Happily Never After

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.

I promised Sophie that everything would be okay.

I stepped forward to break it up, but Sophie straightened to her full height, threw back her elbows, and knocked the bride off her back. Callie stumbled backward in her boots as Sophie turned around and held out a hand.

“Just stop,” she said calmly, sounding like this was just a normal occurrence and not at all something out of a reality TV episode. “This is between you and TJ, not me.”

“The hell it is!” the bride yelled, lunging for Sophie.

I stepped in front of her, causing Callie to stumble into me instead of Soph.

But then Sophie pushed me out of the way. Sophie pushed me out of the way, and as Callie came at her again, Sophie grabbed an arm and managed to turn the bride around and get her into a headlock.

A fucking perfect headlock.

“Settle down,” Sophie said through gritted teeth, looking like an undercover cop on a TV show. “And leave me alone.”

“Fucking bitch!” Callie squealed as her face turned very red and she squirmed to get free.

“You are in a church, for God’s sake,” Sophie said, sounding remarkably relaxed. “Watch your language.”

The bridal party was frozen and looked unsure if they should assist the bride or back the hell down.

The pastor appeared to be crossing himself.

“Listen, ah, we’re going to take off,” I said, hoping a little calm sarcasm might defuse the situation, “and let Callie and TJ work this out. Can someone please assist in the bridal handoff here?”

Everyone looked shell-shocked and unable to move—rightly so—but then the bride’s father stood. I watched him walk toward us in his cowboy hat and boots with fucking spurs—oh, shit—and wondered if he was going to help me or murder me; his tough, weathered face made it hard to tell.

My worldview narrowed to the ominous jingle of those ridiculous spurs.

“Cut the shit, Cal,” he said in a low Clint Eastwood kind of voice as he approached his daughter. “No fighting in church.”

Thank God.

The man gave Sophie a nod and she released the bride, who was now a bit purple faced. She didn’t try to physically attack Sophie again, but that was probably because TJ came over immediately, still demanding answers.

As we exited the chapel, though, she did manage to yell, “That’s right, get the hell out of here!”

We damn near sprinted to my truck when we got outside, neither of us talking as we focused on getting the hell out of there. But once we were buckled and the engine was running, I looked over at her.

The back of her hair was sticking up, and without thinking, I reached over and patted it down.

Which made her laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners, which made me laugh, too. A second later we were both cackling at the absurdity of what’d just happened, the kind of full-on belly laughing that put tears in both of our eyes.

When she finally got herself together, Sophie said, “Let’s never do a redneck wedding again.”

I wiped at my eyes and put the truck in drive. “Agreed.”

We were meeting TJ at a bar a few towns over for payment, though God only knew how long it would take him to extricate himself from the mess at the church. TJ and Callie shared bank accounts, so he hadn’t been able to Venmo beforehand because she would’ve asked questions.

I had zero interest in taking money from my old friend, but since he insisted, Sophie was getting the whole pot.

“I have to say,” Sophie said, “I actually feel like I did something good today.”

“You’re just being cocky because of the headlock, which was very impressive, I might add.” I glanced over at her and was surprised to see her turned toward me in her seat, looking relaxed and chill.

“Absolutely I am,” she agreed, sounding pleased with herself. “I’ve never done that outside of the gym, so it felt amazing to pull it off.”

“You grapple?” I asked, shocked but also not, because she was clearly a mass of contradictions.

“No, but I take a self-defense course every year to keep myself sharp. Never imagined I’d use my skills on a redneck bride.”

“I bet,” I said, switching to the other lane. “So does this mean you’re open to doing another wedding?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, tilting her head in consideration. “On one hand I feel like I helped someone, but on the other I feel like I was very nearly murdered by a redneck congregation.”

“That’s called Saturday night, sunshine.”

“It probably is in whatever that hick town was called.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But most weddings are very normal, with zero camo and few hillbillies.”

“Then I would probably consider another normal wedding.”

I glanced over. “Is there a money threshold? As in, you won’t do it for less than a certain amount?”

“Not really, because the money part of this feels a little skeevy, to be honest.” She leaned down and opened her purse. “I like helping people, and I can definitely use the cash because I’d like to ditch the roommates someday, but it feels wrong somehow.”

“Agreed.”

“That reminds me.” She glanced over as she pulled out a tube of lipstick. “I texted Asha after Starbucks yesterday, and she said her check didn’t bounce because you still haven’t cashed it.”

“That’s weird,” I said, my eyes staying on the road.

“So you lied to me,” she said, not sounding upset about it.

“I tried lying to you,” I corrected, switching lanes to go around a slow truck, “but you lawyered the shit out of my attempt and made me lean on your heartstrings instead.”

“Jerk,” she said with a tease in her voice.

“Bleeding heart,” I replied.

She coughed a laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

“Agree yet again,” I said.

It was weird that we barely knew each other, because the look we shared, a self-deprecating kind of appreciative stare, felt like something that belonged to old friends.

“You do cash some of the checks, don’t you?” she asked, pulling down the visor. “Or are you actually a superhero?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to ask about finances?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to call someone rude?”

My eyes went back to her side of the truck, and she was running that red lipstick over her lips. Dear God, she has a sexy mouth.

I cleared my throat and looked back at the highway.

“Y’know,” I said, “we should always do weddings as a team. No one thought you were into the groom because you were with a date, which really cut out some potential bullshit.”

“I do remember Stuart giving me a suspicious glare when you first objected, so I could see how that could be a presumption.”

“Again with the takes one to know one, right?”

“For sure.” She leaned down and put her lipstick back in her bag. “But what makes you think I have all this free time to accompany you to weddings? I do have a life, y’know.”

“No offense,” I said, “but I’m picturing your roommates right now and not believing you.”

“Shut up and drive, Parks.”

“Shut up and ride, Steinbeck.”