Chapter 2

two

“Whoa!” I grab Calla by the waist and yank her out of the way just in time to save her from a chef rolling a cart heaped so high with rolls that he can’t see my wife.

Calla shoots me a thankful look. “That was almost a disaster.”

“This room is a disaster.”

The venue is a battlefield of pastel carnage. Calla and I step through the doors. We both stop and stare. A lopsided arch of balloons threatens to decapitate a toddler. The buffet table looks like it was ransacked by a herd of starving groomsmen. A large area at the end of the reception area is empty, presumably missing a cake.

I stifle a laugh. Calla looks like she might cry.

"Well, this is... festive," I say, giving her a sidelong glance. She's wearing a navy-blue dress that hugs her curves just right. Of course, she’s also got matching Converse sneakers. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, making her look even more like the disapproving headmistress of a finishing school for wayward brides.

It’s very sexy if you have a thing for schoolteachers.

"They didn't even iron the tablecloths," she mutters, more to herself than to me. "And who left the dessert table empty? It's unsightly.”

I shrug. "Maybe they’re going for a deconstructed look."

“Shh.” She sticks out her tongue at me. "This is why couples hire professionals. If they had called me in the first place, they’d have more than cupcakes to feed hungry guests."

“You tell ‘em, Lily.”

Calla gives me a smirk and pushes her bakery cart across the room. I follow and we both start piling cupcakes on the table. She’s a bit more artful about it, arranging them like sprays of flowers. I try to help by getting all the cupcakes off the cart and then wheeling the cart into the kitchen.

We find our seats near the back of the room, dodging a rogue flower girl who’s wielding her basket like a mace. Calla sits with the posture of a drill sergeant, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with the precision of a sniper. I lean back and take in the spectacle. There's a certain charm to the chaos. It’s a bit like watching a toddler's first attempt at finger painting.

A man in a too-tight tux rushes to the front of the room and taps a glass with a fork. The dull thud of metal on crystal cuts through the din, and the crowd quiets.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says nervously. "We have an announcement."

Calla sits up even straighter, if that's possible. I can almost see the thought bubble above her head: Oh no, they're calling it off. Since my first disastrous wedding, she keeps expecting it, somehow.

"The DJ has come down with food poisoning," the man calls out. "He's in the hospital and won't be able to make it. Does anyone have a wedding playlist that we can put on shuffle?"

A collective gasp ripples through the guests. Calla's hand flies to her mouth. For a moment I think she's going to join in. She looks at me, stricken. "Poor couple. They worked so hard for this."

I nod, but I'm not too worried. "I'm sure they'll find someone else," I say. “Or just use the internet, somehow.”

"Excuse me," a voice says. We turn to see the groom, looking as pale as his cummerbund. "Jay, Calla. We're so glad you could make it. Calla, we love your baking on Insta."

"Congratulations," Calla says carefully. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

The groom runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Y’all heard. We're screwed."

"You're not screwed," Calla says, slipping into her professional tone. "You can get a replacement DJ here in twenty minutes. I’ll call around."

The groom's eyes flicker with a spark of hope. "Really? That would be amazing."

Calla reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. She starts scrolling through her contacts.

I put a hand on the groom's shoulder. "If worse comes to worst, I can always DJ. I’m not official, but I know how the basics work."

Calla's head snaps up. "You are? Since when?"

“Since my junior year of high school.” I wink at her. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

The groom looks like he's just been offered a life raft. "Jay, would you? That would be incredible. You'd save the day."

Before I can say anything, Calla cuts in. "He'd be honored.”

She clutches my hand and I know by now that’s code for please just do it .

"Thank you, thank you," the groom says, clasping my hand like a drowning man. He rushes off to tell the bride. I turn to Calla, arching an eyebrow.

"Honored, huh?"

She shrugs. "He seemed really put out. I would be too!"

"Calla… I was joking about DJing. They should have someone real do it."

She slowly puts her phone back in her purse. "They want you, Jay. Besides, a familiar face will make it more personal. And if you mess up, I can always step in and save the day."

I laugh. "You think I’ll mess up?"

"I think you'll be amazing.” She straightens my tie and runs a hand through the hair near my ear. Her fingers touch my ear. For a moment, I consider throwing Calla over my shoulder and finding the nearest room the locks. I love when she grooms me.

"You know that grooming me is the way to get me to say yes to anything," I say.

She kisses me. “I just wanted to seal the deal.”

The reception hall is a kaleidoscope of polka dots and sequins, with a soundtrack to match. Now, though, the party is in danger of flatlining. The PG Party Rock Anthems playlist I put on is not setting the reception on fire. I look over at Calla, who is scrolling through her phone She notices me watching and raises an eyebrow.

"What?" she mouths.

"I'm thinking someone needs to save this reception."

She shrugs. "It’s going okay, I think. I don’t know what to do to make it more fun."

“I think I do.” I stand up and loosen my tie.

Calla looks up, curious. "What are you doing?"

"Something dangerous," I say. I make my way to the dance floor, beckoning to her as I go. Stevie Wonder croons and I dance along to the beat. I’m not the greatest dancer but I have no shame and plenty of rhythm. I catch a glimpse of Calla. Her expression shifts from skepticism to decided amusement. It’s enough to keep me going.

I beckon to her but she just shakes her head. It seems like I will have to do some more convincing before my pretty little wife joins me. So be it!

I grab the hands of a couple dancing nearby and pull them into the fray. They resist at first, but the infectious silliness of my dancing wins them over. I shout out instructions for the dance moves over the music: "One-two-three. One-two-three, spin!"

The crowd starts to take notice. Thankfully, a few brave souls trickle onto the dance floor.

"Come on! Show the happy couple that you are enjoying yourselves!” I call. I shimmy and do the sprinkler, catching Calla’s eye again when I do. She still eyes me like she’s not sure if I’ve gone crazy, so I do a loop around the dance floor, bopping as I go.

Laughter mixes with the music as more people join in. The once-empty dance floor is now a swirling mass of bodies. Each person adds their own flavor of awkward enthusiasm.

I spot the bride and groom, hand in hand, bouncing along with the rest of us. They look happy, and I’m glad. This is how it’s supposed to be.

I make my way back to Calla, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Calla hands me a glass of water, which I gulp down in one go.

"Nice moves," she says. “I think all the party needed was a little enthusiasm.”

"Thanks." I wiggle my eyebrows at her, which makes her laugh. “I am a font of enthusiasm.”

She rolls her eyes, but I notice she’s grinning. "You really didn’t have to do that, you know."

"I know. But I’m telling you, it was fun."

As the music keeps its lively tempo, Calla stands and smooths her hands down her dress.

"Come on," she says, extending a hand. "Let’s cut a rug.”

“I would never say no to you, Mrs. Rustin.”

I take her hand, and she leads me to the dance floor. We slip into a medium tempo dance, holding each other with surprising ease.

"One-two-three, one-two-three," I whisper. Calla shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re incorrigible.”

The bride and groom whirl past us, caught up in the chaos. I hope they know what they’re getting into. Marriage is a dance, and sometimes the music changes when you least expect it.

The dance floor is a patchwork of sweaty, happy faces. The air hums with the afterglow of a saved celebration.

“It looks great. You really pulled it off.”

“This wedding?” Calla snorts. "It’s saved by the skin of its teeth. If you hadn’t gotten the party started, I think it would have been remembered as a downright disaster."

I spin her, then slide my hand onto her back again. "I’ll have you know that I have many hidden talents. Plus, I have an in with a very talented cake baker. That helps a lot.”

She looks at me, considering. "We could do better.”

"Of course we could," I say. "We’re practically professionals at having weddings."

We linger by the dessert table, letting the crowd ebb and flow around us. Someone hands me a glass of champagne. I take a sip, savoring the brief moment of calm. The reception is going pretty well after a sort of rough start.

Calla is lost in thought, her eyes unfocused. I wonder what she’s dreaming up. "You know," she says slowly, "it wouldn’t be a bad idea."

"What wouldn’t?"

"Offering our own wedding services. As a package deal. You would be the officiant and DJ. I could plan the wedding and bake an extremely grand cake…"

I mull it over. It’s honestly not the worst idea. Calla and I have had three weddings’ worth of experience now. "The 'True Love' package," I say, testing the words. "That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

Calla nods, warming to the idea. "You could get your crew to do the videography!"

“That would be fun.” I grab another glass of champagne, offering it to Calla. She makes a face and waves it away.

“No thanks. I’m working.”

“And you look amazing doing it.” I grin at her.

She leans over to me and kisses me lightly. Not the fiery, intense kiss of a passionate couple that are about to find a closet and fuck. This is softer, more intimate somehow.

I have to say that I love the kiss. Damn, I really love her.

Holding Calla close, we talk quietly as the reception begins to wane. The bride and groom leave, followed quickly by everyone over the age of 45. Then it’s a slow trickle until the last guests are ready to leave.

“Let’s start cleaning up and get out of here,” Calla says. “I’m tired enough that I think I could sleep for a full day.”

I cock a brow at her as we start boxing up the leftover cupcakes. “You could.”

“What, sleep all day?”

“You don’t have to be at the bakery before dawn. You have several new employees. Let them work the morning shift. Or even better, take yourself off the schedule for working at all. Focus on growing your wedding cake business. Or just lay around the house and be spoiled. We both know that you have helped grow Alto & Ash. You aren’t required to do anything more.”

“Quit working?” She gives me a funny look. “Maybe after we have a few kids.”

“Just saying, you have the option.” I squeeze her arm.

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

The tables are soon stripped of their centerpieces. The dance floor is left a barren wasteland of confetti.

"I still can't believe how well it turned out," Calla says, shaking her head in disbelief. "After all the disasters, the wedding turned out just fine."

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. "I just heard rave reviews from that drunk couple that just left. This is going down as one of the most memorable weddings they’ve ever attended."

I can see the wheels in Calla’s head turning. "Maybe we really could do this," she says, almost to herself. "We could offer a package that includes a last-minute save. The Rustin special."

I laugh. "The 'Disaster Averted' package. I like it."

She smiles. "I’m serious, Jay. We could market this. Your brand, my business. It makes sense."

"It does," I say, and I mean it. "We already know that we make a good team."

A pair of wedding guests poke their heads into the harshly-lit room. Calla straightens, slipping back into her professional posture. I stay slouched, waving lazily.

"Hey," the man says. "We just wanted to say thanks again. Y’all were amazing."

The woman adds, "We were really worried for Julie and Gary, but you totally saved the day."

Calla starts to say something modest, but I cut her off. "It was all Calla. She’s the real hero here."

They nod. I can see Calla blushing. "Well. We’re just glad everything worked out."

The man hesitates, then says, "So, we were wondering... Do y’all offer themed weddings?"

Calla looks at me, unsure what to say. I jump in.

"We can do just about anything. What did you have in mind?"

The woman’s eyes light up. "A Game of Thrones wedding. We want something epic, with costumes and a feast. Maybe even a mock battle."

Calla’s face is a study in conflicting emotions. I would hazard a guess that she’s horrified at the thought of such a gaudy spectacle, but also intrigued by the challenge.

"That sounds... ambitious," she says.

"We’ve got a year to plan," the man says. "Do you think it’s possible?"

"Anything is possible," I say, grinning. "Imagine an Iron Throne made of cake, with swords sticking out of it. Or a dragon-shaped dessert."

Calla raises an eyebrow. "And who’s going to bake these masterpieces?"

I shrug. "I’ll learn. You can teach me."

The woman claps her hands together. "That sounds amazing! So, you’re in?"

"We’ll need to discuss the details," Calla says, holding up her hands to signal caution. "But it’s definitely something we can consider."

“Babe!!” the woman says to the man. “Did you hear that? Winter is coming to our wedding!”

After exchanging numbers, they thank us again and walk away, leaving Calla and me to look at each other in surprise.

"A Game of Thrones wedding," she says, almost incredulously. "Can you imagine?"

"I think it sounds like a blast. You know, if we pull it off, it could be great for our portfolio."

She nods slowly. "It would be a huge undertaking. But yeah, it could be."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "So, are we really going to do this? The 'True Love' package, themed weddings, the whole shebang?"

Calla bites her lip, thinking. "Let’s start with the Game of Thrones wedding. If we can make that work, then we’ll know."

"One wedding at a time," I say. “Is that what I hear you saying?”

She smiles at me and slips an arm around my waist. "One wedding at a time, Mr. Rustin."

I size her up. "You know, I think you’d look pretty badass in a medieval gown."

She smirks. "And you’d make a very convincing dragon..."

The sound of our laughter rings throughout the reception hall.

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