The Chapel Wars (8 page)

A bride walked up then and asked Mom a question, so we all had to turn on our smiles. Dad’s didn’t quite go full throttle. I hated that I hurt him when he already had the hurt of his dad’s death, but I had pain too and I wasn’t ignoring the facts.

“Hey, I’m going talk to some vendors. Network and all of that. Are you guys good?”

Mom flashed an exaggerated A-okay sign. Dad didn’t answer, didn’t look at me.

I could see where James learned to handle conflict. Go, Dad.

I found Sam tragically nacholess next to a catering booth, sampling penne pasta in little cups.

“Where are my nachos?” I asked.

“I’ll buy you some in a bit. I had to call Camille, and I didn’t want your chips to get soggy while you waited.”

“How sweet. It would have been sweeter if you got me nachos instead of calling your girlfriend.”

“Eat some penne.”

The chef glared as we downed two more samples before hitting the convention floor. I literally pushed up the sleeves of my white work blouse before diving in.

I worked that floor harder than a prostitute on Fremont Street. I dropped off business cards and brochures at Angel Gardens, the reception hall we referred our couples to who wanted dinner or dancing. Our unique collaboration set us apart from most chapels on the Strip. Then it was on to the dress tailors, florists, ice sculptors, and videographers. I gave them my number, gave them smiles.

Basically,
I
was the business model.

“Dang, girl, let’s not hike up our skirt too much,” Sam said in between the Priceless Memories booth and another reception hall.

“These are dress pants,” I said.

“I mean, you don’t need to be so easy. If you’re too eager, it’s going to look desperate.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “We
are
desperate.”

“We’re going to be okay. I promise, you’re doing a good job, and the chapel isn’t going to fall to the ground. At least not today.” Sam paused in front of a bridal lingerie booth. “By the way, if
Camille’s parents call the chapel to check her hours again, she worked today.”

“She’s not scheduled.”

“And I’m off in thirty minutes. So it’s perfect.”

I made a face. “You guys aren’t going to make out in a convention center, are you?”

“We aren’t tacky,” Sam said. “We’ll go in my truck. Oh man, the Crystal Yummy Cakes booth.”

Wedding Mecca. Free mini cupcakes. Sam and I always made up a story about our fake wedding if they asked questions, but we could get in a good three or four bites before anyone noticed us. I shoved a toasted coconut bit of heaven into my face. “I would get married just to eat this cake.”

“Camille and I are doing lemon on our top layer. Vanilla for the borings, maybe red velvet bottom.”

I almost choked on the coconut. “Sam, you haven’t seriously talked about wedding cakes, have you?”

“I’m eighteen, Holls. We’ve been dating for fifteen months. It’s not a weird conversation to have.”

“Grown adults who have been dating for years don’t even talk like that. You haven’t picked out baby names, have you?”

“Well, of course we’re doing Sam if it’s a boy because it’s family tradition.”

I swallowed. The crumbs stuck in my throat. “Oh, Sam. No.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend,” Sam mumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“True love.”

I almost spewed on him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You are my
girl
best friend. This isn’t the kind of reaction you’re supposed to have, especially at a
bridal
convention. Five minutes here and girls will marry a hairbrush.”

“So?”

“So you sound too much like Grant and Porter. Don’t razz me on this.” He flicked some crumbs off his cheek. “Camille is the real thing. She’s my forever. As soon as we’re both out of school, we are getting married and leaving Vegas. We need to get away from her parents.”

I felt sick to my stomach. They’d only been dating fifteen months. You can’t know forever in fifteen months. And how could they know each other at all when they spent 81 percent of their time together hooking up? I gave Sam’s arm a squeeze. How could a kid with such big muscles be so stupid soft? “I’m just worried that if things don’t work out, you’re going to crash hard.”

Sam shrugged me off. “Then I do. Just because something might not happen later shouldn’t stop me from making plans now.”

“But why make them before—”

“I think that guy is waving at you.”

I followed Sam’s gaze. That guy was Dax, and he was a mere fifty feet away at the tuxedo booth. He saluted me again. The combination of delicious food and a delicious Dax almost made me faint. I could never accuse Camille of acting Victorian again.

Sam patted my back. “You okay?”

I wiped off my mouth. “That’s Dax,” I said.

“Dax who?”

“Cranston.”

Sam whirled around. “Why is a Cranston saluting you? Who salutes?”

“Don’t embarrass me. He’s coming over.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

“He’s just a guy I’ve talked to, like, twice. And he’s in the wedding business, so we’re going to run into him. No big deal. Act professional.”

“Professional? You look like you’re undressing him with your eyes. Does he look good naked?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I swear, Sam. I swear I will rearrange your schedule so you don’t ever work with Camille again.”

“Fine. Jeez. Protest much?”

Dax weaved around a booth until he was only, what, three feet away from me? It had been eighteen days since I’d seen him. Those eighteen days had treated him well.

I’m not going to pretend that I hadn’t thought about Dax. I wasn’t pining away, but I did see his chapel every day, and naturally that was going to lead me to think about who was inside. I kept wondering if things would be different if we had met in another way. If he wasn’t him and I wasn’t me. What if he was just some guy at my school, lending me a pencil or sitting at the table behind me in the cafeteria? Could there be more between us then? Would he want that? Would I?

“Hey, Holly. Glad to see you here.” His smile was lazy and self-assured. His accent made my name sound like a ballad.

Yes. Given different circumstances, I would want more. There was a lot to potentially want when it came to Dax Cranston.

“Of course she’s here.” Sam slipped his arm around me protectively. “We always attend Bridal Spectacular. It’s a competitive market. Have to keep being excellent if we’re going to stay on top.”

“Agreed,” Dax said.

I squirmed away from Sam. “Dax, this is Sam.”

“How you doing, man?” Dax held out his hand.

Sam wrinkled his nose before giving Dax a limp shake. “Decent. Holls, we better go.”

I gave Sam a look. He gave it right back. We actually had a ten-second conversation consisting of grunts and grimaces. Finally, I said, “Sam is my
employee
. We were just tasting cakes, but we’re done. Sam, why don’t you skip on back to the booth?”

“What about you?” Sam asked.

“I was just headed over to the fashion show if you wanted to go?” Dax asked.

I’d witnessed the bridal fashion show before. Under any other circumstances, I’d rather gouge out my eye with a bridal veil comb than attend. But here was an excuse to talk to Dax for a bit. Just talk. He may have been off-limits when it came to physical things, but he might prove to be an excellent resource when it came to … brainstorming effective business models.

“That’ll be great. See you, Sam.”

Sam pulled me to the side. “What’s with the fake Southern accent?”

“It’s not fake.”

“Where’s he from then?”

“I don’t know. I told you, I barely know the kid.”

“If he goes Cranston on you, I swear I’ll drive my truck into their lobby.”

“That’s your solution for everything,” I said.

“Just because it’s always my answer doesn’t make it the wrong answer.”

“You are such a country song.”

He looked at me sharply. “Camille told you to say that.”

“There happen to be some things Camille and I agree on.”

“I just … I have a bad feeling about this guy.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “And what feeling do you have exactly?”

“Like … this doesn’t end well. For anyone.”

“It’s a bridal fashion show, not a Shakespearean tragedy.”

Sam huffed away.

Dax let out a low whistle once he was out of earshot. “Boyfriend?”

I made a face. “Gross. No.”

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“No, he’s practically married, and I am very not interested.” I wanted to do something girly then, like flip my black hair, but a pixie cut didn’t give me anything to flip. “Sam is my best friend. Sometimes best friend, except when he acts like that.”

“Well, is your boyfriend here, then?” Dax asked, peering around the convention center.

My stomach dipped. Checking on my relationship eligibility.
I should have said Sam was my boyfriend so this little flirty flirt would end cold. “No, he hates wedding events.”

Dax deflated slowly, like a hidden leak in an air mattress. Which I hated, so I tried to make him smile again. Up you roll, emotional yo-yo.

“Because … he went to the shooting range before his cage-wrestling match,” I said. “We’re going to eat dead animals with our bare hands later tonight.”

Dax rewarded me with a smile. There was a dimple under the stubble. I tried to shield myself from all that adorable. It was a thick shield.

“Sounds like a keeper.”

“He would be if he were real. A girl can always dream.”

Dax started walking toward the stage. “So Sam is an employee?”

“Well, I mean, we work together. With his girlfriend, Camille. They’re fun when they aren’t sucking face. Do you have any friends at your chapel?”

“Not unless you count Minerva, at the front desk. She makes me peanut brittle sometimes.”

“I met her, I think.”

“No, that was Millicent. She’s Minerva’s twin sister. They’ve worked for us since we opened. Besides those two, we have pretty high turnover. My poppy isn’t the easiest person to work for.”

“Then is Millicent your friend?”

“No. She hates me. She asked me to bird sit for her once and somehow I traumatized Mr. Tompkins.”

The fashion show was already in full swing, which would be 34 percent swing if you were to compare it to any real fashion show. Dax raised his chin so he could see over the crowd. I counted nine girls with “I’m the bride!” nametags.

Models in wedding finery twirled down the catwalk while an MC shouted expressions like “Gorgeous! Dynamic! Breathtaking!” One groom burst into the splits during a nineties hip-hop song. Spectators catcalled and fanned themselves with wedding brochures. It was, to say the least, the worst.

“I love this dress!” The announcer’s voice was one pitch away from a dog whistle. “Looks like she’s walking on a cloud.”

“Clouds are just visible vapor, so if you walked on them you’d fall through and die, and it would be a humid death,” I said.

Dax grinned. “Unless you were wearing a cloud sweater, remember?”

“That’s a large ‘unless.’ ”

“So I take it you’re not in love with the fashion show?” Dax asked.

“We don’t sell dresses, and we already refer to a bridal rental store. This isn’t applicable to our chapel.”

He looked around the convention center. “Then did you want to go look at floral arrangements instead?”

“Not really.”

“Limos? Seamstresses? You do know I couldn’t care less about any of this, right?”

“Oh.”

Why was he looking for excuses to talk to me? More important, why was I looking for excuses to talk to him?

I scanned the convention center. We couldn’t be within view of my family. The ideal spot would have been the hair and makeup booth, where you could try out a wedding style for free.

Oddly enough, Dad was already there, talking to one of the stylists. She was younger than him, but not too young, maybe late thirties. Dad was laughing and smiling. Flirting. Even from across the room I could see that. Did my dad flirt with women now? He could, of course. My parents could flirt, or even date, or hook up with other people or get married again.

But it wasn’t until I saw Dad touch the arm of that hair girl that I saw the truth. The truth and the future, that my parents, no matter how well they got along, were each other’s past now. Our family as it was
was
past now. We were the Used to Bes.

I was shaking, not like it was cold in there. I expected my dad to feel my stare at any minute. To look at me, his daughter, and feel ashamed for how he was acting. Because it was shameful. Mom was back at the booth; they had just laughed together and discussed my classes this semester. How did he move so seamlessly from one role to the next?

“Holly?” Dax asked. “You okay?”

I didn’t want to go
Parent Trap
on my parents. I got that they were done. I sort of got it, because I didn’t know
why
they were done, but I could deal. It’s just, my dad shouldn’t be having flirtatious conversations in the same space that I was having flirtatious conversations, certainly not at a wedding show when he was recently divorced.