3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
Benji
“Sit,” Cheryl says with a laugh. “These two might appreciate the opinion of someone closer to their age.”
“You don’t look too far from that number,” I say, happily sitting beside Gina.
Cheryl rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and a touch of pink is on her cheeks.
“Bob and Margaret weren’t exactly on speaking terms while they were alive,” Diana says, joining us as the bell over the door announces Clay’s departure. “So, how did you and Gina hook up? One of those Tinder sites?”
Cheryl laughs, and something clatters to the ground over by the lumberjack.
I wait for Gina because this is her lie, and I don’t want to contradict her accidentally, but she looks like a deer in the headlights.
So I spread my hands on the table and try remembering what she said.
“My mom’s into genealogy. She’s the one who found Gina’s mom.
Since my parents were visiting me the same weekend Gina and her mom were in Vegas for her mom’s birthday, we all met up. ”
Gina nods.
“I’m surprised Dawn showed up,” Diana says. Either her tone is always dry, or she’s not buying this whole second-cousin thing. “I can’t imagine her being interested in genealogy, considering her lack of interest in her family.”
“But she likes meeting people,” Gina says weakly.
Diana quirks her mouth in a way that feels like reluctant acceptance.
The four of us glance up as a looming presence falls across the table. The lumberjack sets a cappuccino in front of Cheryl, who smiles at him the same way she smiles at everyone, all warm and welcoming. She thanks him.
His dark eyes turn to me with a glare. I smile and lean back in my chair. Which, at this table for four, was probably meant to be his.
“Milo, stop hovering and pull up a chair,” Diana snaps.
He glares briefly but grabs a chair from another table, positioning it on Gina’s other side.
Diana’s gaze turns my way again, one eyebrow lifting the tiniest bit in question. Cheryl notices and says, “Gina’s cousin—”
“Second cousin,” I clarify.
“—second cousin,” Cheryl amends, “is going to help us.”
Now Diana’s brows furrow. “Are you sure you’re up to it? Considering…”
“My wife left me?” I shrug. “I still like weddings.”
“What was yours like?” Cheryl asks softly.
I can feel Gina’s eyes on me, and it takes all my willpower not to look at her. “It was a Vegas wedding. Except we didn’t have Elvis—just a group of mostly drunk tourists from Singapore.”
“How romantic,” Diana says in that dry voice. Cheryl elbows her.
“It was fun,” I say. “And weddings should be fun.”
“Gina’s wedding is going to be romantic,” Diana says.
Now I turn to Gina. Her eyes are wide, but there’s something distant in them. Like she’s thinking about our wedding in the little twenty-four-hour chapel. How we both found it hilarious that we couldn’t find an Elvis when we’d both expected one to come standard.
For the first time, I look at her left hand.
The rings I put on her finger that night are gone, and a deep ache tugs at my chest, even though I knew before looking that they wouldn’t be there.
The one she’s wearing now is a simple diamond engagement ring.
It’s natural on her, more her style than that gigantic rock I put on her finger.
The lumberjack’s hand slides over hers, sweeping it off the table and out of my line of sight.
Gina blinks, startled, and glances down, probably at their joined hands.
I force myself to look away, smile at Cheryl, and say, “Let’s get started.
” The last thing I want to do is plan my wife’s wedding to another man, but if I play my cards right, she’ll call off the wedding.
Diana gives me a look that lets me know I can leave. Milo’s look is darker. But Cheryl’s in charge here, and she beams at me before looking around the table. “Normally, I’d start with themes, but we’ll do the cake first since you’re looking a little hangry, Milo.”
His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll get some plates and forks.”
“We’re in luck,” she says, opening the first box as he slips behind the counter where the espresso machine sits.
“Anabelle gave me larger samples than she usually would.” Cheryl turns to me.
“Anabelle runs the bakery at the grocery store and makes special occasion cakes. Gina helps her with her firewood every year, so she’s gearing up to pull out all the stops for this wedding cake.
” She accepts Milo's knife and begins cutting slivers off the small cake. “This is her lemon cake with raspberry filling and vanilla buttercream. It’s the one most brides and grooms choose.”
The cake is delicious. All the cakes are.
Diana brings out a pitcher of lemonade as a palate cleanser, and we go through the cakes one by one.
Carrot with cream cheese icing. Vanilla with salted caramel.
Chocolate with orange. Coconut with pineapple.
I wink at Cheryl when I notice her giving me progressively larger slices.
Cheryl pulls out a tablet and shows us some of Anabelle’s final cakes—the ones we’re taste-testing don’t have any buttercream frills or flowers.
Annabelle’s been given free rein to decorate any way she sees fit.
Still, Cheryl is fishing for preferences.
With everyone distracted, I watch Gina and the lumberjack.
He never takes more than two bites, but the real sin is that he’s not feeding her cake off his fork. She barely glances at him as she mechanically chews. They don’t look at each other and smile at picking out a cake to celebrate their love.
They don’t even look like a couple in love.
Maybe it’s because I’m here? They’re going to fight the moment they’re alone. He has no clue who I am, but I’m sure he knows I’m no second cousin. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the stiff way Gina holds herself.
I take another bite of coconut cake and chew thoughtfully. It’s not only that he’s pissed at her. Their body language is off. They aren’t sitting close or leaning in toward each other, and when he took her hand earlier, while it wasn’t awkward, it lacked something.
In Vegas, Gina leaned into me. She grabbed my arm when she was excited about something. We held hands, but hers wasn’t stiff or limp. She was constantly sliding her thumb over mine, swinging our hands between us, and squeezing mine now and again.
The little bit of hope that hadn’t quite extinguished when he introduced himself as her fiancé sparks brighter. I can win her back from him. Show her that I can make her happier.
“What do you think?” Cheryl asks them.
Gina looks at Milo, who shrugs. “The lemon cake,” she says to Cheryl.
“I thought you liked the carrot cake best,” I say. She did. She closed her eyes and made a soft little moan-y sound. He didn’t notice because he’s a bad fiancé.
“I did,” Gina admits, surprised.
“So why not get the carrot cake?”
The furrow in her brow deepens, and she shifts restlessly. “Everyone likes the lemon cake.”
“But it’s your wedding, and you like the carrot.” I’d give her the carrot cake. To hell with everyone else.
Cheryl smiles at Milo. “Which did you like best?”
“Maybe Gina’s cousin can tell me,” he mutters.
I didn't hear if he moaned at all during the tasting. He doesn’t seem like the type. But I glance at what’s left on his plate. “The chocolate,” I say confidently.
He looks briefly surprised before shifting back to murderous.
“What’s your favorite?” Cheryl asks, which earns her a glare from the lumberjack.
“All of them,” I admit. “But I like the coconut best.”
“Me too,” Cheryl admits. “Did you have a wedding cake at your Vegas wedding?”
I laugh. “No, but we did a couple of wedding cake shots.”
Cheryl turns back to Gina and the lumberjack. “I have an idea. Why don’t we do two cakes? A carrot cake and chocolate groom’s cake. I know groom’s cakes are more of a southern tradition, but that way, you both get what you like, and your guests will have a choice if they aren’t carrot cake fans.”
“That’s a good idea,” Diana says.
Gina glances at the lumberjack, who nods. “Okay.”
I smile because she’s getting her carrot cake. Then I remember she’s marrying the lumberjack, and I frown.
Cheryl claps her hands together. “We have a decision! See, that wasn’t too hard.”
Diana clears away the plates while Cheryl slips into talking themes.
The wedding will take place just outside the lodge.
They’ll set up a marquee and some tables and chairs outside.
It will be a small wedding, on a late Tuesday afternoon, because that’s when the camp is quietest. No bridesmaids or groomsmen, no flower girls or ring bearers.
Gina and the lumberjack only need to pick a theme, invitations, flowers, and place settings.
The menu has already been decided by Diana, who turns out to be paying for everything.
Cheryl swipes through a portfolio of weddings she’s planned on the tablet, but I keep my eyes on Gina, watching her reactions. I wonder if she’s been to most of the weddings she’s now looking at pictures of.
Something changes in her eyes—they warm, lingering over each picture.
“That one,” I say. “She likes that one.”
Everyone is staring at me again except Gina, who blushes and looks like she wants to bolt.
I shift my eyes to the tablet to see what caught her attention.
The wedding images are rustic, with candles in old jars and hemp strings tied around the rim.
Wildflowers in narrow, thick glass vases. String lights of old vintage bulbs.
“Daisies,” I say, pointing to the delicate flowers embossed on an invitation, moving my finger over to a yellow flower with a dark center in a bouquet, “and this one…I don’t remember what they’re called. Those are her favorite.”
Gina’s staring at me now like we didn’t spend hours talking about all the things we love. “Rudbeckia,” she says, still staring at me.
I remember, I want to tell her. I remember everything you said . Except I hadn’t remembered the name of that flower. I don’t think she’ll hold that against me.
“Black-eyed Susan’s,” Cheryl says, then frowns. “Or brown-eyed. I can never remember which is which. So maybe a sunny yellow theme? Blue accents would go well with that.”
Gina nods quickly at Cheryl as if she wants to get this over with.
“What about green accents?” I ask. “Something sage-y.”
“Green will get washed out in an outdoor wedding,” Diana says.
“It’s Gina’s favorite color,” I point out. Gina only looks at me briefly, but the lumberjack is glaring again. I meet his gaze and shrug. He should know this stuff.
“We could make it work,” Cheryl says to Diana.
“White tablecloths, green napkins. Vases full of daisies and brown-eyed Susan’s.
” She keeps talking with Diana and Gina, the three of them making final decisions about invitations and whatever else needs sorting, but all that fades to background noise as I stare down my wife’s fiancé.
“What do you think, Milo?” Gina asks. “You’ve been quiet.”
He reluctantly turns his eyes to her. “Whatever you want. I want you to be happy.”
I have a few more suggestions about what he can do to make her happy, starting with calling off this wedding, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m prepared to resume our staring contest, but he turns to look out at the lake.
“That about does it,” Cheryl says brightly a few minutes later. “Thank you for the help, Benji—I don’t think we’d have gotten far without you. These two have been dragging their feet.”
That’s interesting. “It was no trouble at all,” I say, looking away from the lumberjack. He’s still staring out the window, anyway. “Anabelle makes an amazing coconut cake.”
“Here,” Cheryl says, handing me one of the bakery boxes. “Have the leftovers.” She pushes the carrot cake toward Gina, the chocolate cake toward the lumberjack, and turns to Diana with the last two boxes. “Lemon and vanilla for card night.”
Everyone stands, but no one leaves. Because this is Minnesota, goodbyes take at least half an hour. I thank Cheryl and Diana for everything, but I have nothing else to say once that's done.
“Hey,” I touch the back of Gina’s hand. “Wanna show me to my cabin?” With some luck, that will force her fiancé to stick around for the goodbyes, and I’ll get a few minutes alone with her.
She nods, thanks Cheryl, excuses herself, and follows me out the door.