one would be able to pick me up like that. I should think about dieting.” She eyed the chips and salsa and shoved two into her mouth. Mouth full, she said, “But I like food too much.”
“Now, who is interrupting?” Alex put her hands on her hips. “Are you ever going to get to ‘the end’?”
“Okay, okay. After we got inside his house, I told Cole my entire name: Cheri Van Buren. He didn’t even blink. I could tell it didn’t click.”
Alex feigned shock. “The cowboy doesn’t follow the New York society pages?”
“I’m sure he knows how to Google,” Suzy said.
“We got interrupted before I could tell him everything. I didn’t even get a chance to tell Cole I own Fifth Avenue Catering in Manhattan.”
“Oh, hell,” Alex said. “So this is to be continued. What interrupted you?”
Cole insisted on fixing my flat tire, got me some lemonade, and before I drank half of it, a guy who helps him with his cattle banged on the front d—”
“Damn bad timing,” Alex said. “What was so urgent?”
“He said a cow was giving birth, and the calf was breech. Cole jumped up and said he had to attend to the cow immediately or he might lose them both.” She sighed. “He mentioned his vet was on vacation, said the birth could take all night, and ran toward the field with the guy.” She shrugged. “What could I do? I reluctantly drove home. We haven’t had a chance to talk in person since because he went to a cattle auction in Oklahoma for a few days, and I’ve been busy with my catering business.” Brightening, Cheri said, “But we have a date soon and I’m telling him everything before he figures out my pedigree. I really like that country boy and don’t want to risk losing him again.”
“Did you say breech, as in butt first?” Alex’s forehead wrinkled. “There has been way too much baby talk tonight. Our lives are veering in strange directions.”
Suzy attempted to cross her legs and gave up. “That’s unfortunate but at least you came clean about your full name. It’s not your fault that you were interrupted. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to explain everything soon, hon.” Suzy turned toward Hope. “What’s going on with you, friend?”
Hope stared at her hands. She had already decided this wasn’t the time to mention the flowers or upcoming date with Tucker. She adored her girlfriends but was like an adolescent—maybe a toddler—compared to them when it came to men.
“Hope? Anyone there?” Alex asked.
“Just school stuff. Same old grind.” Unable to meet her friends’ eyes since she had just told a fib, Hope reached for the last chip and dunked it into the salsa. As it was halfway to her mouth, she asked, “Did anyone want this?”
Suzy, Alex, and Cheri broke into a fit of giggles. “Not now,” they said in unison.
Waving to get the server’s attention, Alex said, “Another round, ladies?”
Cheri shook her head. “I have an early morning conference call. Another time.”
“I couldn’t possibly drink another Shirley Temple.” Suzy giggled and half rolled off the bar stool. “I can’t believe I can still get on this tall chair.” Her belly rubbed against the table, moving it a few inches. “See? I bump into everything. Ken worries about me since I’m close to my due date.” Patting her purse, she said, “I’ve felt my phone vibrate two times in the past five minutes. I’m heading home, ladies.”
Before Suzy had her purse over her shoulder, a short, bald guy dressed in a gray and white pinstriped tux rushed inside. Alex gasped. “That must be the groom. Sit back down, Suzy. You too, Cheri. You can’t miss this.” As the groom-to-be searched the darkened bar, Alex yelled, “You’re a little late, jackass. She’s over there.”
He nodded, as if saying he knew, and bolted for the bar. Alex noticed his bride-to-be was barely able to sit atop her bar stool, even though her bridesmaids had been plying her with coffee for nearly an hour.
Alex grinned. “This will be good.”
“I’ll text Ken. I’m not leaving until this plays out.”
Hope and Cheri sat riveted and stared.
The women couldn’t hear what the groom said, but after stroking his b
ride-to-be’s face, smoothing her hair, and rubbing her back, she stood and pressed against him. Towering a good six inches over him, the groom-to-be kissed her neck, practically licked her heaving breasts, and probed her mouth with his tongue. After several wet, sloppy kisses, a college kid in a football jersey yelled, “Get a room.”
Undeterred, the couple continued their makeup session.
“Ew. That’s a little much.” Alex scrunched her face. “I think they deserve each other.”
The groom came up for air only long enough to yell, “Is there a minister in the house? I want to marry this gorgeous woman right here, right now.”
Two bridesmaids clapped and dabbed the bride’s face with wet wipes to remove makeup smudges. Another affixed her false eyelash while one handed her a tube of red lipstick. As the bride reached for a compact, applied lipstick, and readjusted her barely-there wedding gown, a genteel man in the back stepped forward. “I’m an ordained minister.”
The room erupted in cheers as Alex, Suzy, Hope, and Cheri sat agog. Alex turned to her friends, “If the preacher asks if anyone has an objection, I’m raising my hand.”
“Why?” Cheri asked.
“For the hell he put her through.” Alex sipped her chardonnay and stared at the couple.
Suzy frowned. “You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”
Crossing her arms, Alex said, “What do you think?”
Gus moved a table away from the corner to make space, the bridesmaids straightened their god-awful dresses and stood beside the bride. Once the minister stood before them, the bride and groom held hands. It was a quick, abbreviated ceremony as seemingly everyone at Coconuts stopped chattering and gawked.
Before the minister pronounced them man and wife, the groom turned to face the crowd, “I’d like to say something. I want to apologize publicly to this wonderful woman who is going to be my wife. I ruined your perfect day, snookums.” The bride started blubbering again before he got the words out. “Wait, baby. I want to say this.” He cleared his throat for emphasis as the entire roomful of customers watched. “Earlier, I got cold feet after my parents leaned on me to cancel the wedding, but”—he reached for her hand—“my parents may not approve of your gorgeous sexiness, but I love you more than pizza and beer.” Everyone laughed, including the bride who said, “I love you too, fuzzy wuzzy.” She rubbed his bald head, and they began deep-throat kissing again.
“Ick. I wonder if they’ll make it out of the parking lot before consummating their marriage.” Alex snorted. “We have a new standard, ladies. We only have to find someone who loves us more than pizza and beer.”
The ceremony was over in five minutes. Gus provided complimentary champagne to the wedding party as everyone hooted and applauded.
Alex stole another glance at the unorthodox wedding revelry. “And they all lived happily ever after. Don’t you just love weddings, girls?”
~ ~ ~
Once she was inside her Honda, Hope chuckled about the crazy ceremony and realized for the first time in her life, she wanted to hear from Tucker rather than stay at Coconuts with her friends. She didn’t know how she felt about that. It was odd, exhilarating, and untested. But she couldn’t wait to see him.
As she drove, she glanced at her brown Timex. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade to an Anne Klein watch, maybe silver or gold. Something slightly flashy for once. She daydreamed about her upcoming date. I wonder if we’ll ever have a make out session like that bride and groom. She giggled. I hope so.
Chapter 7
The week had dragged, and Friday was one of the longest days of Hope’s life. Her stomach butterflies prior to tonight’s date with Tucker almost made her sick with anticipation. As she stared at a document for a transfer student, Willow, the art teacher, a.k.a. her adoptive hippie dad’s new wife, poked her head in Hope’s office.
As the final bell rang, Willow spoke above the sound. “Hiya, Hope. Mac and I are going camping over the weekend. We have my VW Microbus and bought a big tent—it’s used but in good condition—if you want to join us. I’m bringing everything to make burgers and s’mores.” Sporting prematurely gray braids, Willow stared at Hope almost pitifully. “Do you have any plans?”
For once, Hope did have weekend plans, but she hadn’t told a soul about her date. Not one. She forced a smile. “I’ve got a hot date with a pizza and a novel.”
“Suit yourself,” Willow said. “Have a good one.”
“You too.” As Willow stepped across the hall, Hope heard her armful of bangle bracelets clang together. She was happy Willow and Larry—Mac to everyone else due to his amnesia after the horrific train accident—had gotten married, but the last thing she wanted to do was spend the weekend with them. Ever since the tragic accident, he had insisted on calling himself Mac. Hope often slipped but found it easier to go along with the charade since his memory didn’t appear to have any indication of returning. Glancing up, she noticed Larry-Mac mopping a spill in the hallway. Willow pinched his behind, and Hope grimaced. I can’t unsee that.
She logged off her computer, checked her calendar for Monday morning, and grabbed her purse. She barely had enough time to make it to the nail salon. I’m beginning to cut things close like Alex. Stomach in knots, Hope rushed through the squeaky clean hallways, told several students to have a good weekend, and unlocked her car in the parking lot. She Googled the directions for Fancy Nails and turned down National Avenue.
Hope couldn’t believe nearly every chair in the salon was taken. Women must treat themselves all of the time. I’ve got to get out more.
A nail tech rushed over and asked, “Gel or regular?”
“Huh?” Hope glanced around the shop. “What’s gel?”
The friendly, petite salon employee threw a handful of fake nails with every color under the rainbow—and then some—on her lap. In broken English, she said, “Pick color. Gel best. Won’t smudge. Dry fast.”
Nodding, Hope said, “I definitely want one that won’t smudge. I’m not the neatest per—”
“Ready? Pick color.”
Hope felt rushed as she attempted to sort through the vast array of colors. She spotted reds, corals, greens, blues, purples, silver, and gold. She smiled when she saw a soft pink. Pointing, she said, “This one.”
“Pretty.” The salon tech filled the tub with water and instructed Hope to place her feet inside. “Too hot?”
Immediately feeling more relaxed, Hope said, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
The employee held the bottle of pink polish in the air. “Same color on toes?”
Hope nodded as the young woman turned on the chair’s vibrating back massager. She had never felt so indulgent. After trimming her nails and cuticles, the tech expertly applied polish on Hope’s fingers and toes, followed by a clear top coat. As her toenails dried, the woman smeared a green sludge over Hope’s legs and began massaging them. Have I gone to heaven? The scent of eucalyptus filled the air. Leaning back, Hope made a note to get a mani-pedi more than once in a lifetime. If I were a dog, I’d be drooling.
After the massage, the woman placed hot towels on Hope’s legs. “Want flower on toes?”
“I don’t think so. Well, maybe. What do you think?”
The beautiful Asian woman said, “Definitely. If you not like, I’ll paint over.”
“Okay, I trust your judgment.” Hope watched as the woman with the glistening jet black hair perfectly applied white circles that she eventually formed into petals. With tweezers, she placed a tiny silver dot in the middle. Beaming, she asked, “You like?”
“I love.” Hope couldn’t believe she was staring at her own feet. “Thank you. You’re quite an artist.”
Feeling more confident for her date, Hope hugged the sweet woman, paid for the service, and tipped her generously.
Hope drove home in a dreamy state a
nd decided the salon treatment had to be as fine as Alex’s best mega shopping day.
Chapter 8
Cheri had barely dialed her former chef’s phone number before he answered.
“You must be desperate after seeing that asshole’s article,” Chef O’Leary said. “Clark Uppity Rigby wouldn’t have done that to me.”
Cheri bided her time. She knew she had to suck up to her former chef if she had any hope of getting him back. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have, Chef. So, are you available to return?”
“That was fast. Are you sure you want me back? I thought Julio was your private family chef,” Liam O’Leary said.
“Former family chef.”
“Whatever. You seemed perfectly happy to allow him to take control of”—he raised his voice—“my kitchen.”
Cheri remained silent, knowing he was entitled to his outrage.
Finally Chef O’Leary cleared his throat. “I’ll consider returning on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I want a ten thousand dollar a year raise.”
Cheri’s eyebrows shot up, even though he couldn’t see her. He had her by the apron strings. “Done.”
Speaking fast, using half Irish and half American, he added, “And I’m wearin’ my kilt to work every day. I don’t give a shit who doesn’t like it. That damn dishwasher had better stay out of my way—the one who always said I was wearing a girl’s skirt—the little prick.”
“He was fired for drinking on the job,” Cheri said. Knowing Chef O’Leary took great pride in his green, blue, and yellow plaid kilt representing his Celtic heritage and home country of Ireland. Cheri added, “I love your kilt, but it must be hot in that kitchen.”
“I don’t mind. I’m glad that little arse was fired.” The chef paused. “I have one more condition.”