“Cat!” Tara hissed in her ear.
She opened her eyes to see her friend’s wild and frenzied appearance before her. “I’m in the middle of a dance, Tara.” As if that fact weren’t obvious.
“Oh my God!” she squealed. “Did you see who’s here?”
“If you’re going to claim a celebrity sighting at my wedding I’m going to have you committed,” Catherine growled.
“I just realized who that guy is!” Tara said, pointing at the tuxedoed best man and then ducking behind the two of them the best she could. “He cleans up good. Nice chin. Almost didn’t recognize him without the beard and the fuddy-duddy cop suit.”
“What are you talking about?” Catherine asked, playing dumb. She’d been waiting for this moment. It was like a practical joke had fallen right in her lap, and after all she and Tara had been through over the past weeks it only seemed fair to let it play out.
“The guy,” Tara said, teeth gritted as she tried not to make any sudden movements to draw attention to herself. “You know…. The one from Illinois… who we met… when you were moving. The one who—” She stopped like she suddenly smelled a rat. “Do you know him?”
“No. He just showed up today,” Catherine said simply, not batting an eye. She was enjoying Tara’s consternation. But it was true that she didn’t know him, at least not as Jason Banks, best man. And he had just gotten in today. Of course Detective Banks was another story.
“You mean he infiltrated the wedding party? Is this a sting?”
“Maybe you should ask him,” Catherine said blandly.
But Tara wasn’t listening. “I knew I should have gone blonde for the wedding. I told you a bridesmaid of each color would have totally rocked. And I would have been incognito. Now look at me—shamefully recognizable.”
“What about me?”
“At least you have a veil.”
Catherine snickered.
“Seriously, what if he’s here to arrest us for leaving the state? … What if he has handcuffs right there in his pocket? I can’t go back to jai—” She stopped, looking to Fynn, realizing she’d said too much.
“I thought you were into handcuffs,” he said, a smirk on his face.
Tara scowled at him, ill-humored.
“He knows all about our run-in, Tara,” Catherine admitted, patting her man—her husband!—on the chest.
“She probably told you it was all my fault, too,” she said darkly.
“Pretty much… but I don’t believe her.” A twinkle in his eye.
“His name’s Jason by the way…. The best man—aka Detective Banks,” Catherine admitted. “He’s an old friend of Mr. Joel Trager here. And he’s here for the wedding and that alone.”
Rather than looking beaten, Tara was thoughtful. “Is this Detective Banks single?” A wicked gleam replacing her jittery panic.
“Yes,” Fynn said warily
“And is he born and raised in Illinois by any chance?”
“Tara!” Catherine exclaimed.
“I was just wondering.”
“And now for the traditional cutting of the cake!” the DJ announced, interrupting all else.
“Oh shit,” Catherine said under her breath. She’d forgotten all about the cake since this morning—lost in absolute joy and unabashed excitement.
“What’s wrong?” Fynn asked. “Did I step on your foot?”
“No. It’s just—first of all I want to remind you that I love you. And second—”
But she was too late. The cake was on its way, rolling toward them, and Fynn’s mouth dropped open in shock as it started to come unglued.
“What the—”
“I—I can explain,” Catherine said quickly, wringing her hands together, grabbing for her wedding ring and spinning it on her finger as if trying to screw it on more tightly so he couldn’t slip it off her and leave and pretend they were never married at all—an annulment before the first piece of cake was even cut—or more accurately, grabbed before it rolled onto the floor. We should never have used Ring Dings.
At least the Devil Dog layer was staying put.
Fynn looked like he was holding back an explosion—expletives? vomit? laughter? Catherine hoped this part wasn’t being caught on camera, hoped the photographer was busy tossing dog biscuits to other unsuspecting wedding guests instead of shooting the cake, and hoped the young videographer (another cousin of Tara’s) was busy taping people’s feet like he had during the entire wedding ceremony.
“Are you okay?” she asked, against her better judgment.
“What happened to the cake?” A perplexed squint on his face.
“It looks like it should have stayed in the fridge,” Catherine admitted. Lacey had warned them about that possibility. But they couldn’t leave it at her house. And there was no fridge space for the cake here what with everything else that was being served.
“But what is it made of?” he prodded.
“I’m no expert here, but I would say Ring Dings and Devil Dogs,” she squeaked.
“I thought we picked out a lemon cream—”
“Of course we did,” she said forcefully. “I don’t know what kind of establishment—” But she couldn’t keep up the charade. “I lost the cake,” she blurted. “I lost everything.” She looked up into his bewildered face, sheepishly, fluttering her lashes and reaching her right hand to clasp her left and protect her wedded finger again.
“Catherine, you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” Fynn said in a mock Cuban accent.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I mean, I had the whole thing under control. The whole wedding—the linens, the photographer, the DJ, the—”
“Speaking of DJ, I thought we had a band,” he said, bemused.
Sure, that part you remember. “We had a lot of things. But after we broke up, I canceled all of it—”
“We were back together by the next week.”
“I know. But when I tried to un-cancel, our wedding planner, Tara’s Cousin Vinnie, had already sold everything out from under us.” She shot daggers at her friend who was standing at two o’clock in the background, then turned back to Fynn again. “I was an idiot and I didn’t want you to know that I had lost everything by being rash and impulsive and ridiculous.”
“But I know you’re all those things,” he said plainly.
“I just wanted it to be perfect.”
“I didn’t choose perfect. I chose you.”
She smiled. “Warts and all?”
“Well… hives and all,” he chuckled, kissing that pesky spot on her neck that she’d tried to hide with makeup.
“That bee disease just won’t go away,” she mumbled.
“Maybe if you’d stop getting into trouble,” he offered.
“A toast!” Georgia proclaimed, her voice booming through the speakers over top of everything. “To the bride and groom: Fynn, you bring the common sense to this relationship; Cat, you bring the nonsense. Together you guys make all the sense in the world!”
Catherine looked into Fynn’s unwavering gaze and saw forever right there in his eyes.
2 ‘Til Series by Heather Muzik
2 Days ‘Til Sundae
2 Months ‘Til Mrs.
2 Weeks ‘Til Eve (Fall 2013)
Other Novels by Heather Muzik
Celia’s Journey
Apathetic
Or Forever Hold Your Peace
The Fairytale Mother
Visit http://www.heathermuzik.com for more information about Heather Muzik and her work, including book club interviews and the latest information about upcoming releases.
Contact: [email protected]
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2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) Page 37