Page 47 of Clean Sweep
It wasn’t difficult picturing a wedding there. Small, of course, but it looked like that’s what they wanted. With Landon having the only guests, I’d wager that all of Pineville would show up.
“It’s free then,” I said. “All of New Year’s day and evening. I’ll make sure to book it today.”
Starla sighed, like a burden of relief had been removed. “That’s wonderful to hear.”
I waved the papers. “You trust me to help you with this?”
She nodded firmly. “It would be most helpful if you take it over. Surprise us. You have in your hand the only decisions that I’d make and want in there, the rest can be yours. Maybe . . . consider the execution of this as a Christmas gift? I can write you a check for the money right now, if you’re willing.”
“Oh, no need.” I waved a hand. “The expenses are on me.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but I set her my sternest Mom-glare.
“No, neither of you are going to pay for this. You’re both college students that have a lot going on, and you want it small anyway. Ethan and I will cover the costs.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”
I smiled. A limited carte blanche on a party of my own planning sounded divine. Planning my first son’s wedding?
The ultimate.
“Of course. I’m honored you asked and excited. I’ll get started on this right away.” I stacked the few pages together and folded them again. “Thank you for allowing me to help.”
Starla swallowed hard. “Thank you for helping and . . . for your patience. I hope this is the beginning of a wonderful relationship.”
Despite my reservations, I gave her my biggest smile.
“I have a feeling it will be.”
10
TANNER
When my phone rang in my pocket after finishing up yet another failed interview to replace Yessica, I glanced down to see Leslie’s name.
Shocked that she’d call me—I’d been the one calling her—I stared at it for two full rings before I hit accept.
“Hey, Leslie.”
“Hey! Got a minute?”
“Sure.” I set my pen down, transferred the phone to my other ear, and leaned my elbows onto my knees. “What’s up?”
“This . . . thing happened with Starla yesterday and I wanted to . . . well, I guess that I wanted to see what you thought of it. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“Sure.”
Why this phone call felt like it meant something, I had no idea. But her hesitation clued me in that she’d shot from the hip. She called me without really thinking about why, and although I couldn’t peg it, it seemed like a good sign.
“Starla stopped by the coffee shop,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. On her own. She wanted to talk to me about everything.”
For the next five minutes, she recounted a startling visit that, while revealing about Starla, still didn’t tell us much about the situation. In the end, Leslie summarized my own thoughts.
“I might like her more,” Leslie admitted, “but I feel like I know even less about what’s really going on. That’s frustrating, now that I’ve stepped away from the situation and spoken it out loud. At the time it just seemed . . . I don’t know.”
