Brek had two jobs: ensure Sophie got married and prevent anyone from getting arrested. He did a quick head count. Bride and groom. Check. Minister. Check. Photographer. Check. He and Velma would stand as witnesses. Check. Check. He held the walkie-talkie to his mouth. They could’ve used Aspen’s Bluetooth setup, but the two-way radios were way more A-Team. “Ready to go, Eli. You copy, Dean? Jase?”
“In position,” Jase replied. “Traffic cones going up now.”
“What he said,” Dean’s voice crackled over the radio.
“In position,” Eli parroted.
“Let’s roll,” Brek replied into the handset. He dropped the radio beside him on the wooden bench inside the back of the bread delivery van and settled Buttercup on his lap. The dog wasn’t happy about wearing a mini tux again.
They had borrowed the box truck from one of Eli’s suppliers after the owner finished his morning deliveries. Eli covered the bakery logos with new ones for the fictional Cal’s Famous Pizzeria while Brek swept out the crumbs and installed the benches. They even added fake license plates so it couldn’t be traced.
Velma squeezed in next to him.
His hand found hers. When she was nearby, it seemed he couldn’t help but touch her.
“I’m suddenly craving some French bread with a side of extra carbs. This is torture.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement.
“Didn’t you eat before you came?”
“No time. Busy at work, then I had to grab supplies for Claire’s shower and find a dress for tomorrow’s dinner with Jase’s family.”
“They’re gonna love you. I’ll make sure of it.”
She had been stressed about making a good impression. Jase’s family could be intense, but Brek would be there as her buffer.
“I hope so. I really do. By the way, he told me how lilies are your go-to flower to pick up women. I’d be grumpy, but I really like lilies.” Her eyes danced with laughter.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever picked up with flowers.” Truth. Usually, he didn’t need to buy flowers to get a woman to drop her panties. “And Jase needs to keep his trap shut. What else has he told you?”
“Things I’ll never say.” Velma raised her eyebrows and mimed zipping her mouth shut.
He needed to have a talk with his buddy about shit Jase should keep to himself.
The photographer shifted next to Velma, camera in hand. Velma’s grandfather-slash-minister, Pops (he’d insisted Brek call him that), was perched on the bench across from them, along with the happy couple. Pops had a goofy grin etched on his face. Brek had caved, telling him the plan so he’d agree to get in the back of a bread truck. As soon as Pops heard what they were up to, he had been ecstatic.
“All aboard,” Eli said before pulling down the rolling door and locking it in place. Everything inside went dark. Velma sucked in a breath. She gripped Brek’s forearm, her fingernails biting into his skin. Not in the good way they’d done that morning.
Only a sliver of sunshine crept under the door. He probably should’ve brought something for light. Hindsight and all that.
Velma dug through the oversized duffle bag she’d placed at her feet, sliding a little as the van lurched forward. Brek caught her waist before she took a header onto the floor. She sat up and clicked on multiple flashlights. Well, huh. She’d come prepared. Of course she had. She was Velma—cell phone flashlights wouldn’t cut it.
She handed one to him and another to Pops. The eerie glow of the flashlights gave this wedding a distinctly creepy feel. Buttercup yapped in apparent agreement.
They hit a bump and everyone bounced. Velma hit her head against the metal side of the van. Brek raised his fingers to rub her hair where she had bonked.
“That feels nice, but it’d be better if you told me what’s happening,” Velma whispered to him. He turned the flashlight beam to her.
“Sophie and Troy are getting married,” he replied, breathing in the unique scent of everything Velma. He glanced to the duffle bag she’d filled with things. Flashlights, apparently. Who knew what else she’d packed into her bag of tricks. “You didn’t need to bring umbrellas.”
“You’ll thank me when it rains.” She pressed her shoulders back and raised her eyebrows at him.
He shook his head and nudged her knee with his. “Thanks for bringing flashlights.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I want to take that dress off you later,” he whispered in her ear.
“Brek,” she whispered back, giving the side-eye to her oblivious grandfather. “Behave.”
