Velma cleared her throat.
He glanced up from her chest and his daydreams about sweaters.
“Check it out. Aspen gave us these headset radio things. Isn’t that fun?” She held up a set of the two-way radios that clipped on the ear. He used something similar at concerts to talk to roadies and keep tabs on band members.
“What’s next?” Velma placed the headset in the box with the candy.
“You got the pearls?”
Sophie had been abundantly clear about the importance of the pearl necklace. It had belonged to some long-lost aunt, and apparently the happiness of the marriage hinged on her wearing them when Troy tossed his life into the Dumpster and promised her forever.
Velma grabbed the sleek wooden necklace case from the box of individually packaged truffles and handed it over.
He shoved the case into his back pocket. “Chocolates go on the chairs for the guests.”
“Here?” Velma asked.
“Aspen said chocolates go on the chairs for the guests. These are chairs. Those are chocolates.” One plus one equaled two.
Velma didn’t look convinced. “Do you think maybe she meant the reception chairs?”
“No.” He was mostly sure. Guests got chocolate before the wedding while they waited. Yep, that made sense. “Then we’ve gotta head over to the reception hall. Make sure everything’s done. Then we’ve gotta pray Troy doesn’t bail at the last minute.” He started unloading the foil-wrapped truffles Sophie had picked out. “You check on Sophie?”
“I did. She’s getting her hair and nails done in the choir room.” Velma took a handful of the chocolates and laid them out on the chairs. He followed suit along the next row.
“V?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For all you’ve done to help me.” He stared at her a long moment, his gratitude a very real thing.
Velma went still, her expression gentled. “You’re welcome.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out.
Aspen.
“You’re not supposed to be calling me,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“The venue looks great. Did you check on Sophie?” Aspen asked. He could hear her clicking away on her laptop in the background.
“Velma did.” He held the phone against his cheek while he continued tossing truffles on chairs.
“And Troy, somebody check on him?”
“He’ll be here later. I took him coffee earlier.” As Aspen had insisted in her ten-page list of the things-that-must-happen-at-this-wedding. “Bachelor party was epic, but he’s not trashed anymore.”
“You have eye drops in case his eyes are still red?” Aspen was all business.
“No. His eyes are red? That’s his problem. He can be a normal person and wear sunglasses.” Brek was a wedding planner today, not a frickin’ babysitter.
“Absolutely not. That’ll wreck the photos. If his eyes are red, that’s your problem. He can’t have red eyes for pictures. Send someone for drops.”
“Hey V.” Brek held the phone away from his mouth. “We have to run and get Troy pussy-ass eye drops. Aspen says he can’t wear sunglasses like a normal pers—”
“Don’t say ‘pussy,’” Aspen cut him off. “Don’t say ‘fuck.’ Don’t say ‘shit.’ You’re in a church.”
“I’m outside of the church.” Therefore, cussing was still fair game.
“Technicality. You got the stuff I told you to pick up? Tylenol. Granola bars. Sewing kit. All that?”
No, he did not. She’d sent him a ridiculous list of things—including a shower cap, a variety of Band-Aids, and double-sided tape. These were adults who could take care of themselves. They didn’t need him passing out headache tablets and Hello Kitty bandages—that had been one of the specifics on her list. “Everything’s handled.”
“Let me talk to Velma,” Aspen insisted.
Gladly. “V, Aspen wants you.”
He handed the phone over. Velma straightened one of the chocolate boxes so it was perfectly centered. Buttercup ran around her heels as if chasing an imaginary moth.
“Hey, Aspen.” Velma frowned. “I don’t think so. Hang on.” She put her palm over the mouthpiece. “Did you get the stuff Aspen asked you to get?”
“Tell her it’s handled.” He didn’t need Aspen’s heat added to the day. The temperature was already well into the nineties.
“But did you get it?” Velma pushed.
“Tell her it’s handled,” he said again.
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t get it.” Velma flinched at whatever Aspen said in reply. “I’ll work on it… Okay… Sure… I can’t do that to your brother… Then I’d have to touch it… I’m not touching it…”
Velma hung up. “Jacob came home. Aspen had to go. You should turn off your phone and stop answering.”
He tossed a box on the next chair. “If I stop answering, she’ll panic, pull her ass outta bed, drive over here, and then Ma will be pissed at me because she’s not in bed. Jacob will be pissed at me because she’s not in bed, and I’ll be pissed at her because she’s not in bed. So, I keep answering her calls and everyone’s only minimally annoyed.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” The mother of the bride’s nasally voice was hard to miss.
He turned.
Mrs. Winthrop had enough work done on her face to age her down at least twenty years. He knew her type before she set foot on the grass in her red custom Versace gown that came with an honest-as-fuck cape.
“Be a dear and get me an aspirin. I have a killer headache.” She sat and draped herself on one of the chairs.
Velma raised an eyebrow at him. She needed to stop turning him on with her facial expressions when he was in the midst of the wedding of the century without any aspirin for the mother of the bride.
“I have something in my purse. Hang on.” Velma gave him a pointed glance and strutted toward the building.
So, they’d make a pit stop and get everything on Aspen’s ridiculous list. Point made. Although he had no idea why anyone might need a shower cap at a wedding.
“Coming, dear.” Mrs. Winthrop stood and followed Velma.
He finished placing the chocolate in his hand, glanced up, and…shit-fucking-son-of-a-bitch. The woman had sat on one of the chocolates. And by the look of how her ass was covered, apparently the chocolates had melted. Aspen thought the truffles would withstand the heat. She was wrong.
His heart stopped. Just quit. Boom. No more beating.
When the lighting at a show wasn’t just right, his drummer could toss a tantrum better than anyone he’d ever known. When the guitar pick wasn’t the right shade of blue, his bass player had a tendency to lose his mind. Put the whole band together? The energy that made their music top the charts was the same energy that made their fights turn into full-on brawls. But he had a feeling the fit Mrs. Winthrop was about to throw would top anything his boys could’ve imagined.
And she was headed for Velma.
He grabbed the dog’s leash and hightailed it to the door. Buttercup kept up beside him.
Then the scream. The scream that made his blood clot on impact. He yanked open the door and saw that Velma had spilled aspirin all over the Berber carpet tiles in the foyer.
If fury had a color, it would’ve been the shade of Mrs. Winthrop’s face in that moment—mottled red with splotches of pink, white, and even orange. “My dress.”
Little white pills crunched under his boots. “Mrs. Winthrop, it’s gonna be fine. We can fix this.”
How? He had no idea. Nothing would fix this.
The woman’s mouth opened and closed like one of the goldfish Velma had gotten for the tablescapes.
Velma’s eyes were massive round orbs. “The chocolate melted.”
Yeah, he’d gotten that. He snatched up the dog and set him on a nearby table to keep him out of the painkillers. He tossed the necklace box next to Buttercup and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.�
�� He pulled his arms out of the sleeves.
Mrs. Winthrop sucked in a breath.
He didn’t think it was possible, but Velma’s eyes got bigger. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
He shoved his shirt to her. “Go take off your clothes.”
Mrs. Winthrop puffed up like a peacock. “Mr. Montgomery. I don’t know what you’re getting at here—”
“Velma’s gonna give you her clothes. She’s gonna put on my shirt. I’m going to take your dress to get the chocolate out.” Was he the only coherent one of the bunch?
He was the one standing there with no shirt, but he had a plan. Still, the women didn’t move.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” Velma crossed her arms.
“Excuse us.” He nodded to Mrs. Winthrop and scooted Velma to the side.
“Look. This lady has the power to ruin Aspen’s business, and she’s got melted chocolate all over her ass. I need you—I’m asking you—to let her borrow your clothes for thirty minutes while I figure out how the hell to get it out.”
Velma pursed her lips and glared at him.
“Please.” He wasn’t above begging at this point.
“Fine.” Shirt in hand, she marched toward the bathroom.
He let out a relieved breath and dialed Eli. Eli was at the reception hall kitchen, and Brek needed a favor.
“Hey,” Eli said.
Brek stared at the bathroom door, listening to his heart try to beat out of his chest, waiting for Velma. “Need a favor.”
“I have three hundred steaks we’re prepping. So now’s not a good time.” There was a decent amount of pan clanking and activity in the background.
“Need you to run somewhere and grab me a shirt. I saw a tourist shop on the way into town.”
There was a long pause.
“Three hundred steaks,” Eli said again.
Brek was cutting it short before, but now he was running out of time. “I need to preempt the steaks and call in a favor.”
“Why do you need a shirt?” Eli was not grasping the intensity of the situation.
“Don’t ask. How quick can you grab me something?” He glanced down to his bare chest. Aspen would lose her ever-loving mind if she saw him here without his shirt.
“I’m the caterer not your personal assistant.”
Enough was enough. “Remember that time you got your ass tossed in jail, and I bailed you out? Callin’ in that favor.”
Eli heaved a sigh. “Fine. The shirt for you?”
“Yeah. See if they have a dress or somethin’ for Velma, too.”
“What the hell is going on over there?”
“Said not to ask. See you in ten.”
He clicked off his phone and turned his attention back to the bathroom door. Velma came out with a stack of neatly folded clothes. His shirt barely skimmed past her thighs. The air in the room buzzed in his ears and his mouth went dry.
He may have had a pissed-off mother of the bride. He may have had a ticked-off Velma. Hell, even the dog was probably mad at him for something. But the way Velma looked in his shirt? None of the rest mattered.
“Give me your belt.” She set her clothes down and held out her hand.
“Why?”
“Because I’m giving my clothes to someone for you, and I’m wearing your shirt that barely covers my tush. I need your belt.” She made a gimme wave with her fingers.
He pulled the damn thing off. What did it matter at this point, anyway?
She took the belt and tied it around her waist. “Now at least it sort of passes for a dress.”
She was right, if one squinted and turned their head to the side.
“Eli’s on his way.” He snagged her outfit. “He’s bringing us clothes.”
“I have clothes. You’re just giving them away.”
Fair point. He tossed his phone to her. “Look up how to get chocolate out of designer dresses.”
She tilted her head to the side and pretended to be Brek while doing a nearly perfect impression of his sister. “Hey, Velma? Would you be a dear and help me out yet again? I know you’re barely wearing any clothes because I didn’t listen to my sister and pack a wedding planner bag, but would you mind looking something up for me?”
Clothes tucked under his arm, he moved toward her, settling his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, V, for rolling with this. I owe you. And I’m going to make this whole day up to you.”
“See how much nicer that was? You know what I’m going to do for you? I’m going to figure out how to get chocolate out of satin.” She started scrolling through the Internet on his phone.
He wanted to kiss her—full on the mouth, with tongue, everything, but he also didn’t particularly want to be nutted, so he only squeezed her shoulders. “Thank you.”
Velma started her search. Mrs. Winthrop changed and left her gown with him.
“It says we should take the dress to the dry cleaner.” Velma sauntered into the foyer, still swiping through the pages on his phone.
“There’s no time.” A handful of tissues in hand, he poked at the chocolate.
It smeared, doubling the size.
“See, I think that’s why Google wanted us to take it to a dry cleaner.” She was lucky she looked hot in that getup. “Maybe get the tissues wet?”
He grabbed a vase of flowers, chucked the orchids, and drenched another handful of tissues. Using more force than probably necessary, he scrubbed at the chocolate again. The mess smeared more, this time leaving a wet ring around the edges.
“Fuck.” Wiping only made it worse.
“What if we run it under a faucet?” Velma asked. “Hot water might work better than plant-food-infused water?”
“Good idea.”
They headed for the bathroom.
Buttercup made what could only be described as a gagging noise behind him. He turned. The dog had chewed through the box and attacked the pearl necklace. Beads were strewn on the table and fell to the floor among the little white pills.
No. This day was unraveling faster than he could keep up with.
“Oh my gosh.” Velma rushed to Buttercup and pried open his mouth. “I think there’s one in there.”
Buttercup coughed and gasped. Brek threw the dress on the table and grabbed the little dude, holding him against his chest. The dog coughed again.
Brek’s whole body went numb and the energy in the room pulsed. He’d never had official CPR training, but he knew the basics of what he was supposed to do on a human. A canine couldn’t be that different. He put his fingers under Buttercup’s ribs, doing his best attempt at the Heimlich maneuver on a teacup poodle.
Buttercup gagged some more.
“Maybe stick your fingers in there and see if you can grab it?” Velma sounded as panicked as he felt.
“That’s not what you do when someone’s choking.” He continued with little thrusts on Buttercup’s chest.
“He needs oxygen.” Velma’s voice was getting higher and higher.
Normally, Brek wouldn’t consider giving mouth-to-mouth to a canine, but today his boundaries had gone to shit. One more try. “C’mon, little dude.”
Another thrust and the dog did a gag-cough combo. He vomited kibble and three heirloom pearls all over Mrs. Winthrop’s dress.
“What in the actual hell?” Eli asked from the doorway. A plastic grocery sack that read Thank You on repeat across the front hung from his hand.
Funny how as life was fucking you, you noticed the little details.
Buttercup licked Brek’s chin in apparent thanks for saving his life.
“Now that’s gonna need dry cleaning,” Velma said on a gasp from behind her fingertips.
Brek ran a hand over his face. “You at least bring us clothes?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. The tourist shop I found had a limited inventory, but I managed to get something for each of you.” He held up a nightgown with the words Colorado: The Altitude Isn’t the Only Thing High written across the chest and a T-shirt that read
Colorado’s Okayest Tourist over an outline of the state.
“I’m not wearing that,” Velma announced.
“Brek, we’ve got an issue.” Jase maneuvered through the door and paused, glancing from Eli’s ridiculous tourist apparel, to Brek without a shirt, to the ruined dress, to Velma’s thighs. “I can come back later.”
“Just say it.” Might as well get it all over with at once.
“The goldfish aren’t making it. Not all of them, anyway.”
Say what?
“I’m not sure where you got them, but they’re like geriatric goldfish. We’ve got quite a few floaters.”
Brek glared at Velma. “Where’d you get the fish, V?”
“From a guy a lady at work knows about. He gave us a great deal.”
Brek closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This wasn’t happening. This whole day wasn’t happening.
“How many goldfish do we have per table? Can’t you just go back and redistribute them?”
Jase shrugged. “They’ll be uneven.”
“Does that look like the biggest issue we have today?” Brek gestured around the room.
“Point made. I’ll see what I can do.” Jase took a look at the Versace gown. “What’d you do to the dress?”
“Mrs. Winthrop is coming.” Velma snatched up the damn thing and shoved it behind a potted plant. She positioned herself in front of it and crossed her arms.
She looked like a bride who’d gotten caught doing the dirty with the best man.
“Mr. Montgomery.” Mrs. Winthrop was red in the face and huffing and puffing as she hurried toward them. “Sophie’s missing. She’s not with her bridesmaids. No one can reach her.”
His heart jumped clear up to his collarbone. His sister was gonna kill him.
The phone in his back pocket buzzed. He tugged it out and glanced at the screen.
Aspen.
Chapter Eleven
“Velma?” Brek’s voice echoed through the headset.
“Still here.” Velma pushed behind a rack of choir robes in her search through the Estes Park Community Church. Sheesh, the place wasn’t huge. How had they managed to misplace the bride in a building this small?
“Did you check the pastor’s office?” The sharp concern in his voice exposed his nerves.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 11