Where Booker took after their father, with his broad face and shoulders, Dante took after their mother, with her lean frame and delicate features. But the family value for hard work…That seemed to have shot past the mark in Dante’s case.
“Come on over here, little brother.” Booker pulled out a chair for him. “I made empanadas at the Shack.”
“Cool. Those are my favorite.” Dante sat down, dumping his stuff on the floor next to him. He grabbed the largest empanada on the plate and took a big bite, wiping at his face with his fingers and then licking his fingers clean.
Booker handed his brother a napkin. “I’ve been thinking about your summer,” he said, being careful to sound upbeat. “I talked to Mom and Dad.”
“Cool.” There was less enthusiasm to Dante’s response this time. He practically inhaled the next empanada.
“I got you an early graduation gift.” Booker gestured toward an electric grill in an unopened box in the corner. An indoor model that was large and smokeless. “It’s the same gift Dad gave me when I graduated high school. Do you remember?”
Dante shook his head, giving the grill a sideways glance. He picked up his third empanada.
“I know I told you I’d pay your college tuition and living expenses, but something’s come up, and I don’t have the cash flow I’d expected to have.”
Kim’s drenched, tear-streaked face came to mind as powerfully as a punch to the gut.
“Wait.” Dante nearly dropped his empanada. “What?”
Booker nodded, continuing to keep his tone light. “I can’t keep my promise to you. You’re going to have to pay part of your way through college.” He gestured toward his graduation gift. “By working.”
“Mom.” Scowling, Dante pushed his chair back. “Mom!”
Booker tsk-tsked. “I wouldn’t wake her. She and I already discussed this. She’s one hundred percent on board, same as Dad.”
“Nuh-uh.” Dante may have been in honors English but he wasn’t showing any of that vocabulary.
“Yuh-huh, little brother.” Booker gestured toward the grill once more. “I suggest you pick up some shifts at the Burger Shack this summer. You’ll need to know how to grill if you want to supplement what I give you.”
“But…but…” Dante swallowed hard and said almost rebelliously, “I have cancer.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve been clear for almost twelve years.” Booker clapped a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Let’s look at the positives. You’re healthy. You’re smart. You’re good at sports. And you’ve got a great scar to impress the girls. That and a good grill will get you far.”
He left Dante sputtering.
Phase one of his plan was complete.
He wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, wondering whether everything would go well with phase two tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
The church was decorated with white ribbons and pink roses.
Organ music, brightly dressed guests, and murmured voices filled the sanctuary proper.
Kimmy sat in the back of the church, surrounded by the board of the Widows Club—Clarice next to her near the aisle, Mims and Bitsy on her other side. She fanned herself with the wedding program.
“It’s lovely,” Clarice said in a loud whisper. She had her hearing aids in but Kimmy suspected she didn’t have an indoor voice in her vocal arsenal. “And look, Mary Margaret is wearing a fascinator.”
The redhead passed by with her fancy hat on.
“I hear the reception has a fairy-garden theme.” Clarice hugged herself.
Kimmy raised her eyebrows and told her date, “I’m beginning to think you offered to be my plus-one because you needed an invitation to Sunshine’s biggest event of the year.”
Clarice’s leathery cheeks turned rosy as Mims and Bitsy laughed.
A tuxedoed man walked behind Kimmy and around her pew and sat down in front of her.
“Hay, what are you doing out here?” Kimmy touched his arm. “Is everything okay?”
“Do you have cold feet?” Clarice asked breathlessly.
Bitsy and Mims shushed her.
“Not even a cold toe.” Hay winked at Clarice. “I’m showing my face and drawing all kinds of attention…” He pointed to the assembled, who were turned to get a good look at him. He waved. “Because I thought it was important to tell you about Booker.”
Kimmy crossed her arms over her chest. “This isn’t middle school. I don’t accept apologies by proxy.”
“Good one.” Clarice elbowed Kimmy.
Hay’s expression sobered. “He’s been in love with you longer than I’ve been in love with Ariana. But you’ve been strong-arming him into the friend zone for decades.”
“True, but that doesn’t excuse what he did.” Kimmy waved Haywood off. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having on your wedding day. This is between Booker and me.”
“You’re right.” Booker came around from behind them and stood at the end of the pew, looking like he should wear a tuxedo every day of the year.
The entire church seemed to have turned and was watching them. No one was talking. Even the organist had stopped playing.
“Which part is she right about?” Clarice demanded.
It was a good thing she asked. Kimmy couldn’t speak. Booker was supposed to be in the bowels of the church, telling Haywood what a great day this was turning out to be.
“Kimberly Anne Easley has been right about everything she’s ever told me.” Booker paused, stared at Clarice, and raised his brows. “Everything.”
“That’s my cue.” Clarice stood and edged toward Booker and the aisle.
Her cue? What did that mean?
“Where are you going?” Kimmy latched on to Clarice’s arm, nearly dragging the old woman into her lap. “You’re my plus-one.”
“I…I…I have to go to the bathroom.” Clarice lifted her chin and extricated herself from Kimmy’s hold, leaving no buffer between Kimmy and Booker.
“Your cue?” Kimmy said, understanding dawning. A quick glance around those sitting close to her confirmed Kimmy’s suspicions.
Mims and Bitsy gave her encouraging smiles. Hay winked at her. Clarice hesitated at her back.
Kimmy glared at Booker. “This was all part of your evil plan.” And he’d recruited Haywood and the Widows Club board.
“Yes,” Booker said unapologetically.
Kimmy’s head hurt, right behind her eyes. And her heart felt as if it were withering in her chest. All the pain, all the sadness, all over her body. But she wasn’t backing down. She wasn’t running away. Not today.
“Hay’s right too.” Booker’s dark gaze captured hers. “I should have told you I liked you when we were thirteen and lab partners. But it didn’t strike me as romantic when you were making moon eyes at Hay while we dissected our frog.”
“For the record…” Hay turned to his wedding guests. “While this was going on, I was making moon eyes at Ariana.”
Booker ignored Hay and stared at Kimmy. “I should have told you I liked you when we had ice cream during freshman orientation. But you were making moon eyes at Hay.”
“I sense a theme,” Clarice said loudly in Kimmy’s ear.
Kimmy batted at her as if Clarice were a pesky fly.
Booker ignored Clarice. His gaze never left Kimmy’s face. “I should have told you when I picked you up for prom that I loved you.”
The wedding guests were quiet but at that statement, a hush fell over the room as if everyone was holding their breath. He’d gone public and declared he loved her. Kimmy wasn’t holding her breath with the rest of them. She was huffing like Emory during the Thanksgiving shopping rush when they ran out of turkeys.
Booker wasn’t quiet. He wasn’t huffing. Hay’s best man was unflappable. He kept right on talking. “I should have told you the day I drove off to college that I loved you. Or when I was away at college and missing you. I should have told you when I called. I love you, Kimmy Anne Easley.”
“I sense
a theme,” Clarice piped up.
“I do too.” Kimmy turned in her seat, facing Booker squarely. “You love me. Great.”
He loves me.
Kimmy wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
“Yes. I love you.” His calm was finally broken. His voice rose. “I love how you check your ego at the door. I love how you help your mom in her job and your dad in his. I love that you’re restoring a food truck so you’ll have a business of your own. I love how you talk. I love how you walk. I love how you dance. It’s unconventional and the sweetest thing ever.”
Kimmy rolled her eyes.
But Booker wasn’t done. He ran a hand through his black hair, upsetting that cowlick. “I love how you don’t take any guff from me. You call me out, even if it means I’ll call you out in return. But mostly, I love how you love me. There were days this week when we knew we were meant for each other. It scares me how much I love you.”
She waved off his fears and declarations of love. “That doesn’t excuse what you did to me.”
“Just so we’re clear”—Booker’s eyes narrowed—“and so everyone knows…We’re talking about my using your sandwich recipes.”
Oh, that was low. He was admitting all his sins to the town.
“Stealing.” Kimmy nodded.
There were gasps from the crowd.
Kimmy played to their audience. It was obvious she was going to need them. “I forgave him for using them in college. Although it was still a betrayal of trust, but—”
“I was wrong,” Booker said loud and clear. “All my life I’ve tried to do the right thing. I tried to be part of the team that made it possible for Dante to beat cancer. I tried to plan for the future so that I could fund my parents’ retirement and my brother’s college years. And in the process, I cut corners, and I leaned on you because deep down I hoped—no, I believed—that’d you’d forgive me. Which is why, four weeks ago, I had my lawyer draw up a contract, giving you ten thousand dollars for the right to use your recipes.”
Hay’s wedding guests had opinions about that. Their voices rose up and gave Booker and Kimmy a small measure of privacy.
“That’s not enough, Booker.” Kimmy didn’t know where she got the guts to say it. She didn’t believe it was true. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money. She could pay for the food truck’s transmission. She could stock the cupboards with food and fill the gas tank. She could hit the road with confidence about what was ahead.
Even as she left everything she loved behind.
“You’re right about the money.” Booker pulled a folded sheaf of paper from his inner pocket and ripped it up. “It’s not enough.”
The room went still. The pages didn’t flutter to the ground. They flopped. Along with Kimmy’s dreams.
“I don’t understand.” Reeling, Kimmy leaned back against Mims, who sat next to her in the pew.
“I’m here to offer you a better deal.” Booker raised his voice so that everyone could hear his proposition. “Half ownership in the Burger & Sammie Shack.”
Kimmy couldn’t breathe. Not one breath. She clutched the neck of her dress and stared up at Booker in disbelief.
“Say something.” Clarice whacked Kimmy on the back. “She’s in shock.”
Kimmy slurped in air and wheezed. “Thanks, Clarice.” She shook her head at Booker. “You need a better business manager.” One who’d caution him against making such bad business deals. “I’m just a sandwich maker.”
“Kim.” Booker dropped to one knee and took her cold hands in his. “You’re more than a sandwich maker. You’re the love of my life. You make me smile.” His gaze shifted to Hay and then back to her. “Oh, how you make me smile.”
Kimmy was horrified to discover her eyes were filling with tears.
“What good is having a business if I’m not having fun with it?” Booker ran his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “You and I…we were meant to be together. To bump elbows as we cook and to laugh when you can’t convince someone to add garlic to their burger. We’re meant to prep food at the same station and sneak sandwiches together on our breaks.”
Was this…Was he…proposing?
Kimmy couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t move.
His parents stood in the corner behind him, beaming at him. Her parents stood next to them, beaming at her. And there was Hay, of course, beaming like he’d helped plan it all. Which he probably had.
They’d known. They’d all known.
They should have known she couldn’t say yes.
“Say something.” Clarice whacked Kimmy on the back again. “Shock,” she said again by way of explanation when people turned frowny faces her way.
Kimmy looked at them all—the wedding guests, her family, and her friends—and still she couldn’t speak.
She stared at Booker, taking in his warm gaze, his tender smile, his gentle touch. He loved her. The sincerity of his words was sinking in, having snuffed out some of the hurt and anger at what he’d done.
“I don’t want to be your business partner,” Kimmy said softly.
“What did she say?” someone at the front of the church asked.
“She said she doesn’t want to go into business with him,” Clarice shouted.
Mims and Bitsy shushed her.
“I just want to be your wife,” Kimmy said in a small voice. “I knew back in the science lab that you were special. I knew at freshman orientation that I loved you. And…And…And all those times afterward. I know the difference between a crush and love.” She freed one hand and cupped his cheek. “But I valued your friendship too much to step up and risk telling you how I felt.” Her throat threatened to close. “In case you didn’t feel the same way. Because we come from different places and we’ve always been going different directions.”
“I can’t hear,” someone at the front of the church complained.
“She said…” Clarice tossed up her hands. “Ah, someone will tell you later.”
“Do you know what I think?” Booker placed a kiss on her palm. “I think we’ve always been headed in the same direction, just on different paths. Let’s meet somewhere in the middle. I think we have a lot of time to make up, you and I. And I promise you—”
“On an order of fries.” Hay lifted a small paper basket of fries he’d had on the pew next to him. “Sorry, no longer hot.”
Kimmy’s chest constricted around her heart. These two men, her friends, she loved them both but she was in love with only one.
“And I promise you,” Booker said again, holding their hands over the fry basket, “to tell you I love you every morning, noon, and night. No more holding it in. No more holding it back.”
The wedding guests heaved a collective sigh. Both sets of parents beamed. And Kimmy struggled not to cry. It was the most beautiful moment in the history of beautiful moments. And it involved food, which made it even better.
Booker drew her closer. “Kimberly Anne Easley, will you make me the happiest man alive by agreeing to be my wife?”
“Yes,” Kimmy said thickly, blinking back tears. “Yes.”
“I take offense to the happiest-man-alive comment,” Hay said, munching on a cold French fry. “Seeing as how it’s my wedding day.”
“Kiss her,” Clarice said, a sentiment echoed by the assembled.
And Booker did.
He made Kimmy’s heart full.
He made it fuller at the wedding reception, after the bride and groom had their special dance.
Booker showed up at Kimmy’s table while Clarice was admiring the reception’s Bohemian decorations. He drew her to her feet. “Honey, I think I owe you a dance.”
“You certainly do.” Kimmy couldn’t wait. She practically led Booker to the dance floor.
The DJ spun “It’s Raining Men.”
The dance floor filled, and after a bit of sidestepping, Kimmy let the music move her. She had her own version of the Dougie, while Booker was more of a Carlton man. It didn’t matter that his d
ance moves were from the generation before hers. He had better rhythm than she did.
Paul danced over to Kimmy, and they did the floss and the cobra. And then he bounded over to the bride and groom.
After a few fun songs, the DJ put on a slow dance.
Booker drew her into his arms, which was exactly where she wanted to be. “Your dance moves have improved.”
“Paul and I took lessons.” At the junior college. “Only Paul got so good they asked him to teach.” Whereas Kimmy had learned just enough steps to dance better than she had in high school.
Booker laughed. “How was your dinner?”
“My steak was grilled to perfection.” She swayed closer because a man who’d ask her about food deserved an extra cuddle. “It even had enough garlic.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Booker’s smile morphed into a mischievous grin. “I had the chef prepare a steak specifically for you.”
“I knew there was a reason I loved you.” That deserved a kiss. And then another.
They might have kissed all night if the DJ hadn’t spun “Can’t Stop the Feeling!” That brought out more wedding guests and more dance moves than anyone could put a name to.
Everyone was outdanced by Paul but no one seemed to care. It was a wedding. And for two couples, it was one of the happiest days on earth.
Epilogue
How’s the stock of paninis?” Kimmy ran a finger down the supply list.
Booker opened a cupboard with a Vanna White flourish. “I bought enough to feed a small army.”
Kimmy scoffed. She’d go through that in one day. “What about chicken? You know I don’t like the frozen stuff.”
“It’s all fresh.” Booker opened the refrigerator. More flourishes occurred.
“What about fresh garlic?” Kimmy scanned the counter. “Did you buy enough garlic?”
“Yes.” Booker produced a mesh bag large enough to hold a basketball. It was full of garlic cloves. “Can we go now?”
“No.” Kimmy set down her list of supplies, wrapped her arms around Booker’s neck, and kissed him thoroughly. “I don’t think you’ve met your promised quotas of I love yous for the day.”
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