CHAPTER 22
B eckett was in hell . He hadn’t had a chance to find Mallory before she left, and now he had a very drunk Julia on his hands—literally. “You look so cute in your glasses,” Julia slurred, her third cocktail of the evening dangling from her fingers. Her other hand tugged on his collar, and Beckett didn’t know how to pull free without hurting the poor woman.
“Julia,” he gasped as she spilled her appletini on the leg of his slacks. The neon-green liquid made it appear like an alien vomited all over him, which would be preferable to his current situation. “I really need to get up for a moment.” Beckett was so far down in the booth, he was practically horizontal.
At the behest of Alice, Mallory’s bestie who clearly wanted her here instead of Julia, all the couples had caravanned over to Elm River to continue the party. The pub had a huge circular booth that sat a dozen people, and right now, he and Julia were stuck in the middle. From his perch in hell, Beckett saw Evan and CeCe slow dancing on the tiny dancefloor, her head resting on Evan’s shoulder. He wished he could have enjoyed his friend’s happiness a little longer, but Julia decided to be helpful.
“Oh noooo,” she cooed when she spied her spilled drink. “I got you all wet.” She hiccupped before grabbing a paper napkin and blotting at his leg.
Beckett lurched as far away as he could, cupping her hand and stopping her efforts. “Please, Julia. It’s fine.”
Across the booth, he heard the very distinct snicker of Alice Snyder. Turning to face her he asked, “A little help here?”
Alice shook her head, draining the last of her wine. “C’mon, James,” she said to her boyfriend. “I think I feel like dancing.” She glared as she slid from the booth and out into the din of the rest of the party.
He couldn’t blame Alice, as she was aware of his and Mallory’s muddled status. Actually, that wasn’t fair. The status wasn’t muddled, he knew exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted wasn’t sitting here with a drunk stranger in a bar he didn’t know without the woman of his dreams.
When Evan and CeCe introduced Julia, he assumed they would small talk for a moment while Mallory helped CeCe. Simple enough. He could handle inane chatter for five minutes. When Alice suggested everyone go to Elm River to continue the party, he was all for it. But when Mallory wasn’t there and Julia was shoved into his car, Beckett wanted to puke. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and he couldn’t get Mallory to answer her phone.
“I fink ve should dance too,” Julia slurred into Beckett’s ear, the scent of sour apples hitting his nostrils. Turning his head, he scanned the pub for any sign of help and trying not to gag at the smell of stale booze.
Sophie and Emily were currently dancing circles around Evan to one of his favorite K-Pop tunes, while Alice and James spoke animatedly with Natalie and Anthony. He couldn’t find CeCe, but he hoped she’d make an appearance soon to save him from her friend. “I don’t know if dancing sounds good right now,” he said mostly to himself since Julia was currently fascinated with the state of the sugar packet caddy on the table.
“Look at these little envelopes.” Giggling, Julia pulled out all the packets and stacked them in front of her. Balling up her fist, she smashed it down until the packets crumbled and sugar substitute puffed into the air. “Now it’s snowing,” she exclaimed, trailing her fingers through the mess.
Yeah, Beckett needed to get out of there. Now that they were the only pair in the booth, he slid his way to freedom. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, knowing full well he wasn’t coming back if he could help it.
Plodding out to the dance floor, he waved to get Evan’s attention. “Where’s CeCe?” he yelled into his friend’s ear, hoping he could be heard over the sound system.
Evan lifted his shoulders, seeming completely unphased by Beckett’s situation. “Dunno, but she promised to find us some food.” Judging from the dark smudges under Evan’s blue eyes and the slouch in his frame, he wasn’t the only one who over imbibed.
“Got it.” Beckett flashed a smile before turning and searching for the bride-to-be. He needed to figure out how to get Julia back to her hotel, and he wasn’t about to volunteer for the task. At the entrance to the pub a young hostess piled up menus and looked ready to head out herself. “Excuse me,” he said, hoping he didn’t look as disheveled as he felt.
The expression the hostess gave him confirmed he looked like a wrung-out sponge. “Yeah?”
“Have you seen a petite blonde in a white dress around?”
With a snort, the hostess nodded. “You mean the scary lady?”
Beckett bit back a laugh, because he personally wouldn’t consider CeCe scary—unless food was involved. “Was she asking about food?”
“Pfft, you can say that. I told her the fries were frozen from our vendor, and she had a fit. Asked to see the chef and stormed off toward the kitchen. We never let customers back there, but I don’t get paid enough for that level of fierce.” She put away the last menu and strode out the door.
Beckett glanced over his shoulder, finding Julia asleep at the table. A sugar packet was stuck to her cheek, but she seemed unharmed. Good, at least she wouldn’t run away before he found help. Heading to the rear of the restaurant, he heard CeCe before he stepped into the kitchen.
“Look man,” she said, hands on her hips. Even standing in a stranger’s kitchen in her engagement finery, she was a force. “I know your poutine is the best in Ohio, that’s not what I’m saying.”
The chef, a man in his thirties wearing a bandana and expression of utter shock, mirrored her posture. “Look lady, I don’t know who you think you are. You can’t just barge into my kitchen and critique the food. It’s a pub for crying out loud, not a Michelin-star restaurant.”
CeCe huffed out a sigh, but she did not back down. “I’m just saying that if you cut your potatoes from fresh, you’d have a better product overall.”
“And I’m saying that I’m not made of money and don’t have the time and staff to peel and cut for every order. Now if you’ll let me get back to it, I’ll feed you and your friends.”
Clasping her hands in prayer, CeCe soldiered on. “But can I at least show you the difference?”
The chef was incredulous. “You want to make your own food? In my kitchen?” Pausing a moment to scan her outfit he added, “In that get up?”
She nodded once, her chin tipped up. “Yes.”
“Lady, you’re nuts. I can’t decide if I should laugh or call the cops.”
Beckett made his presence known, stepping up to CeCe and resting his hand on her shoulder. Her skin vibrated with frustration and tension. “I don’t know if you know who you’re talking to. This is CeCe LaRue. Her food truck won the—” but his explanation died on his tongue when the chef barked out a laugh.
“No freaking way, I thought you looked familiar.” He stepped back and gestured to the prep counter. “Ms. LaRue, make yourself at home.”
CeCe shot Beckett an approving look before striding to the sink and washing her hands. “Watch and learn, buddy,” she teased.
Having never seen CeCe in her element, Beckett pointed to a stool in the corner of the cramped space. “You mind if I set up shop and watch the master?” Evan had talked his ear off about CeCe’s culinary prowess, and he wanted a free show.
“The more the merrier,” the other chef deadpanned. Turning to CeCe he said, “I’m Shane, by the way.”
“Shane, hand me that chef’s knife and a cutting board.”
Twenty minutes later, the most gorgeous plate of fries was presented to Shane and Beckett. “Watch out, they’re going to be scalding.” CeCe quickly added a pinch of parsley with a flourish before handing each man a fork. Beckett took his life into his own hands and stabbed a fry, shoving it into his mouth before he could think better of it.
The fry was hot, but perfectly seasoned with a fluffy interior and crunchy exterior. It was, quite simply, the best potato he’d eaten in his entire life. “Holy crap,” he said, covering his mouth while he chewed. “CeCe, if Evan wasn’t marrying you, I would.”
Shane nodded his agreement, snagging a handful before anyone could stop him. “You might have convinced me.”
CeCe looked smug, and rightfully so. “Thank you, gentlemen.” Facing Shane she added, “Do you mind getting these out to my friends? I’ll clean up my mess.”
The other chef shot her a thumbs-up before loading plates with food and going out to the dining room. Beckett rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Let me help with that.”
For a few minutes, they worked in silence, the clattering of dishes drowning out the canned popped music coming from the overhead speakers. CeCe handed Beckett a spatula and pointed to a drawer to his left. “I’m guessing this goes in there.”
The sparkle of her engagement ring caught his attention, and for a moment, all he could think about was Mallory. The ring was still stunning, catching the dim light and shooting red and white flares against the wall. Yet it didn’t feel right, seeing it on someone else’s hand—even though he knew the owner and her betrothed would truly live happily ever after.
How can I mourn an object, Beckett? How can I be this sad over something that was never really mine?
Mallory’s words echoed through his head, rattling around until all Beckett heard was the clattering of the dishwasher lid closing. He hated seeing her so upset, and he wished he had a solution.
“Damnit,” CeCe muttered behind him.
Fearing she was hurt, Beckett spun around to investigate. CeCe clutched her left hand to her chest and grimaced. “Crap, are you okay?” He scanned her for injuries, but she seemed fine.
CeCe blew a lock of hair off her forehead and leaned against the counter. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
Beckett handed her a towel, hoping it would help whatever hurt. CeCe took the towel and twisted it in her hands. She frowned down at her left hand, the ring twinkling in response. “You don’t look fine. Is there anything I can do?”
CeCe sighed, tossing the towel onto the counter. “I keep catching my hand when I’m working. It’s this darned thing.” She held up her hand and groaned. “I guess I could take the ring off to cook, but I hate not wearing it.”
Beckett felt bile tickle the back of his throat. He needed to play this cool. “You, erm, don’t like the ring?”
A faint smile tugged at her lips and CeCe gave a tiny bob of her head. “It’s a stunning Lawson family heirloom. What’s not to love?”
Anyone with eyes could read between the lines on that statement. Not for the first time, he wondered how much thought Evan really put into the ring selection. He loved Evan like a brother, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a man about things. He could see his buddy going with the family heirloom for tradition’s sake, but also out of ease. It was a hell of a lot easier to have a ring on hand than to find the perfect one—the one meant for his woman.
“Sometimes,” Beckett started on a sigh, “it’s hard to find the perfect engagement ring. It’s okay if the first one isn’t a success.”
CeCe flexed her hand in front of her, studying the ring like it held the answers to the universe. “Evan loves this ring.”
He stepped closer, keeping his tone light. “Evan loves you . I’m sure if you told him how you felt about the ring, he’d make it right.”
And I’d make it right by putting it on Mallory’s finger .
“I don’t know, Beckett. I think that—” but she never got a chance to finish her thoughts, as the man himself strode into the kitchen.
“I should have known you’d be here,” Evan said. His blond hair was matted to his temples, sweat dotting his upper lip. “Sophie, Em, and I are all danced out. When I went in search of my girl, I was told you were schooling the chef on how to fry potatoes.”
CeCe flashed a look at Beckett before closing the distance to Evan. That look spoke volumes, and Beckett was not about to break that trust. “You know me.” She laughed as she pecked her fiancé on the cheek. “Beckett was helping me clean up.”
“And now Beckett needs to ask a favor,” he said, chuckling at Evan’s expression. “Your attempts at matchmaking failed, man. I’d like someone to get Julia home.”
CeCe gave Beckett another look he couldn’t decipher before offering a solution. “Why don’t you head out and bring poor Mallory her shoes?”
Evan wrinkled his brow. “Why doesn’t Mal have shoes?”
Beckett felt his stomach sink, a sense of dread creeping down his spine. “Is she okay?”
“She said she had a headache and wanted to get out of those shoes. I’m sure she’s fine.” CeCe patted around her dress until she reached into a hidden pocket. “Let me walk you out and get the shoes.” Over her shoulder she said to Evan, “Bring Julia out front. I’ll meet you both there.” Evan shot them a thumbs-up and ducked back into the dining room.
CeCe sprinted ahead, occasionally glancing around them as if they were being followed. When they reached her truck, she whipped around and whispered, “We have about sixty seconds for me to tell you a lot of information.”
Beckett blinked, suddenly feeling like he was back in school at the principal’s office. “Okay?”
“Don’t say a thing about the ring to Evan. Please? I overreacted and everything is fine.” She took a deep breath before she continued, “And you need to check on Mallory. I don’t know what is happening with you two, but she was clearly upset when she left the diner.”
Running a hand down his face, Beckett swore under his breath. “I need to find her.”
CeCe opened her trunk and tossed him a pair of heels. “You do, and the sooner the better. I’m sorry we tried setting you and Julia up.” She hesitated only a moment before adding, “But you two need to come clean to Evan.”
“I know,” Beckett groaned. “What a mess.”
CeCe opened the driver’s door. “Only if you let it be. Go get her.”
Clutching Mallory’s shoes, Beckett stepped back and watched CeCe pull up to the front of the pub. He stalked over to his car and carefully laid the heels on the passenger’s seat. Mallory must have been pretty upset to leave without her shoes. A knot formed in his stomach at all that had transpired that night, and Beckett wasn’t sure he didn’t need an antacid.
Getting behind the wheel, he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t drank at the pub. He needed a clear head for what he was about to do. He just hoped Cinderella was ready to see her Prince Charming.