Page 37 of A Small Town Spring

We exchange a hug, and I shed my London Fog overcoat.“I haven’t seen you since you and Beck got engaged.Congratulations, again, in person.”

He smiles, wide and open, and I can’t believe how he’s changed since he met Beck.He used to be the biggest slut on Broadway and thought marriage was for suckers.Now he’s engaged and looks like he can’t wait to sign on the dotted line.

“Thanks, Kingston.That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.We’re not in a rush or anything, but we’re thinking about getting married in the spring.And we’re hoping you’ll perform the ceremony.”

“What?”Me, officiate their wedding?“Why?”

“Because you helped us get where we needed to go.I’ll always be grateful for that,” he says, taking me aback with his serious mien.

“At the time, you were less enthusiastic about my contribution to the situation.”

“Your meddling, you mean.”

“I hardly meddled,” I argue.“I just made you both admit what you already knew—that you two lunkheads were in love with each other.”

“Potato, potahtoe,” Van drawls.“Point is—it would mean a lot to us if you did it.You mean a lot to us.And we can hardly ask Jack—he’d blubber through the whole thing.”

“Well, that’s true.”I think about it for a second while the server delivers my red.“I guess so—I mean, what would I have to do?”

“You get one of those internet certifications and write a few words.”

“I’m no writer?—”

“Don’t pull that.It doesn’t have to be much.Just write about how much we love each other, how Beck made me fall in love with him by baking me cookies and I wooed him by being grumpy and emotionally unavailable.Stuff like that.”

I laugh.“You’re the writer.How about I take a stab at it and then you can polish it up and make it sound pretty?”

“So you’ll do it?”he asks, tacitly accepting my terms.

“I’ll do it.”I’m still not sure I’m the right person for the job, but I can see what an honor it is to be asked.I sip my excellent Barolo.“How exciting.A wedding is definitely something to look forward to.”

“I’m getting married,” Van says, sounding incredulous.“I’m gettingmarried.”

“It was your idea, from what you and Beck told me,” I say, suddenly worried he’s getting cold feet.

“Oh, I proposed all right.Beck’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The stab of jealousy is so painful it feels like an actual knife between my ribs.I glance down, but my shirt is pristine.No knife.No blood.

“That’s… great, Van.”

His faraway expression vanishes at the tone of my voice.“Now, what about you?My actor friend is still single and looking, by the way.”

“No,” I say, the thought of making the effort to get to know someone new entirely exhausting.“Thanks.”

“How’s it going with Toby?”he asks without commenting on my refusal.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been staying with you for a while.Everything good?”

“It’s really good,” I say cautiously.“I think.Except—he needs a place to work.I was thinking about putting up one of those prefab units.I already have the slab ready to go, and we’d only need to install electricity.”The idea came to me one day when I parked Daniel in my invisible garage and realized it would make the perfect spot for a studio.

“So he’s staying?”

“As far as I know,” I say.

“And you two are—” He stops and waves his hands in a vague manner, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting I know what he’s implying.

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