Page 40 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

“Now you’re really starting to lose it. Let’s just go back inside, eat the rest of our bacon, and wait it out. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

Jesse sucks in a deep breath, holds it for like five whole seconds, and then lets it out in a rush. “Fine.” He throws up his hands. “Fine. What other choice do we have? After I pay for the fuckin’ breakfast buffet with my butler allowance we’ll have just enough to Uber back to the airport and wait for our charter.”

“What? No! We came here to get married. We’re getting married. We don’t need cash. We have credit cards. We’re billionaires, for fuck’s sake. We don’t have to go back to the airport—”

My phone dings in my purse. I fish it out and then hold up a finger. “Hold, please. This is Miles.” I accept the call and say, “Hey, Miles, so that guy… Oh, yes.” I smile at Jesse as he makes that gimme-the-phone gesture with his fingers, then turn my back and plug one ear so I can hear. “Yes. We’re still here… Oh. OK. Sure. Thanks! And have a good time on your break… yup. Merry Christmas to you too, Miles. Byeeee!”

When I turn back to Jesse he has his arms crossed over his chest and is tapping his foot on the cracked blacktop. “Well?”

“That was Miles.”

“Obviously. What did he say? And where the hell is my credit card? Do I need to report it stolen?”

“What? No. Jesus. Turns out Clarence was just the Thumb.”

“Do not—”

“Kidding. But only sorta. Clarence did say he was only the point man. Miles says we have to go back inside so we can pick our cake and flowers.”

“What?”

“See? I told you everything was fine. Talk about overreacting. I wish I had that rant on video. It was classic Jesse Boston.”

“He really said that?”

“I swear to God. They called him wondering where we went. They’re all waiting for us inside. I guess Big Mike’s is the first stop on our Magical Mystery Wedding Tour.”

Jesse doesn’t look completely convinced, but he finally just shrugs. “OK. Let’s do this.”

He takes my hand and leads me back inside and… “Holy crap. Where did everyone go?”

“Oh, we close early when we get a Pick Three Buffet order, Emma,” the roller-skating hostess says. “Just follow me and we’ll get started on the cake-testing. I don’t want to rush you, but I know you folks are in a hurry to catch a plane. So we’ve got everything set up already.”

And wow. Do they ever. There are literally two dozen tiny cakes to test. All laid out on a shimmery gold table cloth that looks like it used to be a showgirl in its former life.

“Have a seat and we’ll start bringing them over.”

I smile at Jesse. “See? This is good, right? All these cakes to test.” I shrug my shoulders up to my ears and make a little squeal.

He smiles at me. “OK. You were right. I overreacted.”

“I don’t care. Come on. Let’s eat cake!”

We sit and they bring us two tiny slices at a time. We taste German chocolate with a cherry cream filling, carrot cake with peach-flavored cream-cheese frosting, a lemon cake with layers of sliced strawberries, and there’s even one called Bavarian ice cream.

And they are all wonderful.

Like I don’t know who’s back there in Big Mike’s kitchen baking up tiny wedding cake samples, but whoever it is, they are obviously a culinary genius.

“So which one?” I ask Jesse, once we’ve tasted them all. Our table is littered with tiny plates and leftover bites.

He holds up a finger, tastes them all again, and then points to the lemon strawberry. “I love that one.”

“Me too!” I turn to the roller hostess and say, “We’ll take that one.”

“Excellent choice, Mrs. Boston.”

And oh, that makes me squeal. Mrs. Fucking. Boston. How long have I dreamed of that? It hits me then. “I’m really going to be your wife!”