Page 24 of The Best Man Wins

Before I know it, cake pieces are flying back and forth across the table, hitting everyone. The tasting has dissolved into an all-out food fight. So much for keeping a handle on it. Cynthia and Candace shriek and flop helplessly, so I usher them out of their seats and out of the line of fire. I tug them into the nearby bathroom.

Here, Cynthia looks like she’s about to cry. I quickly yank a paper towel out of the container, wet the edge, and try to pick apart the chocolate smear on Cynthia’s blazer.

“It looks like I crapped myself!” Cynthia whines.

“Cynthia! It’s on your shoulder! How would you have crapped all the way up there?” Candace shouts at her.

“I don’t know!” Cynthia snaps back.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask as I continue to try to clean it up.

“It’s a disaster.”

“Can I get you a Flat White from Starbucks after this? What do you think?”

Cynthia pouts puppylike and nods.

Once everyone has settled down, we close out the tab with Simply Sweet.

“The vanilla cream cake,” Cora tells the owner through shrill, hiccupping little giggles as she dabs tears from the corners of her eyes. “We’ll order the vanilla cream wedding cake, please.”

Meanwhile, Mandy has taken over the task of cleaning up Ray. She wets a napkin and rubs it over his broad chest. They laugh about it, and I notice her eyes never leave his face.

Like a sister, huh? I think to myself.

As much as it pains me to admit it, maybe Braxton was right. Maybe Ray is a little less innocent than he lets on.

I only feel a little guilty telling them to bill Braxton for the cleanup crew before we head out to the nearest Starbucks.

10

Susie

Ray, Cora, and I all return from our outing, covered in food from head to toe. Braxton sits on the leather couch, his dark laptop in front of him, typing away. He’s incredibly put together, dressed in nice denim pants, a white collared shirt, and a soft grey sweater. His tight curls are slicked back and tamed. Business casual seems to be about as casual as he’s willing to get, and it makes me feel extra sloppy with frosting stuck to my clothes. When he glances up at the three of us, he lifts his eyebrows questioningly.

“Don’t ask,” Cora says.

“Right.” Braxton adverts his eyes back to his laptop.

We split ways, and I go to my room. Immediately, I throw off my soiled clothes and jump into the shower. I find pieces of cake and icing in my hair—wonderful. When I step out of the shower, I pat myself down with the towel and feel a sharp pain.

“Ow.” I turn around and glance into the mirror. There. On my bottom, left cheek. I knew it. A splinter is lodged into my skin from yesterday when Braxton made love to me against the fence. Which was worth it—sure—but this is a pain in the…well. I frown at the red skin and decide I’ll deal with it later. I pull on a nice pair of black pants and a loose-fit shirt. It has cats on it, but I only bought so many clothes with me, and I don’t want use up all my nice clothes before the wedding day. As I get dressed, I text Thom: Supply run?

He sends back a thumbs-up emoji. Our methods of communication are clearly highly sophisticated.

My hair is still wet, so I pull it back into a simple ponytail and go knocking on Cora and Ray’s room. Ray opens up.

“What can I do for you, girly?”

“I’m about to go see if I can find some decorations for the ceremony…are you two coming with?”

“I think we’re in for the evening.” He’s not kidding. Behind Ray, Cora is splayed out on the bed, her hand on her forehead. She looks wiped. Ray gives me a wink and says, “We trust you. Take my truck—keys are by the door. Send us some pictures, yeah?”

“Okay, no problem.” I smile. “I’m on it.” I give him two thumbs up, and I’m not sure why. I blame it on Thom. I just want so badly for them to believe in me, especially after the debacle with the wedding cake. Luckily, Ray is probably the most good-spirited man around, and he chuckles and gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up right back before closing the door behind me.

I patter downstairs and pass Braxton on the way out. “Come on, Mr. Moneypenny,” I tell him. “Time to roll out.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

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