“And what’s it serve?”
“Barbecue.”
Why was this starting to feel like an interrogation?
“And who do you know who could drive a food truck like that?”
“Jam—”
Oh, that dirty fucking asshole.
“Exactly,” Nic said as he flopped back in his bucket seat. “What was it you told me was your favorite part of visiting Jamie’s family?”
“His sister’s fucking red velvet cake.” Cam slapped Danny’s arm. “What the fuck is happening here?”
Taking his foot off the gas, Danny slowed the car and relaxed into his seat, catching Cam’s eye in the rearview mirror. The determined, panicked face Mel’s husband had worn the past fifteen minutes melted away, replaced by the wicked grin Danny wore most often. “Something that should have happened a long time ago.”
FOUR
Nic wasn’t surprised at all when Meat & Cake, now traveling at a lawful speed, turned at the stone marker for the Talley family’s Woodside estate. Danny followed the food truck through the open iron gate and up the gravel drive to the front of the grand manor home. While not exactly the same, the sprawling house resembled the pictures Nic had seen of the original Talley manor in Ireland.
Nic likewise wasn’t surprised when, once they’d parked and climbed out of Danny’s Maserati, the back doors of Meat & Cake swung open to reveal a perfectly safe and sound Melissa Cruz... and a grinning Jameson “Whiskey” Walker.
What was surprising, however, was their attire. Jamie stepped down from the truck first, flipping out the tails of his tuxedo. He held out a hand for Mel, who had changed out of her boots, jeans, and sweater and into sky-high pumps and a shimmering rose-gold cocktail dress. And dangling from Mel’s other hand was a garment bag branded with a local tuxedo shop’s logo.
Rewinding the past twenty minutes, Nic tried to put the rest of the pieces together. Nic had experienced a Jamie Walker car chase from the passenger seat before. No one was as talentedbehind the wheel. And when the food truck had zoomed away from 101 toward Woodside, and when no backup had met them at 280, he’d put those two pieces together and guessed—correctly—at the ultimate where of the “chase.” But the why of it had still eluded him.
Danny’s words echoed in his mind. Something that should have happened a long time ago.
He fit that piece together with Mel’s and Jamie’s attire, the additional garment bag, the lit-up house, and the faint music he heard floating out through the stone archway that led to the house’s patio and backyard.
The picture resolved, and Nic rounded on Danny, who had hung back by the car. “Is this what I think it is?”
Cam was charging the opposite direction toward his best friend. “What the fuck is this, brother?” he practically shouted at Jamie.
“A tux,” Jamie said, poorly mimicking Cam’s Southie accent. “With tails. Your favorite, I know.” He took the bag from Mel and handed it to Cam. “A little birdie told me your fourth marriage license is five days from expiring.”
A third person appeared at the doors of Meat & Cake. “That little birdie was me,” Lauren said, doing a much better impression of Jamie’s Southern accent. Brown hair in a styled topknot, wearing a flouncy orange dress and silver ballet flats, she hopped down from the truck. “You assholes”—a glittery nail gestured between Nic and Cam—“are getting married today. End of discussion.”
“They both need a shower first,” Danny added. “Thankfully, the house has ten.”
“So helpful,” Nic said.
Cam pivoted, his dark eyes swinging back to him. “Did you know about this?”
“Not a damn thing. It’s release day at the brewery. A wedding was the last thing on my mind.”
“It’s been the last thing on either of your minds for a year and a half,” Lauren said. “No matter how many of us pester you about it.”
“And release day was the perfect cover,” came another voice from the direction of the archway. Nic glanced over Cam’s shoulder and was socked with another surprise. Eddie stood in the lengthening evening shadows, dressed in full military uniform.
“Was there even a Coast Guard mission today?” Nic asked.
Eddie strode toward him. “Of course not,” he answered cheekily.
Nic punched his shoulder as soon as he was in range. “I don’t have a tux.”
“No, you don’t.” A tuxedoed Aidan stepped out the front door, Nic’s uniform bag in one hand and Victoria, Nic’s half sister’s mom and his unofficial stepmother, also formally dressed, on his other arm. They descended the steps and crossed the drive to Nic. “You are a terrible fucking SEAL,” Aidan said with a grin. “Aren’t you always supposed to be prepared?”
