by Watson, Lucy
He takes in a deep breath, seeming to shake away the thought. “I told myself I’d go back to Phoenix, get my head together. Deal with the shit I gotta deal with, then I’d come back.” He points toward the house, his dark eyes fixed on me. “And you’d be here, and whatever I had to do, I’d do it to be with you. And I’d be the guy you deserve. Then I found out you weren’t gonna be in this house. That you were leaving. That this was it.”
His nostrils flare, his eyes flash with pain. “Then I saw you standing there in your dress… and I knew I didn’t deserve you. Not even close.” He shakes his head and swallows. “I told myself I should let you go to find someone who does, but I can’t. Not without trying to make you mine first, because you’re it for me, Shortcake.”
He swipes my cheek with his thumb, and I realize I’m crying, my heart understanding something my mind is still trying to process.
“Ben.” His name is barely above a whisper.
He replaces his thumb with a sweet kiss and takes my hand in his. “There’s a good chance we’ll end up killing each other, but whatever time I have left, I want to spend it with you.” His hand goes to my neck and cups my cheek. “Do you want to do this for real with me? Get married. Have babies. Eat pot roast.”
I hand him my heart. “Yes,” I cry-nod-sniffle.
Ben gives me a smile that belongs to me and only me, and wraps his arms around me, bringing me to his chest.
Applause erupts in the background, and then we’re tackled by a bawling Nick, “This is so beautiful. I love you guys. Happiest day of my life.”
Mine, too, Nick.
Mine too.
26
Rose
Things I learned during Winston’s best-man speech:
1) In eighth-grade he and Ben liked the same girl.
2) They made a deal. If Ben backed off and stopped trying to win her heart with mix CDs and gummy worms, then if they ever liked the same girl again, Winston would return the favor.
3) Her name was Sara Johnson.
4) The same Sara Johnson Ben called out to Winston when I was slung over his shoulder. That’s when he knew Ben liked me.
5) He knew Ben had fallen in love with me when he casually dragged them to nearly every bar in town on his birthday night, seeming to scan the crowd for someone. And then stormed out of the bar when that someone called. That someone being me.
Mrs. Emelia Crawford.
I move my fork around my plate with a small grin. Do I think it’s a coincidence that a helping of yams has somehow made it onto my dinner plate? Nope. I take an appeasing bite, knowing somewhere Mrs. Baker and Betsy are watching.
I turn my eyes to Ben’s people, who are now my people, eating and laughing under string lights brushing the white flowers with warm shades of pearl and gold.
Magical flowers set against Irish green sod and rustic wood so enchanting it feels like I stepped into a dream.
A dream I never want to wake from.
If anyone thought it was weird that Ben hauled me down the aisle over his shoulder while I yelled about pot roast, nobody said. If they thought it was strange that the tattooed highlander officiating our wedding was bawling his eyes out and blubbering incoherently while doing it, nobody said a word about that either.
What they did say, was that it was a beautiful moment to be a part of. That they’ve never seen Ben look so happy. Some said this with tears in their eyes (Angel Kate). All said this with real smiles on their faces.
I reach for the champagne glass, my gleaming gold wedding band catching in the light. Two delicate bands braided into one. Ben and me.
Jesse did that.
My gaze slides to Ben’s hand as he grabs his drink. My pulse jumps while my ovaries break out in a cheer for the millionth time tonight. You’d think they’d be tired by now. Nope.
If there’s anything sexier than Ben wearing his wedding ring, I’ve never seen it. Have I been staring at it like a weirdo since I slipped it on his finger? You betcha.
Feeling the hot weight of Ben’s eyes on me, I flick my gaze to meet his. And instantly smile. I’m pretty sure I’ll never get tired of this. Of us.
“You good?” he asks me for the hundredth time. He does this in his gravelly voice that I feel across my skin.
“Yeah. You?” I nod trying to keep my smile out of the cheesy zone.
He grins and leans in, his voice drops. “As fucking gorgeous as you look in that dress, babe, I can’t wait to get you out of it.”
My cheeks flush, my heart kicking up a notch. “What makes you think you’re getting lucky tonight,” I tease.
“Oh, I’m getting lucky.”
“Mmm… we’ll see.”
Someone clearing their throat pulls us from our heated moment. We turn to see Mr. Wellington standing at our table, holding what looks like a framed poster or painting.
“Sorry to interrupt.” The small smile on his face says, not really. “I had orders to deliver this to you after the ceremony, and now seems like as good a time as any.” He hands me the painting, and I clumsily take it. Then he turns to Ben. “You left this on the table when we first met. You should keep it.” He hands Ben the index card from the funeral. “There’s one more thing.” His smile widens, and then we’re watching him walk off.
I turn my eyes to the painting to see it’s not a painting at all. But the vision board I made on a rainy day with Rose, using a Magnolia furniture magazine to create the collage of my dream life. My breath catches, tears blur my eyes.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, feeling dizzy with emotion.
Every piece of furniture. Every painting. Everything on this board sits in the farmhouse. Rose. Tears clog my throat as my eyes scan the board. And there he is. A picture of Rose’s Sweet Benny smiling at me with that crooked smile of childhood.
“What is it?” Ben says, leaning in to take a look.
“Rose gave me my dream life,” I say through my tears.
“What?” he asks, confusion pinching his brows.
I turn the framed collage to him with shaky hands and a wobbly voice. “This house, the furniture.” I point to his picture. “You. She put you there. For me. She did that. She gave me you.”
He takes the picture in his hands and studies it and does the one thing I don’t expect. He laughs. A rich, beautiful sound, his eyes glistening with tears.
He sets down the picture and hands me the index card. I wipe my eyes and read:
Only one is a wanderer. Two together are always going somewhere. Travel well, Sweet Benny.
Take good care of each other.
Love always,
Grammy Rose
“She gave me you, too,” Ben says, his voice thick with emotion.
My eyes flash to his. We hold gazes for a moment as a million emotions pass between us, but before either of us can put words to how we’re feeling, Mr. Wellington’s voice booms through the air. Stealing our attention and silencing the crowd.
He clears his throat. “This is on the request of Rose Crawford for her grandson Benny and his new wife, Emelia.”
He signals to Winston, who signals to somebody else. Then the Bee Gees “How Deep Is Your Love” sounds through the air.
I flashback to Ben and me in the Bronco driving to Home Depot with this song mysteriously in the cassette deck.
Rose planned it all. She wanted this for us. I catch eyes with Dottie Baker who gives me a sneaky smile, holding an over-filled plate of food. And I know, without a doubt, Darth Vader Dottie was in on it. Which means Dottie freaking Baker helped make my dreams come true.
“Guess we better dance.” I turn to see Ben grinning at me through tears.
I nod, too choked up and overwhelmed to speak.
He takes my hand, and leads me to the portable dance floor for our unique wedding song, picked out by an amazing woman.
The sound of cheers follow us.
Then Ben brings me in close, and we dance. Our eyes locked. Our hearts braided together like our rings.
&nbs
p; “Is this really happening?” I ask.
“I sure fucking hope so, babe.”
“Because you love me,” I tease with a watery smile.
He grins. “Yup.”
His brown eyes hold mine as we dance, and then he gives me a tender kiss that makes me believe in fairytales.
Another round of applause and a few whistles moves through the air. He breaks the kiss with a crooked smile.
I hope Rose is looking down. I hope she can see this. I hope my mom can see it too. And Ben’s mom. I hope they know we found each other. That it may not be an easy road, but it’s our road, and we’ll travel it together. And it will be beautiful.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear Dottie Baker barking about to-go boxes.
Nick crying about his love flock.
Winston telling him to shut up.
Mara telling Winston real men cry.
Nick agreeing.
Jesse grunting something.
Family.
Rose gave me that too.
Author’s Note
I started writing Shortcake after my grandmother passed away. She was my Rose.
Thank you so much for allowing me to bring Ben and Emmy into your lives. I hope you enjoyed their journey!
I fell in love with our little Diablo Nick while writing, so be on the lookout for his book coming 2020!
Stay weird, my friends. ;)
XOXO,
Lucy
