Page 37 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

“I wasn’t really paying attention, but OK. Fine.” Emma stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “You win. Miles is Mob. Got it.”

“He is,” I insist. “I can smell a lie.” I point at her. “And that story wasn’t a lie. Why would Miles lie to me? He totally laughs at my jokes. Dude gets me.”

She’s still chuckling, but she’s polite enough to do it behind a hand over her mouth. “You’re adorable.”

I adjust the collar of my t-shirt. “Thank you.”

But I’m still kinda miffed at Miles when we land at Big Mike’s. The jukebox is playing Sugar, Sugar and the whole place looks like a Fifties diner.

A hostess on roller skates dressed up in a classic pink uniform rolls her way over to a table and pans her hand at it.

We sit together on the same side of the booth, expecting Fingers to show up and sit across from us.

“Would you like to order?” a friendly gum-chewing waitress asks, also on roller skates.

“Should we eat?” Emma asks.

“Why not? Godfather Miles did give us some spending money.”

She laughs at me again.

I’m gonna kill Miles for this.

We order the breakfast buffet, fill up our plates with hash browns and bacon, and then lean back and scan the parking lot outside, trying to figure out if any of the approaching patrons of Big Mike’s could be Fingers. We’re both pointing at a skinny dude wearing white fingerless gloves and a purple pimp hat, certain that’s him, when a guy slips into our booth and says, “You must be the Bostons,” as he holds up a phone with a picture of us sleeping on the jet bed on the screen.

Which is super creepy, but not wholly unexpected at this point.

“That’s us.” Emma beams. “And you must be Fingers.”

“No, no, no.” The guy laughs. “No, I’m Clarence. Fingers is the big boss. I’m the wedding point man.”

I squint my eyes at him. “You don’t look like a wedding point man.” He’s wearing a cowboy hat and smells like mint chewing tobacco.

He smiles broadly at me. Lotsa teeth. “Keep people on their toes. That’s our motto. ‘Weddings that keep you on your toes.’”

“Hosted by Fingers.” Emma beams.

I shake my head and shoot her a look that says, No, babe. Not now. Cowboy here looks unstable.

But Cowboy Clarence takes it all in stride and says. “So, what kind of wedding were you envisioning? Hmm? Five-star hotel with a mani-pedi package and a wedding party of thirty?” He winks after getting all that out. Like it’s a joke.

“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “We’re only here for like five more hours. Just a quick, super-spontaneous, super-ridiculous elopement wedding so we can teach her mother a lesson.”

He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ferris wheel?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Dude ranch?”

“Is that a thing?” Emma asks, hopefully.

“Sure. We can make anything happen, sweetheart. Anything you want. Fingers is your man.”

“Maybe not a dude ranch. Learning how to ride sounds time-consuming. Something fast. We really do have to be back in Key West for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Mother-in-law got you by the balls, huh?”

“No,” I say.