Chapter Sixteen
As I toted the last platter of crispy rice and marshmallow treats into the fire hall, the sound system fired up, scaring me so badly I nearly fumbled over a hundred sticky squares to the floor.
I shot a tired look at Arne at the DJ table and got a wince.
“Sorry,” he shouted across the rapidly filling space.
Both bay doors and the walls were festooned with pink and blue streamers left over from a baby shower last week.
When you were strapped for time, you used what was lying around and since Bert had given us clearance to use whatever we found, we took him at his word.
Bert felt as bad about the mix-up as Chloe and had been here since the morning with her assisting in any way they could.
I’d felt a pang of pride when I saw Gilda and Chloe hugging after we’d arrived around eleven.
The morning had been hectic, to say the least. Thankfully, we had Anders around for extra hands.
He’d made pans and pans of crispy rice cereal bars while Gilda and I worked on the cake.
Not to be too prideful, but it was one magnificent cake.
Four—yes four—layers of rich vanilla cake with sky blue icing between each thin cake.
Then, the pièce de résistance, the blue fishes Gilda had drawn on with blue icing from a tube.
More like several little tubes, but hey, blue cake with blue fish.
Hoon would be tickled if he even knew it existed.
Now, it was just the final touches before the guests showed up in twenty minutes.
Food kept pouring in. The Woolverines had gotten wind of the situation, and now there were crockpots sitting on the long folding tables along the wall that rested against the garage where the fire engines gleamed in their bays.
Macaroni and cheese, meatballs, pulled pork, and some hot Buffalo chicken dip from Meredith so you knew it would singe your eyelashes.
Bags of chips, buns, and condiments, along with napkins, paper plates, disposable cups, and flatware, were placed with the food.
One smaller table held all kinds of baked goods, from Anders’ crispy rice cereal bars to peanut butter no-bakes to a huge dish of brownies that encircled the birthday cake sitting on Katie’s raised cake dish.
Della was still at my house. She was sleeping off the aftereffects of scarfing down a baggie of dog cookies that had hit the floor in the chaos of all the baking and marshmallow treat construction.
Thankfully, she had only torn open the bag and not swallowed any of the plastic, but she had made fast work of those little cookies.
I’m not even sure she chewed. Also, she would have been cold down on the cement floor and under people’s feet so napping on our sofa as she digested the ten treats she had inhaled before Anders had swept her up seemed a good place for an excitable dog with a full tummy.
“I love this song!” Gilda and Kimmie, the lone teen at the party other than the birthday girl, squealed aloud.
My head started bopping as “Dynamite” by BTS, another K-pop band she listens to, flowed from the speakers in the corners.
I liked it a lot too. As did Anders, it seemed, since he started singing along while delivering a crockpot of scalloped potatoes courtesy of Franny, who was making her way into the fire hall.
I smiled at his enjoyment of the tune and then moved around the table to make way for him.
The boughs of the huge fir tree, covered with lights and candy canes, brushed my backside.
“You do enjoy K-pop, huh?” I asked and got a bob of dark curls. He placed the pot down, turned to me, and gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the lips.
“I’m so enjoying this. Being here with you and Gilda and with new friends who don’t mind that I’m some foreigner with a funny accent,” he confided so I kissed him back just because I wanted to. “Back home, this would be impossible.”
“I’m glad you found your way to Grouse Falls where we happily accept all funny foreigners.” He chuckled softly. A cold gust announced more guests. Pastor Pete and Nigel hustled in, looking cold and windblown, carrying an orange bundt cake.
“We’re late. We’re sorry. The cake was taking forever to cool.
I finally had to stand outside with it so it would chill enough for the glaze,” Nigel informed us while Pete did a pretty good impression of his partner outside in the cold while holding up a cake like it was an offering to a cake god.
We all chuckled. Though it was not the party that Gilda and I had planned for, it was looking to be a nice gathering.
I wished more of her friends could be here for her, but she would record things and send them to them.
There was certainly enough food to feed a carload of young people!
It was touching how many had heard about the flub and showed up with food and love for my daughter.
Small towns had lots of problems, but they also had lots of good things going for them.
Chloe wiggled up to me about fifteen minutes later as a small group of rowdies—mostly the Woolverines—were dancing to an oldie but goodie.
Every generation liked Little Richard songs.
Pastor Pete was at my side as I moved along the tables, stirring the food in the crockpots and readying things for the rush in a few minutes.
Anders was leading Franny around the floor in a lovely, slow waltz, which did not jibe with “Tutti Frutti,’ but since she couldn’t hear and jitterbugging was not on her dance card, a waltz was perfect.
Anders was quite the fine ballroom dancer.
I watched him moving around with grace while Chloe was informing me that she had found candles for the cake.
“Oh great,” I said as Gilda and Kimmie were flailing about on the dance floor while giggling madly. She was having fun. That made me so happy. “We’ll do the cake and ice cream after the meal and then open her presents.”
I liked keeping things running smoothly when possible. It eased anxiety and made for a—
Suddenly, both front doors of the fire hall opened at once.
Standing in the doorway were a squad of beefy men in dark pink tees and a portly Asian man with thinning hair and a look of utter disdain.
Everyone stopped dancing, and Arne quieted the wild piano-playing rocker to stare at the small army in pink.
Then, as if that wasn’t attention-gathering enough, five young Asian men strutted in, snowflakes on their slim shoulders as a squeal from Kimmie rent the air.
She swooned into Bert’s arms as Gilda, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, stared at the boys, who looked just like BSX2.
The one dressed as Hoon even had eight earrings in his left ear, sky-blue hair, and a dimple.
I glanced at Anders, impressed as hell he had managed to find a K-pop tribute band.
I thought those were only for rockers who had retired or passed away.
Then he spoke, in soft, broken English. “This is the Gilda party, yes?”
Everyone nodded in unison. His smile was pure white perfection. Bert was fanning Kimmie. “Wonderful! And who is the Gilda birthday girl?”
“Me,” my daughter squeaked. The portly man with red hair wove his way to the meatballs, his expression pinched, his sight moving from the food to his gold watch.
All five of the boys clapped gently before the Hoon lookalike offered Gilda his hand. “Happy Birthday. A good friend of ours has asked us to perform a song for the special girl.”
I threw a look at Anders, who was still holding Franny in a proper waltzing form. He gave me a nod as if to say this was his gift. As if I couldn’t figure that one out. Who else could afford to hire a BSX2 lookalike group for a party in the hills?
“Okay,” Gilda choked out as Hoon took her hand and kissed it.
Her cheeks went fire-engine red as she was escorted to a folding chair that one of the behemoths in pink—now wearing BSX2 tees, I noticed—had rushed out and placed in the middle of the floor.
“I love your hair,” Gilda added. Hoon gave her a wink just as Kimmie revived.
Gilda motioned for her friend to join her, so Kimmie raced to the chair and knelt beside it, grasping Gilda’s hand as the five boys broke into an a cappella rendition of “Gumball Birthday Smile” that made my jaw drop. Surely this couldn’t be…
No, no way. Was this the real band? How? Where? When? Who? Well, I knew who…
Gilda giggled steadily while Kimmie wept.
The five boys then busted out to perform one of BSX2’s biggest hits.
The man enjoying the meatballs had made his way to Arne.
As an instrumental cut of “Dance Kissy Girl” started to thump from the speakers, the young men began to dance and sing.
Kimmie swooned again. Gilda shook steadily, hands over her mouth, as the singers moved in such perfect syncopation that even my exhausted brain started to figure out this was no fan show or tribute band or whatever the term might be.
This was BSX2. Performing for my daughter right here in Grouse Falls.
And the men in pink were bodyguards. The dude eating meatballs was perhaps their manager.
I blinked a few times as the girls were serenaded by the biggest names in K-pop at the moment.
Then, the song ended. Gilda and Kimmie cried.
The band bowed to Gilda and made a beeline for Anders, who had sidled up to the man eating meatballs about a foot from me.
I stood there, stirring spoon in hand, to watch Hoon stop in front of Anders, bow deeply, and then straighten.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Prince Anders. How is your father, King Magnus?” Hoon asked while Anders stiffened visibly, dark eyes darting to me. Prince? Did he say prince? No, no, that must be a term of respect in South Korea, surely.