Page 9 of The Accidental Honeymoon

"I mean, not that I’d know what that looks like. But I can imagine." I lean in closer, watching her squirm. "You going to be okay? Need me to pat your back? Get you some water?"

"You’re an ass," she mutters, glaring at me. But it’s half-hearted, and we both know it.

"Probably," I admit, still smiling. "But you’re the one who walked in here. So what does that make you?"

“That was truly vile. The worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The chaos of a few hours ago, Blake in her ridiculous peacock dress, the hurried preparations. It feels like a lifetime ago, the memory bleeding away.

"You know," I say slowly, an idea forming in my tequila-soaked brain. “We could still make something of the day. We could at least make this wedding disaster memorable."

She looks back at me, suspicious. "How?"

I grab the tequila bottle and stand, swaying slightly. "Come on. I promise it’ll be more fun than sitting here wallowing."

Calla hesitates, her eyes flicking between the bottle and my face. "I really should get home."

"You should. But will you?" I extend a hand to her. “Keep me company, Calla."

She stares at me for a moment, then takes my hand. I pull her to her feet, grinning.

"You’re insane," she says. But there’s a note of curiosity, maybe even one of excitement, in her voice.

"Probably." I lead her toward the door. "But you’re coming along for the ride."

For the first time in hours, I feel a flicker of something other than despair. Maybe hope. Or maybe it’s just the tequila. Either way, I’ll take it.

I lead Calla into the back of the restaurant. It’s deserted. Bennett has gone into his office or run out to get something. Either way, I pull her toward the walk-in refrigerator.

“Where are you taking me?” She wrinkles her nose, distrustful.

“You’ll see in a second.” I pull open the walk-in. The wedding cake is sitting there on a wheeled cart, swathed delicately in cling wrap. It was brought here by Bennett, who offered to keep it in the restaurant’s fridge for guests to enjoy during the reception.

Only now that the reception is called off, there is no need for a huge five tier wedding cake. I’m not getting married today.

With some difficulty, I pull the cart out of the walk-in, showing Calla what I’ve rustled up. “Voilà!”

“Okayyyy…?” she says, eying me. “The wedding cake. Why are you showing me the wedding cake?”

“Like Marie Antoinette said. The people are starving. Let them eat cake!”

My announcement makes her blink several times. “Where are you planning to serve cake?”

I shrug. “Wherever there are people. We have a cart. We can go anywhere we want. Let’s start outside.”

Calla takes a deep breath and says, “If you want to….”

“I do,” I say quickly, cutting off whatever else she was going to say. “Help me get this out front.”

I shrug off my tux jacket and convince Calla to help me wheel the massive cake out ontothe street. At first, she hesitates, probably imagining it toppling over and creating a sugary avalanche. But my enthusiasm wins her over.

The night air is wintry. The streets are quieter now too, but there’s still a trickle of people moving through the town square. I peel the cling wrap off, letting her use a chef’s knife and a stack of bar napkins to make little cake bundles. Together, we start slicing the cake and offering pieces to anyone who’ll take them. College students, people leaving restaurants, a pottery class that has just let out.

I hand out samples for a while before I realize that I have a smoking gun left unused.

“Hold on,” I say, pulling out my phone. Angling it towards us, I catch Calla instinctively ducking, but I keep her in the frame anyway. “Hey everyone, it’s Jay. So, the wedding didn’t quite go as planned, but we’ve got a ton of cake here. Come get a slice! Oh, and prepare to have your taste buds blown away by the one, the only, Calla!”

I turn the camera to her. She freezes, awkwardly waving. “Hi?” is all she manages to say.

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