“No.” He was mostly sure. Guests got chocolate before the wedding while they waited. Yep, that made sense. “Then we’ve gotta head over to the reception hall. Make sure everything’s done. Then we’ve gotta pray Troy doesn’t bail at the last minute.” He started unloading the foil-wrapped truffles Sophie had picked out. “You check on Sophie?”
“I did. She’s getting her hair and nails done in the choir room.” Velma took a handful of the chocolates and laid them out on the chairs. He followed suit along the next row.
“V?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For all you’ve done to help me.” He stared at her a long moment, his gratitude a very real thing.
Velma went still, her expression gentled. “You’re welcome.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out.
Aspen.
“You’re not supposed to be calling me,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“The venue looks great. Did you check on Sophie?” Aspen asked. He could hear her clicking away on her laptop in the background.
“Velma did.” He held the phone against his cheek while he continued tossing truffles on chairs.
“And Troy, somebody check on him?”
“He’ll be here later. I took him coffee earlier.” As Aspen had insisted in her ten-page list of the things-that-must-happen-at-this-wedding. “Bachelor party was epic, but he’s not trashed anymore.”
“You have eye drops in case his eyes are still red?” Aspen was all business.
“No. His eyes are red? That’s his problem. He can be a normal person and wear sunglasses.” Brek was a wedding planner today, not a frickin’ babysitter.
“Absolutely not. That’ll wreck the photos. If his eyes are red, that’syourproblem. He can’t have red eyes for pictures. Send someone for drops.”
“Hey V.” Brek held the phone away from his mouth. “We have to run and get Troy pussy-ass eye drops. Aspen says he can’t wear sunglasses like a normal pers—”
“Don’t say ‘pussy,’” Aspen cut him off. “Don’t say ‘fuck.’ Don’t say ‘shit.’ You’re in a church.”
“I’m outside of the church.” Therefore, cussing was still fair game.
“Technicality. You got the stuff I told you to pick up? Tylenol. Granola bars. Sewing kit. All that?”
No, he did not. She’d sent him a ridiculous list of things—including a shower cap, a variety of Band-Aids, and double-sided tape. These were adults who could take care of themselves. They didn’t need him passing out headache tablets and Hello Kitty bandages—that had been one of the specifics on her list. “Everything’s handled.”
“Let me talk to Velma,” Aspen insisted.
Gladly. “V, Aspen wants you.”
He handed the phone over. Velma straightened one of the chocolate boxes so it was perfectly centered. Buttercup ran around her heels as if chasing an imaginary moth.
“Hey, Aspen.” Velma frowned. “I don’t think so. Hang on.” She put her palm over the mouthpiece. “Did you get the stuff Aspen asked you to get?”
“Tell her it’s handled.” He didn’t need Aspen’s heat added to the day. The temperature was already well into the nineties.
“But did you get it?” Velma pushed.
“Tell her it’s handled,” he said again.
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t get it.” Velma flinched at whatever Aspen said in reply. “I’ll work on it… Okay… Sure… I can’t do that to your brother… Then I’d have to touch it… I’m not touching it…”
Velma hung up. “Jacob came home. Aspen had to go. You should turn off your phone and stop answering.”
