Chapter 30
Hugo
“Nothing?”
I throw a dirty look at the kid zigzagging his bike all over the road when I finally manage to pass him. It’s that I’m running really late already, otherwise I’d pull the punk over and write him a damn ticket.
“If he doesn’t exist, then who the hell was that?”
It feels like we’ve been chasing our tails all week, trying to get any kind of traction on who showed up at Strange Brew carrying the picture of a dead man.
The dead man was Mike Lee, at least that much has been confirmed.
When or how his body ended up in the ruins of Clem’s old auto shop, who the hell knows?
But I’m having a hard time seeing how the slight, rather nondescript older gentleman Bess described could possibly be responsible for that.
“I have no idea, but the man is one slick operator,” the agent observes.
True, and if he did pull this off by himself, he has to be packing some amazing skill and impressive strength, which makes me wonder…
“You reckon he’s a pro? Maybe a spook?” I suggest. “It would explain why the man stayed in the shadows all of those years, and how he would’ve been able to keep tabs on Bess and her mother.”
“That makes sense, if he is a CIA agent, it would explain why we can’t find him. I can put out a few feelers, but I’m pretty sure this is going to be a dead-end street.”
To say I’m frustrated is an understatement, but at least it would appear there is no longer any possible threat to Bess, and for that I’m grateful.
Speak of the devil, the screen on my dashboard shows an incoming call from her.
“Mancuso, I’ve gotta go. We’ll touch base later. I’ve got another call coming in.”
“Wish the happy couple Godspeed from me.”
“Will do.”
I hang up and immediately answer the incoming call.
“Hey, honey.”
“Where are you?”
Bess has a tell; when she is stressed or anxious, her voice rises in pitch.
“I’m about seven minutes out.”
“Do you have the cakes?”
I glance over my shoulder where Lola has expertly stabilized the boxes with the three tiers of the wedding cake Bess worked on for two days straight.
“I do, and you’ll be glad to know they’re still in one piece.”
“Oh my God, don’t even joke about that.”
“Relax. I’ll get them there unharmed. I’ll see you shortly.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
As promised, she is standing in front of The Carriage House, directing me around the side of the main building.
She’s still in the casual clothes she left home in, but someone did her hair, piling it artfully on her head in a mass of curls and some flowers, and her beautiful features are enhanced with makeup.
“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, getting out of the truck.
But when I reach for her, she sidesteps me.
“No kissing, or all of this…” She waves her hand around her face. “…will have to be redone, and there is no time for that. We’re already running late.”
That last comment comes with a pointed look for me.
“Hey, you told me to be here at one, and it’s one on the dot.”
Pulling open the back door, I carefully unwrap the towels and blankets Lola put around the cake boxes.
“Yeah, but I was expecting you to be here maybe ten minutes early,” Bess returns, reaching past me into the truck to grab one of the boxes.
For sure that’s what Bess would do; be five or ten minutes early to a scheduled appointment. Not me, when I have to be somewhere at a certain time, I’m there with barely a minute’s margin on either side.
“Why would you expect me early? If you wanted me here ten minutes early, you should’ve told me to come at twelve fifty,” I suggest, grabbing the next box.
Then I follow her into a side door that leads to a large kitchen, about twice the size of the one at Strange Brew.
“Or…” Bess returns, as she slides her box on a long, stainless steel work station in the center of the space. “You could just come ten minutes early when you know that’s what I mean.”
I’m tempted to point out how irrational that is, but this is a silly argument that can go around in circles forever.
As much as her point doesn’t make any common sense to me, it doesn’t cost me anything to mentally subtract ten minutes whenever she gives me a specific time.
It will take less energy than perpetuating a recurring argument.
I slide my box next to hers and then crook my finger.
“Come here.”
“I can’t, I still have to get the third box and get this cake assembled.”
“One kiss,” I plead. “I’ll grab the last cake from the truck, and I promise to try and be ten minutes early next time.”
She capitulates, but does it with a little triumphant smile on her expertly painted lips. Minx.
Careful not to mess up her hair—I look forward to doing that later—I pull her close and curve my hand around the side of her neck as I drop a kiss on her shimmery mouth, my eyes locked on hers.
“I’m sorry if I’m snippy, I’m a little frazzled,” she admits, when I let her go and head for the door.
“That’s okay,” I return over my shoulder. “I’m already looking forward to unfrazzeling you tonight.”
Her sweet laughter follows me out the door.
Bess
She’s beautiful.
The simple cream-colored, satin sheath dress looks stunning on her, not quite hiding the swell of her belly, but not highlighting it either.
Savvy wanted her hair loose, mostly because she almost always has it up in a ponytail or tucked under a baseball cap, and for today she wanted to be as far from her normal tomboyish looks as possible. Her curls are flowing free, just brushing the tops of her bare shoulders.
I think she surprised even Nate, who can’t seem to stop smiling at her like he can’t believe his luck.
He’s dressed in black dress pants and a black dress shirt, with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
They wanted it casual, but somehow, seeing them dance together under the twinkling lights out on the patio, they look like a movie star couple.
This whole day was perfect, and I’m glad now that my duties are over, I’m able to relax and reminisce.
I even ended up liking the dress Savvy forced on me to wear. It’s also simple, but mine is a burgundy satin; the bodice is formfitting with little cap sleeves, and the slightly flared skirt stops just at my knees.
I was proud to stand beside her as they exchanged their vows. Unreservedly happy for them. Each time my eyes would drift the crowd to land on Hugo’s blue ones, and I recognized the love in them, I felt happy for me too.
I guess it’s true what they say, happiness breeds happiness.
Glancing around The Carriage House patio, I see evidence of that everywhere; Jim Turcotte, one of our EMTs, gently leading Mrs. Dixon around the floor; Tatum with her head on Carson’s shoulder, swaying in place with their arms around each other; Phil laughing as she tries to coax her husband into dancing with her; and Buck Wilson showing off his skills as he twirls Bonnie Sadlowski around; and I even spot Tessa Androtti, the newest addition to the sheriff’s department, dragging Clem Tanek from the man-huddle he was hiding in and onto the dance floor.
Talk about an unlikely pairing, that’ll be an interesting dynamic to watch.
But the moment I catch sight of Hugo, stepping out of the shadows and onto the patio, I only have eyes for him.
He stops in the middle of the dance floor—like a towering Viking, oblivious to anything or anyone but me—and simply holds out his hand.
Not that long ago, I might have wondered about that gesture, questioned if it was directed at me, scrutinized its possible meaning, or doubted its intention, but that’s not me anymore.
Tonight, I get to my feet, smooth the wrinkles from my skirt, and move confidently to join the man I love on the dance floor.
“I may be a bit rusty,” said man mumbles as I fold myself in his arms.
I beam a smile up at him in response, because I don’t care if he tramples my feet. This is another one of my secret dreams fulfilled, and he doesn’t even know he’s decimating my list.
“Good day?” he asks, when we’ve found our rhythm.
Turns out he’s not bad at all, quite limber on his feet for such a large man.
“The absolute best,” I give him, settling my cheek against the lapel of his jacket.
“I’m glad to hear it, but I’m hoping I can make it even better.”
I tilt my head back to look up at him.
“Better?”
Quite uncharacteristically, he bites his lip and does a quick glance around us. Almost as if he is nervous.
“Slip your hand in my inside pocket, Bess.”
Confused, I tilt my head, but he urges me on with a nod. It takes me a moment to figure out the inside pocket is on his left, so my right, but as soon as my fingers slide in and encounter something, my feet stop moving.
Hugo’s eyes are my anchor as my ears start ringing and my knees nearly buckle. But he stands firm, unwavering like a tree, and his voice is soft but strong.
“I have a question for you.”
My heart starts beating in my throat, and I don’t think I could swallow if I tried as he leans his forehead to mine before he continues.
“I could give you every reason under the sun, but I’d rather save them so I can remind you each day of the rest of our lives why I want you to share yours with me. Marry me, Bess.”
I knew it the moment my fingers touched the delicate band of the ring he had tucked inside his pocket, but am still too afraid to believe it.
With our foreheads still touching, I can do little more than nod as I close my fingers around the ring, but it’s enough for him.
The moment I free my hand from his jacket, he reaches between us and takes the ring from me and, enveloped in our makeshift cocoon, we both look down as he slips it on my finger.
The next moment I’m back in his arms, swaying to the music as if nothing at all just happened. Except it had, and it was momentous and absolutely perfect. In the presence of everyone we care about, yet just for us.
Except perhaps Savvy…she shoots me a wink when we dance by.