Chapter 10 #2
JJ wiggled his brows at me. “I knew we’d find some common ground. Though I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like shrimp. If I had tasty crustaceans for fingers? Let’s just say I wouldn’t have any fingers.”
“What about Xander?” I pointed out. The Heartbreakers’ lead guitarist had severe food allergies, shellfish among them.
“He doesn’t count,” JJ said, shaking his head. “Poor guy can’t eat anything. Did you know he’s never tried pizza?”
We continued to play would you rather until the back of the clubhouse came into view.
Like Drew’s friend promised, a large patio lined with string lights and wicker furniture overlooked a tulip garden.
A few wedding guests stood talking in clusters around evenly spaced heating lamps while others took smoke breaks.
I picked up my pace, eager to get inside, but before we reached the end of the cart path, someone stepped in front of us and flashed a bright light in my face.
“Hey! What are you kids doing out here?” a gravelly voice demanded.
I lifted a hand to shield my eyes, then froze when I saw a scowling man armed with a flashlight. The name tag on his shirt read GLEN.
My stomach plummeted. He was real!
“Getting some fresh air,” JJ said, keeping his tone light and conversational, like he was unconcerned. Like he belonged here. “Is that illegal?”
“It is when you’re at a private country club,” Glen told him.
“We’re here for the wedding,” Drew chimed in. “We wanted to check out the golf course.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?” the security guard asked, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Well, I think our attire and champagne glasses are a dead giveaway.”
Glen scoffed. “That doesn’t prove jack. Anyone can put on fancy clothes.”
“Are you suggesting we dressed up for a wedding we weren’t invited to and…what? Brought our own champagne flutes with us so we could sneak in?” Maisie said, brows pinched together as if the mere suggestion was outrageous.
“Maybe,” Glen said, but he licked his lips in a nervous sort of way, and I knew the seeds of doubt we were planting had taken root.
“This is ridiculous.” Drew shook his head, pretending to be offended, then reached inside his suit jacket and pulled a safeguard out from his pocket—a piece of pink card stock. After unfolding it, he handed a ceremony program to Glen for him to inspect. “Believe us now?”
After finding Brandon and Casey’s names on the Wyndgate event page, a quick Google search turned up their wedding website, which included the ceremony time and church address.
All we had to do was show up after the service and snag one of the many programs left behind in the pews.
At the time, I’d thought it was overkill to drive thirty minutes out of our way to get one, but now I was glad Maisie had suggested it.
“Fine.” Glen shoved the program back into Drew’s hands and waved us on. “But don’t let me catch you out here again. It’s against the rules to take glass onto the course, and not all of you look twenty-one.”
None of us were.
“Sorry,” JJ said, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “Won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” Glen grumbled. “I won’t be so lenient next time.” Glen stalked off into the night, the key ring attached to his belt loop jingling with every step.
The four of us scrambled inside before he could change his mind.
“Friendly staff they have here,” Maisie commented as I glanced around.
We were standing in a long outer room that must have been used for cocktail hour, because cruiser tables draped in blush-colored linen were scattered throughout the space.
Each table was topped with hydrangea bouquets and personalized B + C candles.
To our left, two sets of double doors adorned with balloon arches were thrown open, revealing the ballroom within.
“We did it!” I exclaimed, doing a little happy dance as Drew deposited our empty glasses on the nearest table.
“Am I allowed to say I told you so now?” JJ asked.
“Yes, of course!” Throwing my arms around him, I gave JJ a grateful hug. “Thanks for coming up with the plan. I really appreciate it.”
When I pulled away, a faint pink colored his cheeks, like he hadn’t expected my gratitude. “Don’t mention it. I do this for all my fake girlfriends.”
With a bemused grin, I turned to my brother and Maisie. “Thank you both as well.” If not for the intel Drew’s friend provided or Maisie’s brilliant idea to steal a program, we might not have been successful. “Can we go find the colonel now?”
“Actually,” Drew said, wrapping an arm around Maisie’s waist. “We’re going to check out the reception.”
I frowned. “You don’t want a selfie?”
“Nah,” he said, his gaze darting toward the ballroom. “This is your thing. I’m more interested in seeing if there’s any leftover cake.”
JJ’s eyes lit up at the mention of food.
“Okay,” I said, taking his hand and dragging him in the opposite direction. “We’ll catch up with you two later.”
“But what about the cake?” JJ said, casting a sullen look over his shoulder as Drew and Maisie disappeared under the balloon arches.
“We have a dead war hero to find,” I reminded him. “You can stuff your face later.”
It only took us three minutes to locate the statue.
The foyer, which looked more like the lobby of a luxury hunting lodge, had a rustic floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, wood-paneled walls, and lots of squishy leather armchairs.
When I did an initial scan of the room, my heart sank.
Where was he? But then JJ nudged me in the side and pointed out a far corner bathed in shadow.
Colonel Mustard’s effigy was taller than I expected—the understated bronze sculpture had to be at least seven feet—and depicted a solemn man wearing a military uniform, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Can I have my phone?” I asked, holding out my hand as we approached. I hadn’t brought a purse, so JJ had offered to carry it for me.
“Nope.” He withdrew my phone from his pocket but held it out of reach. “I’m going to take the picture.”
“But it’s supposed to be a selfie,” I said, gaze darting around the room. We didn’t have time to argue about this. Someone could walk in at any moment and catch us.
“I know what a selfie is,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement. “Just turn around.”
I pursed my lips but did what he asked. Once my back was to the statue, JJ wrapped an arm around me from behind, pulled me against his chest, and held up my phone. The move caught me so off guard, I was still gaping when the flash went off.
“You’re supposed to smile,” he teased after looking at the picture.
It was hard to think with his body pressed against mine, but I finally managed to string a sentence together. “I wasn’t ready,” I muttered. “Take another one.”
Four shots later, JJ finally took a photo I was happy with.
“Do you want some of just you? I’ve endured plenty of your sister’s photo shoots, so I think I can channel my inner Stella.” JJ put a hand on his hip and scowled. “How am I supposed to work when the lighting in here is terrible?” he said in a voice that was eerily like hers.
“That was freaky,” I told him. “Never do that again.”
He laughed. “No picture then?”
“I’m good. Let’s go find you some cake.”
JJ grinned like he’d won a prize. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
As we were making our way back to the reception, a bathroom door swung open in front of us.
Casey Abbott, a curvy redhead who looked like she was in her late twenties, swept out in a lacy, off-the-shoulder ball gown, flanked by one of her bridesmaids.
They were deep in conversation, but when the bride caught sight of us, she offered me a smile that radiated happiness.
Then she spotted JJ, and her mouth fell open.
“Bridget,” she gasped, reaching out and clutching the other woman for support. “Are you seeing this, or am I hallucinating?”
“Holy shit,” Bridget whispered.
Of course, JJ didn’t help the situation. He raised his hand in greeting and offered the girls a broad smile. “Hi, ladies! How’s it going?”
“No freaking way!” Casey exclaimed, rushing over to us. “You’re JJ Morris.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, running a hand over his hair. Somehow he managed to look sheepish and charming at the same time.
“Oh my God, JJ Morris is at my wedding! How cool is—wait. What are you doing here?” As the question left her mouth, Casey’s eyes briefly met mine before focusing on JJ again. “Are you a plus-one?”
“About that… Hope you don’t mind, but we’re totally crashing.”
“JJ!” I hissed and whacked him on the arm.
Casey looked puzzled for a moment—I could practically see the Why? on the tip of her tongue—but then her face transformed as realization washed over her. “Colonel Mustard?”
I bit my lip, then reluctantly nodded.
To my astonishment, she threw back her head and laughed.
“How did you guess?”
“We grew up in Rochester,” Bridget answered, whipping out a tissue to fix Casey’s makeup. “Suffice it to say, wedding crashing isn’t nearly as despicable as what we did to get our pictures.”
“Ooooh.” JJ leaned in, eyes glowing. “What did you do?”
Bridget smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“This is wild,” Casey said, shaking her head. “I mean, I’ve been listening to your music since I was a freshman in college. Nobody is going to believe me when I tell them you crashed my wedding.”
“They will if you have proof,” he said. “Let’s take a picture.”
“You’d do that?”
“It’s your big day,” he replied. “How could I possibly say no? Plus, we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t call security on us.”
Instead of using a phone, Casey sent Bridget to find her wedding photographer.
When she returned, not only was there a man clutching a professional camera trailing behind her but three more bridesmaids whispering excitedly among themselves.
This didn’t bother JJ. He spent time talking, signing napkins, and posing for pictures with the entire group.
When the photo shoot finished, JJ pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Casey.