It had been a great event, Gracie knew, with spun sugar clouds on the champagne flutes and a heavenly theme. Elise might be wheelchair bound, but she was officially the “best woman” for her brother and had taken the role quite seriously.
“To answer your first question,” Nicole said. “My fiancé is wonderful but wrapped up in paramedic finals. What’s new with you?”
Gracie pressed both hands to her cheeks. “You are not going to believe what Benny did.”
Nicole settled deeper into her seat like she’d just bought a ticket for a great show. “Try me.”
The entire story poured out. Right at the moment where Marshall was out buying something for the gingerbread house, the poutine arrived.
Nicole had both hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes—laughing, not crying, so hard that Gracie had to put in the rest of their order.
“They’recriminals,” Nicole said when she could finally breathe. “Absolutely ruthless. I love them.”
“Do not love them,” Gracie said, but she was smiling. “They’ve lost their minds. And that’s saying a lot for those little brainiacs.”
“They’re clever little matchmakers,” Nicole sang like it was something to celebrate.
“They’re meddling,” Gracie corrected. “Adorable, sure. But this is ridiculous.”
Nicole’s eyes were all mischief. “Is it, though? I mean,is it?”
Gracie felt it—that ridiculous telltale warmth climbing up her neck. “Do not.”
“You have a crush on him the size of Utah,” Nicole said softly, not mean, just true. “You say his name like you’re trying not to smile.”
“I do not say his name at all,” Gracie said primly.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Gracie.”
She gave up the smallest smile, betraying herself. “Fine. Marshall,” she said, and there it was: the warmth again. Broad shoulders. Forearms that did things to her soul.
Nicole looked purely delighted. “See?”
“Even if Ididfind him the tiniest bit attractive?—”
“The tiniest bit,” Nicole repeated, deadpan.
“—so what? He’s across the street, and we are, at best, friendly acquaintances and bakery rivals.”
“You also bothbake,” Nicole said. “Imagine what that could mean.”
She took a bite of the poutine, using it as an excuse not to answer.
Nicole helped herself, then waved a fry. “Okay. Plan?”
Gracie swallowed. “I told you, the plan is to end the plan. I’m going to tell Marshall the truth. That his daughter and my son are entirely too smart for their own good. I’m going to explain what they did, we will laugh about it, and then we’ll—well,I’ll—embarrass myself and turn as red as the beets we’re about to eat. Then we’ll both go tell Eleanor that we’re submitting two separate gingerbread houses and putting this whole ridiculousness to bed.”
Nicole chewed, considering. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” Nicole said again, as if that settled it. “Absolutely not. Vetoed.”
“You don’t get a veto,” Gracie said, amused.
