The three of them got down to business and talked about the setup for the previous weddings, the menu, the work they’d doneand how hard it was to find supplies and that they had to buy a lot of them.
“I’ve got many vendor contacts. You can rent linens, plates, and glasses instead of buying them. But of course if you bought them already…”
“We did,” Brooke said. “Not that we wanted to, but it was only a wedding of fifty. We’ll be able to use them, but I like it better to rent them.”
“It’s easier and worth it. I’ll make sure I’ve got choices available for them.”
They were discussing food options and what the cafe could provide, which was nothing more than finger foods, to a list of caterers that she’d already had in place.
“Anything for Reenie to work less is my vote.”
Meredith turned when Ford came in the back door. He wasn’t in uniform but had his gun on his belt. She wondered if he always wore it.
She forced her eyes away. She wasn’t used to weapons. She wouldn’t say she was uneasy around them, just not something she thought much of.
It reminded her of what Gale had said about Clay. That he’d recently killed two people.
She didn’t want to think of what he’d done in the service. Or what his role was there either.
It was the dark side of life she wished didn’t exist.
Give her elementary school kids any day of the week with story times, paints, and Play-Doh.
Naïve on her part.
“Hi, Ford,” she said, standing and going in for a hug. It was just her thing. “Not sure if you remember me.”
“I do,” Ford said. “Unlike my brother.”
She smiled and put her hand to the side of her mouth as if she was going to whisper, only she didn’t, “I think he might have blocked me from his memory. I wouldn’t blame him.”
“It’s hard to do that,” Clay said, coming in after Ford.
Damn it. There she went putting her foot in her mouth.
“I have a lasting impression on people,” she said. “Not on purpose.” Which was funny because she always thought she was forgettable.
Clay snorted. “I didn’t recognize you without the glasses. Gale gave me shit over it.”
“Clay Matthew, don’t you swear,” Brooke said.
His eyebrows lifted almost into his hairline. “I swear all the time. So do you. What the hell?”
A giggle escaped. “I’m used to swearing. I do it myself. But I do have to make sure not to do it around the kids.”
“See,” Clay said. “Ford is worse than me.”
“Never,” Ford said, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer and tossing it to Clay. “Here. Drink and don’t talk.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Clay said, opening the can and taking a large gulp of it.
His hair was wet, so she was assuming he’d gone home to shower and change.
“You don’t drink your cider over beer?” she asked. There was silence in the kitchen to that, then Ford burst out laughing. “What did I say? I love your cider. I’ve had them all.”
“That’s good,” he said. “I drink enough of it testing and tasting.”
“The sugar and acid give him a bellyache,” Ford said.
