4
The Ensenada shore excursion was advertised as a wine tasting at a local bodega, which meant that a sizable percentage of the wedding guests were disembarking the ship to board an air conditioned bus. A sizable percentage of Leo would rather eat the wax flowers that decorated the public areas of the ship. He had committed anyway because he was a mature adult—at least that’s what he told himself—and Daniel had asked.
As he walked down the steep gangway, he spotted Catherine waiting by the bus and lost his nerve.
His stepmother had aged since the funeral, the way people did when grief interfered with the normal passage of time. Today she had a determined look on her face, which meant Leo had about sixty seconds before she intercepted him. She truly loved him and cared about him. He loved her, too, in his stubborn way. He’d just never known what to do with that. He certainly wasn’t prepared to do anything with it this morning on a tour bus with seventy pairs of eavesdropping ears.
She’s going to want to talk about Dad. She’s going to ask how I’m doing. She’s going to mean it.
He ducked behind a cluster of wedding guests and peeled off down First Street. Daniel would have to get over it. He should be used to Leo disappointing him by now.
He wandered for a while, pretending to shop. The vendors called to him in a warm mix of Spanish and English, and after a few blocks he managed to stop thinking about Catherine and how he’d rejected so many of her attempts to include him even before his father died.
He distracted himself picturing the man who’d moved the place cards.
I was reading by the pool this morning because I thought you might walk by. Instead I got ambushed by a movie star. Which was a weird thing to be annoyed about when he didn’t even know the man’s name.
He was standing in a stall haggling ineffectively for a woven basket when a voice by his elbow said, “You know he’s going to charge more now, right? If you want to get the best deal, you need to act indifferent.”
Leo turned.
Wayne’s PA looked as though he’d walked the last several blocks on autopilot. Black t-shirt, sunglasses, two tote bags bristling with tissue paper.
“I don’t really want the basket.”
“So maybe stop holding it.”
Leo put the basket down. The shopkeeper sighed and turned to the next sucker in line.
“Hi,“
Leo said. Wow, with that much wit, it was a surprise the guy hadn’t already stripped down and offered himself up as a snack.
“Do you have a map on your phone that works? Winnie gave me an address that doesn’t exist.”
“Winnie being—“
“The wedding planner. The person who should be running around Ensenada in this heat.”
“And do you have a name, or do you go by Wayne’s assistant?”
Leo enjoyed the blush that crossed such a serious face.
“Marcel Lattanzi.”
Leo introduced himself and reached out his hand to shake, but Marcel jiggled the bags he held in one hand and his ever-present phone in the other.
“So the wedding planner. Is she the one who’s been crying in the atrium bar since we boarded?“
Leo had observed a couple of the bridesmaids comforting her. Or maybe trying to convince her to cry it out in her own cabin.
“That’s her.”
Alyssa must be having a cow. He supposed it was his duty as her future stepbrother-in-law, to help out the guy who’d been pressed into service as backup wedding planner. “What are we looking for?”
“A ceramicist who’s supposed to have made the groomsman gifts. We need to find the address. And hope Winnie didn’t conjure this person up in her imagination.”
“I’m in.”
They spent the next hour tracking down a woman named Lupe, who, it turned out, was three streets over from the address Winnie had written down, under a sign with a name that might have been similar if you only read every other letter.
Marcel leaned over Lupe’s work table explaining in fluent Spanish exactly how he wanted the ribbons fastened to the gifts. Leo was quickly learning that Marcel’s particular set of skills extended far beyond expectations. Sensing he was about to take over the task himself, Leo relieved him of his packages and phone. As if recognizing a sudden change in ownership, the device started ringing in Leo’s hand. He answered while Marcel was tangled in ribbon.
“Wayne Flagg’s office.“
Marcel’s head jerked up in an instant.
“Hey Celly. Is it true that Wayne is on a cruise? He was supposed to get back to me about—“
Leo gave the caller only part of his attention, enjoying the increasing panic crossing Marcel’s face.
“Sorry, I can neither confirm nor deny that information. Have a great day.”
Leo ended the call and looked at the caller ID. “That was—“
“Yeah, I know who it was from the ringtone. I’m going to have to call him back.“
He held out his hand expectantly.
“You set custom ringtones, Celly?”
“It’s Marcel,“
he said, making it clear that would be the last time Leo uttered that nickname. “And yes.” He kept his hand out.
“That’s terrifying.”
“It’s efficient,“
he countered, grabbing his phone back with a ferocity that had Leo counting his fingers.
Marcel was beyond efficient. Gifts in hand, he also picked up engraved shot glasses and tiny wooden carvings as they walked, just in case Alyssa was displeased with how the ceramic plates had turned out. All while answering more phone calls in an hour than Leo received in a month.
Leo noticed something else. Every time a caller asked for a favor, Marcel said yes. The only time Marcel denied a request was when they asked for the inside scoop on Wayne’s location or current relationship status.
They passed a bakery with small tables in front. Soft music emanated from the open door. Leo asked, “When did you last eat?“
When Marcel looked like he might need a calculator to come up with an answer, Leo pulled him to a stop.
“Sit. I’ll order.“
His tone brooked no argument.
Marcel wisely didn’t give him one. “Almond croissant, please. And coffee, hot. Cream, no sugar.”
“Hot coffee in this heat? Barbaric.“
Leo entered the bakery to the chuff of Marcel’s laugh.