Wedded Bliss

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “What’s she doing?”

  The woman seemed to be trying to jam something into the slot. Something black, it seemed from the place where he’d moved his truck. Bob leaned forward a bit to get a better look. That’s when she spied him.

  Knowing he was well and truly caught, Bob took the only alternative open to him. He swung open the truck door. “Hey, you there. Excuse me, but I need to talk to you a second.”

  Wide eyes turned to collide with his gaze. The woman gave the black thing one last shove with her palm, then made an odd squeaking noise and skittered back toward the cake shop.

  “Wait. Don’t go.” He lunged from the truck and dodged the parking meter to try and catch up to her. Just as she slipped inside, Bob stuck his foot in to keep the door from shutting.

  That was his first mistake.

  Four

  Bliss pressed her shoulder against the door and held the man pinned in place while she fumbled with Neecie’s phone. Where was her cell when she needed it?

  “I’m calling the police,” she said as she tried to dial the number. “I’d advise you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t do that,” the man said. “My foot is stuck.”

  She looked down and saw that what he said was true. She also saw the only way to release him would then free him to come barging through the door.

  “I can’t let you go until the police come.” For emphasis, she banged her palm on the door.

  “Police?” He gave her a stricken look. “As if my day isn’t going down the tubes already. Why in the world would you feel the need to call the police?”

  “You might come back and attack me again.”

  Bliss braced herself against the door and punched a number she hoped would ring at the police station. If only she’d thought to bring her cell phone with her. Fat lot of good it did her sitting on the kitchen counter.

  The phone rang twice. “Flower shop.”

  “Oops, sorry. Wrong number.” Bliss hung up the phone and gave the door another shove.

  “Ouch.” The door rattled as he yanked at the foot she held trapped. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t attack you. If anything, you attacked me.”

  “I did nothing of the sort.” She glared at him through the front door’s wavy glass. “What would you do if a stranger harassed you on a public sidewalk?”

  The man’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to harass you, but if you perceived it that way, then I apologize.”

  She frowned. “Apology accepted. But there’s still the matter of who you are. You wouldn’t even leave a callback number for Neecie.”

  “I thought you were joking. Everyone in three counties knows me. If you’ve flown a plane. . .” He paused to try and wriggle his foot out of the trap. “If you’ve got crops to be dusted or a package to be delivered, chances are you’ve dealt with Tratelli Aviation. Now, come on and let me go. I promise I’ll leave.”

  “Tratelli Aviation?” Bliss blinked hard and once again peered out the door at the man she held captive.

  She studied the broad-shouldered man through the wavy glass. The Bobby Tratelli she knew was a chubby kid with a stutter and unforgettable blue eyes who spent all his time in his best friend, Landon’s, shadow. While Landon threw touchdown passes and made passes at girls, Bobby blocked for him—on and off the field.

  The man on the other side of the door looked as if he’d never been out of the spotlight. Perhaps the company was sold to new owners. That would certainly explain the fact that other than the color of his hair, this man did not resemble the annoying pest she’d tried to ignore all through school.

  “Hey, Bliss Denison? Is that you?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  He adjusted his shades and gave a curt nod. “I heard you were back in town.”

  She tilted her chin, still distrustful.

  “Hey, Bliss, remember that time in junior high when you dared Landon and me to climb in the back window and spend the night inside the sawmill?”

  Her eyes narrowed. How did this man know about that?

  “You told us the dog would eat us if he caught us, but by morning, we had your grandpa’s German shepherd fetching and rolling over.” He paused to chuckle. “Best I can recall, that dog’s name was Killer, at least until we tamed him. After that, I think old Mr. Denison just called him Trip.” He paused. “I believe that stood for Trained Pet.”

  “Trip. He used to let me ride around on his back.” She smiled. “Oh my. I haven’t thought about that dog in years.”

  Then it hit her. Bliss swallowed hard. Her grasp on the door frame slipped, and she grabbed for the handle. If he knew about Trip, then he had to be. . .

  “Bobby?” She shook her head. “Bobby Tratelli? Is that you?”

  He lowered his shades and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Even without the insider information on Grandpa’s dog, Bliss would’ve known those eyes anywhere: denim blue with a rim of gold framed in lashes she’d teased him about in homeroom. But the muscles, the soft Southern drawl without a single misspoken word?

  “Oh my,” she said softly. “What happened to you?” Her gaze swept the length of him. “You used to be, well. . .that is, you didn’t look so. . .that is, you were. . .” Her words trailed off as heat flooded her cheeks.

  Bobby seemed to understand. His grin broadened despite her faux pas. “The summer after graduation, I let my grandpa talk me into signing on for a location shoot on one of his movies. I thought I was going to be the next greatest thing in Hollywood. Turns out the picture was being shot in West Texas. I ended up playing a greenhorn cowboy on a working ranch. I had no idea how hard cowboys work.”

  “By the end of the summer, I’d decided I wasn’t leaving Texas or the ranch life, and I didn’t until Pop decided he needed me to take over for him at the company. When I came home for Christmas that year, I arrived in the middle of the night and snuck into my room, thinking I would surprise them in the morning. Mama called the cops because she thought a stranger had broken into the house and fallen asleep in my bed.” He peered down at Bliss through the glass. “I’ll tell you like I told my mother: It’s me; there’s just less of me to love.”

  Her heart did an idiotic flutter when Bobby broke into a crooked grin.

  What was wrong with her? This was just Bobby Tratelli. The same Bobby Tratelli who followed Landon around like a lost puppy. The goofy guy who took great pleasure in teasing her about everything from her short stature to that store-bought perm her mama insisted would give her straight locks more body.

  Bobby gestured to the ground. “Say, considering we’re old friends and all, do you think maybe you could let me in? That door’s starting to pinch a bit.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” She jumped back and opened the door. “Please, come in.”

  ❧

  Bob rolled into the store shoulder first, then found his balance and landed on his feet. When he straightened up, he caught sight of bead board walls and a broad expanse of counters in matching cypress wood that made the space look more like his grandma Breaux’s old-fashioned kitchen than a store.

  A giant brass chandelier that he recognized from the old Latagnier Bank hung from the ceiling and lit a table covered with baked goods in the center of the room. To his right was a wall of shelves lined with more of the same, interspersed with what looked like antique photographs of Latagnier.

  “Care for some coffee?”

  Bob tore his attention from a picture of his dad standing beside a 1940s vintage P-51 aircraft with a Flying Tigers logo beneath the front propeller. “Coffee? Sure.” He paused. “Say, where did you get this picture?”

  Bliss walked over to stand beside him, then leaned over to look at the photograph. Wow, she smelled good.

  “Oh, I remember this one.” She pulled a pair of reading glasses from her shirt pocket and reached for the picture. “I think it came out of the old VFW Hall. I got a whole box of things when they moved into their new facilities.�
�� A look of recognition crossed her face, and she glanced up at Bob. “Say, isn’t this your dad?”

  “It is,” Bob said.

  The smile on her face made her brown eyes sparkle. “I’d love it if you’d take it,” she said.

  “What? No, I couldn’t,” he said, although he really would have liked to have a copy of it.

  “I insist.” She pressed the frame into his hand and winked. “I dare you.”

  Bob laughed out loud. “I never could resist one of your dares, Bliss.”

  He followed behind Bliss Denison until he smelled the candles. His nose began to tingle, and he had to stop. “Do I smell vanil—”

  A sneeze stopped him in midsentence.

  When Bliss turned around, he pointed to the offending item: a fat, white, three-wicked candle situated in the middle of a bunch of white flowers on the glass-topped counter. Another sneeze nearly blew the blossoms off the table.

  Bliss seemed to understand. A moment later, she’d blown out the candle and headed toward the back of the shop.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said over her shoulder. “I forget that some people are allergic to fragrance.”

  “Not all,” he managed as he waved away the acrid-smelling wisps of candle smoke and slipped into the kitchen a step behind Bliss. “Just vanilla ones.” He shrugged. “Can’t explain it. My wife used to burn all sorts of those things in the house, and it didn’t do a thing to me. Guess she never got around to vanilla.”

  Bliss nodded but did not respond. Rather, she reached for a matching pair of white oven mitts with a red pepper logo on them. “Give me a second to check this, and then I’ll get to that coffee.”

  Bob leaned on the door frame and took in the room. One side seemed to be given over to appliances and cooking spaces, while the other side hosted a cypress sideboard filled with flowery plates and a table of the same pale wood with ornately carved legs and four matching chairs. Something about the dining set seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Have a seat.” Bliss gestured to one of two stools parked near the white-painted cabinets.

  She opened the top door of an industrial-sized wall oven and stood on tiptoe to lift a piece of foil off a pie plate. When she did, a tantalizing scent drifted toward him.

  To Bob’s horror, his stomach growled. Bliss must have heard, because she sent him a sideways glance as she closed the oven door.

  “Hungry?” She chuckled. “Why don’t you stay for supper? I’ve got plenty of crawfish pie for all three of us.”

  All three of us? Bob frowned. Was he intruding on a date?

  “Oh no,” he said quickly, “I couldn’t possibly interrupt your evening.”

  “My evening? Oh, please.” Bliss balled up the foil and tossed it toward the sink, hitting it dead center. “My evening consists of me listening to my mother tell stories about the quilt ladies and her volunteer work at the hospital. Since Mama tends to run out of original material and repeat herself, I would welcome that interruption. I’d also like to know what you’ve been up to since graduation, besides your career as a cowboy.”

  He pretended to consider his options for a second. “Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “Good,” she said as she reached into the freezer and pulled out a container of coffee grounds. As the freezer door shut, she wagged her finger at him. “Just don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when Mama starts telling her tales. She can go all night on the good old days. By that, I mean the magical years before the Cineplex and cable television came to Latagnier.”

  Bob settled himself on the nearest stool and made an X over his heart. “I promise.”

  While Bliss busied herself at the coffeepot, Bob took the opportunity to study his old friend. Back in junior high, she’d played Becky Thatcher to his and Landon’s Tom and Huck. Any adventure they’d concocted, Bliss managed to top.

  And the dares. How many times had an innocent “I dare you” turned an adventure into a week’s worth of punishment from their parents?

  Bob chuckled. Funny how Bliss never managed to get caught.

  She plugged in an ancient coffeepot, then turned to give him a look. “What’re you smiling about?”

  “Just thinking about old times.”

  Bliss crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Well, keep them to yourself, would you? Mama doesn’t know half of the adventures I had, and I’d hate to send her over the edge at her advanced age.”

  “Advanced age? I heard that, Chambliss Rose, and you’d be surprised to find out just how much of your storied past I do know about.”

  “Chambliss Rose?” Bob shook his head. “I’ve known you since third grade and never had any idea that was your real name.”

  Bliss switched off the oven and reached for the mitts again. As she opened the oven door, the room flooded with the smell of crawfish pie.

  “That’s because Mama promised she wouldn’t make me answer to that name. It belonged to my great-grandmother Denison, and Daddy was set on keeping it in the family tree. Something about my grandma Dottie only having boys. Anyway, Mama, however, wasn’t so keen on it. In fact, every year before school started, she would have a talk with my teacher and ask her to call me Bliss.” Bliss paused to rest her hand on her hip. “She only trots it out when she’s trying to make a point.”

  “Advanced age, indeed,” her mother muttered before crossing the room to envelop Bob in a hug. “How are you, Bobby?” she asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said, “except for this twinge here.” He pointed to his boot and tried not to grin. “It’s paining me a bit this evening.”

  Mrs. Denison’s gray brows knitted in concern as she dropped her handbag onto the counter and removed her red coat and matching gloves. “What did you do to that foot of yours, hon?”

  “Got it caught in a door,” he said as he slid a sly wink toward Bliss.

  “Bobby Tratelli, I thought you’d left your awkward days after high school.” Bliss’s mother shook her head. “How in the world did you manage to get your foot caught in the door?”

  “Food’s ready,” Bliss interrupted. She gave Bob a stern look before turning her attention to her mother. “Mama, why don’t you hand me those plates, and I’ll dish us up some crawfish pie. Bobby, if you wouldn’t mind fetching three tea glasses off the sideboard, I’ve got sweet tea ready to pour.” She shrugged. “Or I can pour you the coffee I promised you.”

  “Sweet tea’s fine.”

  Bob grinned and let the subject change. Before he knew what had happened, his belly was full and he’d just finished stabbing his fork into the last bite of ice cream covered peach cobbler on his plate.

  He’d also been entertained with Mrs. Denison’s stories of life in Latagnier back before cable television and the Cineplex ruined the place. In her opinion, anyway.

  “And so you see,” Bliss’s mother continued, “your mama’s family and ours go way back. I’d say it all started with that sawmill and your uncle Ernest. This is one of his tables, isn’t it, Bliss?”

  “It is. The chairs, too, I think. At least that’s what I’ve been told.” Bliss set the coffeepot in the center of the table, then turned her attention to Bob. “Want some more cobbler, Bobby?”

  “I don’t know where I’d put it, but thanks all the same.” He pushed away and set his fork down as the clock began to strike the hour. Where had the time gone?

  Mrs. Denison looked up from her dessert and seemed to be counting the chimes, as well. When they stopped at seven, she glanced over at Bob. “So, I hear tell you’re having a wedding in your family soon.”

  “The wedding!” Bob nearly fell off the stool. “I almost forgot why I stopped by. My daughter’s getting married, and I’m looking for someone to take care of the details.”

  “A pity her mama’s not here to handle that,” Mrs. Denison said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I imagine Karen would have been right in the middle of all this. Probably butting heads with Amy since she’s too much like me.”
/>
  “Yes.” Bliss’s mother smiled. “What with Amy flying those planes and working beside you as if she were a son, she’s a girl after her daddy’s own heart.”

  “A father couldn’t ask for a better child, that’s for sure,” he responded, suddenly missing his dark-haired princess. He’d give Amy a call when he left for home just so he could hear her voice. With any luck, she wouldn’t ask about the wedding.

  “Bobby, when’s the wedding?” Bliss asked.

  “A month from tomorrow.”

  Her brows shot up, and she nearly dropped her coffee cup. “Are you telling me your daughter is getting married a month from tomorrow and you’re just now planning the wedding? I sure hope it’s a small one.”

  He sighed. “Last I heard we had over four hundred responses to the invitations.”

  “Four hundred responses?” Bliss’s eyes widened. “You must’ve sent out a thousand invitations.”

  “You’ve got to take into account all our business associates.” Bob frowned. “Twelve hundred invitations, I think.”

  “You don’t know?” Bliss reached for the coffeepot and poured herself a cup as if to steady her nerves. “One thousand two hundred people have been invited to your daughter’s wedding and you only know the date?”

  Bob shrugged. “Amy had it under control. I just wrote the checks.”

  Mrs. Denison reached over to lay her hand atop his. “Then what happened, hon?”

  “Then she left two weeks ago. It was all under control. That’s what she said.”

  Bliss’s mother patted his hand again. “Well, then I’m sure it is. What’s the worry?”

  “The worry is the wedding planner has run off with the plans.” When the woman looked confused, he tried again. “He couldn’t be reached by phone, so I made a trip to Baton Rouge. The shop was locked up tight with a notice from the law on the door.”

  “That’s not good,” Mrs. Denison said.

  “No, it’s not. I tried every planner in Baton Rouge, but when I told them the wedding was a month away, they all laughed me out of their shops. I couldn’t call my daughter because she’d worry, and my mother’s in California until the end of the month. I know I’ve got more cousins than the law ought to allow, but I can’t think of one of them that I’d trust to run a wedding of this size.”