Chapter 7 A Three-Strikes Situation with Corporate #3
Steam hissed off the grill as he waited patiently for the bride and groom to fill in the blanks.
“Elliot Mervin Hodges,” her partner-in-fraud completed.
Mervin. She’d file that away for later.
“And Elaine Colette Davis,” Lainey offered.
Do we stand? she mouthed to Elliot, who answered by pulling out her chair for her.
They stood in front of the man chopping rice on a blazing cooktop.
“…in marriage. For richer, for poorer. For—”
“We’re good on this part, too,” Elliot interrupted. “Can you get to the…” He twirled his fingers in a wrap-it-up gesture.
“Do you at least have rings?” Chef Nemoto asked with detectable irritation. Evidently, they were messing with his matrimonial flow.
“Oh. Yes.” Elliot pulled a Styrofoam take-out container out of his bag. He opened it to reveal two gold rings lying in the box like a pair of lonesome french fries.
Her eyes bugged out. “Where did you even—?”
“There’s a jewelry store that also has pretty good Greek food next to the bed and breakfast,” he explained, describing what could only be Kostas’ Gyros and Fine Jewelry. “I tried to guess your size, but we can always get it refitted if it doesn’t…”
He slipped the thin gold band onto her finger. A perfect fit.
“You’re supposed to wait until—” Their chef/officiant looked to the ceiling and sighed. He plopped an onion onto the cooktop. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Do you, Helen—?”
“Elaine,” Lainey and Elliot corrected in unison.
“Do you, Elaine, take Elliot to be your lawful wedded spouse, from this day forward, for as long as you both shall live?” Something dropped in her stomach. Sure, this wasn’t a lifelong commitment, but that didn’t make hearing those words coming from the hibachi chef any less terrifying.
She looked at Elliot, whose face seemed just as shaken by the idea of forever as hers. Something about that comforted her. She wasn’t alone. The knowledge that she was holding her panic with another person gave her the courage to reply, “I do.”
He asked Elliot the same question. Before answering, Elliot stepped forward, his eyes traveling all across her face, his hands reaching out to hold her waist as if all of this meant something to him. As if she meant something to him.
Blood pulsed in her ears as he replied, “I do.”
Chef cleared his throat. “Then, by the power vested in me by Fast Officiants, LLC, you are now married. You may kiss the—”
The word kiss sent a low, anticipatory hum through her body. It wasn’t excitement or even desire, or at least that’s what she told herself. No, as Chef Nemoto’s lips formed the word, two distinct emotions gripped her body in rapid succession.
The first was relief. Relief that perhaps she’d finally stop wondering.
Fantasizing. Imagining their first kiss the way she had ever since it didn’t happen beside her car in the rain or in the woods by her house or in the pharmacy or in his dimly lit hotel room or even at a freaking Pottery Barn.
She’d stop dreaming, because she’d finally know.
The second was anguish. Because she’d finally know what Elliot Hodges felt like. His touch, his taste, would become a certainty. She wouldn’t dream of it anymore, and there were so few things Lainey allowed herself to dream about. She almost couldn’t bear the thought of losing another one.
But there was only time for a millisecond of this anticipatory relief/anguish before Elliot cut in with a loud throat-clearing sound that, for reasons she could not explain, felt like a personal attack.
“That’s not legally required by the state of Wisconsin,” he said, his words quick and sharp like a rap to the knuckles. “I checked online. A vow exchange, witness, and license are necessary. The kiss is optional.”
Expectant eyes swung toward Lainey. Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and humiliation sunk to the soles of her shoes. She looked at her groom, officiant, and witness, then at the onion volcano she guessed Chef Nemoto had timed to their now nonexistent lip lock.
“Ooh!” Isaac marveled. Their chef/officiant really knew how to put on a show.
Elliot leaned in close, his breath warm on the shell of her ear. “Strictly business,” he whispered, his voice warm.
Lainey gave herself exactly one second to feel the sharp sting of disappointment. Then she rolled her shoulders back and, just like that, his embarrassing swerve no longer had an effect on her. At least, not that anyone could see.
“Yes, it’s important that his face not experience any skin-to-skin contact.” She lowered her voice to a whisper that was somehow decibels louder than her ordinary speaking volume. “It’s this fungal thing. He’s very private about it.”
Beside her, Elliot made a choking sound.
“Don’t be embarrassed, honey.” Lainey drew delicate circles on his back, smiling up at him like a viper. “This is Benihana. When you’re here, you’re family.”
“I think that’s Olive Garden,” Isaac murmured.
“Oh, I’m not allowed inside those.”
Technically, it was Gran who was banned from that particular chain restaurant, but Lainey enjoyed the way blood drained from Elliot’s face when she said things like that.
Chef Nemoto sniffed the air intently. “Swisher Sweets. Anthony’s back. The marriage license will be wrapped around the check, and you can Venmo my fee. Now, sit down, and don’t look like you just got married.”
“Sorry,” they both replied. Their eyes flicked to each other and then back to the chef. She pressed her hand to her hot cheek and sunk into her chair.
“Bro, about your fungus thing, I just wanna say I think you’re really brave,” Isaac offered with astonishing sincerity.
“Thanks, man.” Elliot clapped his best acquaintance on the shoulder.
“I’ll do anything for a little midday Beni. Opa!” Isaac yelled as the onion tower ignited in flames.
“That’s not…” Lainey started to correct him but then gave up the fight, fixing her gaze on the fire licking up the pyramid of sliced rings.
“Thank you, too,” Elliot whispered against her temple, his pinkie grazing her thigh under the table with small, deliberate movements. Suddenly, she was certain he’d known exactly how much he’d rattled her by heading off that kiss.
“Of course,” she said. The weight of his eyes pressed against her skin as he surveyed her reaction. Her lips felt dryer than sandpaper, and it took every ounce of restraint not to wet them with her tongue while he watched.
It was possible Elliot Hodges was more formidable than she’d thought. She ruminated on that fact for the remainder of lunch, unable to contemplate anything aside from the pinkie at her thigh, even as she clapped lazily for the man at the neighboring table, who’d caught a shrimp in his shirt pocket.