Page 69 of Forever to Fall
At the behest of Alice, Mallory’s bestie who clearly wanted her here instead of Julia, all the couples had caravanned over to Elm River to continue the party. The pub had a huge circular booth that sat a dozen people, and right now, he and Julia were stuck in the middle. From his perch in hell, Beckett saw Evan and CeCe slow dancing on the tiny dancefloor, her head resting on Evan’s shoulder. He wished he could have enjoyed his friend’s happiness a little longer, but Julia decided to be helpful.
“Oh noooo,” she cooed when she spied her spilled drink. “I got you all wet.” She hiccupped before grabbing a paper napkin and blotting at his leg.
Beckett lurched as far away as he could, cupping her hand and stopping her efforts. “Please, Julia. It’s fine.”
Across the booth, he heard the very distinct snicker of Alice Snyder. Turning to face her he asked, “A little help here?”
Alice shook her head, draining the last of her wine. “C’mon, James,” she said to her boyfriend. “I think I feel like dancing.” She glared as she slid from the booth and out into the din of the rest of the party.
He couldn’t blame Alice, as she was aware of his and Mallory’s muddled status. Actually, that wasn’t fair. The status wasn’t muddled, he knew exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted wasn’t sitting here with a drunk stranger in a bar he didn’t know without the woman of his dreams.
When Evan and CeCe introduced Julia, he assumed they would small talk for a moment while Mallory helped CeCe. Simple enough. He could handle inane chatter for five minutes. When Alice suggested everyone go to Elm River to continue the party, he was all for it. But when Mallory wasn’t there and Julia was shoved into his car, Beckett wanted to puke. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and he couldn’t get Mallory to answer her phone.
“I fink ve should dance too,” Julia slurred into Beckett’s ear, the scent of sour apples hitting his nostrils. Turning his head, he scanned the pub for any sign of help and trying not to gag at the smell of stale booze.
Sophie and Emily were currently dancing circles around Evan to one of his favorite K-Pop tunes, while Alice and James spoke animatedly with Natalie and Anthony. He couldn’t find CeCe, but he hoped she’d make an appearance soon to save him from her friend. “I don’t know if dancing sounds good right now,” he said mostly to himself since Julia was currently fascinated with the state of the sugar packet caddy on the table.
“Look at these little envelopes.” Giggling, Julia pulled out all the packets and stacked them in front of her. Balling up her fist, she smashed it down until the packets crumbled and sugar substitute puffed into the air. “Now it’s snowing,” she exclaimed, trailing her fingers through the mess.
Yeah, Beckett needed to get out of there. Now that they were the only pair in the booth, he slid his way to freedom. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, knowing full well he wasn’t coming back if he could help it.
Plodding out to the dance floor, he waved to get Evan’s attention. “Where’s CeCe?” he yelled into his friend’s ear, hoping he could be heard over the sound system.
Evan lifted his shoulders, seeming completely unphased by Beckett’s situation. “Dunno, but she promised to find us some food.” Judging from the dark smudges under Evan’s blue eyes and the slouch in his frame, he wasn’t the only one who over imbibed.
“Got it.” Beckett flashed a smile before turning and searching for the bride-to-be. He needed to figure out how to get Julia back to her hotel, and he wasn’t about to volunteer for the task. At the entrance to the pub a young hostess piled up menus and looked ready to head out herself. “Excuse me,” he said, hoping he didn’t look as disheveled as he felt.
The expression the hostess gave him confirmed he looked like a wrung-out sponge. “Yeah?”
“Have you seen a petite blonde in a white dress around?”
With a snort, the hostess nodded. “You mean the scary lady?”
Beckett bit back a laugh, because he personally wouldn’t consider CeCe scary—unless food was involved. “Was she asking about food?”
“Pfft, you can say that. I told her the fries were frozen from our vendor, and she had a fit. Asked to see the chef and stormed off toward the kitchen. We never let customers back there, but I don’t get paid enough for that level of fierce.” She put away the last menu and strode out the door.
Beckett glanced over his shoulder, finding Julia asleep at the table. A sugar packet was stuck to her cheek, but she seemed unharmed. Good, at least she wouldn’t run away before he found help. Heading to the rear of the restaurant, he heard CeCe before he stepped into the kitchen.
“Look man,” she said, hands on her hips. Even standing in a stranger’s kitchen in her engagement finery, she was a force. “I know your poutine is the best in Ohio, that’s not what I’m saying.”
The chef, a man in his thirties wearing a bandana and expression of utter shock, mirrored her posture. “Look lady, I don’t know who you think you are. You can’t just barge into my kitchen and critique the food. It’s a pub for crying out loud, not a Michelin-star restaurant.”
CeCe huffed out a sigh, but she did not back down. “I’m just saying that if you cut your potatoes from fresh, you’d have a better product overall.”
“And I’m saying that I’m not made of money and don’t have the time and staff to peel and cut for every order. Now if you’ll let me get back to it, I’ll feed you and your friends.”
Clasping her hands in prayer, CeCe soldiered on. “But can I at least show you the difference?”
The chef was incredulous. “You want to make your own food? In my kitchen?” Pausing a moment to scan her outfit he added, “In that get up?”
She nodded once, her chin tipped up. “Yes.”
“Lady, you’re nuts. I can’t decide if I should laugh or call the cops.”
Beckett made his presence known, stepping up to CeCe and resting his hand on her shoulder. Her skin vibrated with frustration and tension. “I don’t know if you know who you’re talking to. This is CeCe LaRue. Her food truck won the—” but his explanation died on his tongue when the chef barked out a laugh.
“No freaking way, I thought you looked familiar.” He stepped back and gestured to the prep counter. “Ms. LaRue, make yourself at home.”
