Christmas Wedding At The Gingerbread Café. Rebecca Raisin
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Название: Christmas Wedding At The Gingerbread Café
Автор: Rebecca Raisin
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: The Gingerbread Café
isbn: 9781474007764
isbn:
He laughs. “Oh, you know, there’s a lot to be said for those guys with eyes as big as headlights, sitting at Jerry’s bar, nursing a beer, wondering when exactly the woman they met morphed into a screeching mass of nerves.”
“Is this about beer?”
He drums his fists against his shirt. “Maybe I’d be better with whiskey, Lil,” he says in a throaty voice as if he’s a chain-smoking, whiskey-swilling tough guy. “Yep,” he continues. “Thought I’d escape the crazy bride-to-be ramblings and head over there with Tommy. But there’s no rambling. And no crazy bride. What the heck are we going to talk about?”
A giggle escapes me as I picture Damon trying to be one of those guys that hold up the bar at the run-down old pub the next town over. Sure, he’ll be able to make conversation with anyone, but invariably he’ll start talking about a three-day cassoulet he’s set on making, or some new zany haute cuisine we’re trying for our catering business, and the guys there will glance at each other over the top of his head and label him a sissy.
And Tommy as his so-called drinking buddy? Tommy is Missy’s husband. While Missy is an exuberant, fast-talking sweetheart, Tommy is her polar opposite. He’s quiet to the point of silent, but deep down he’s just a really observant, intuitive guy who doesn’t make small talk just for the sake of it.
“I wouldn’t go to Jerry’s if you paid me,” Damon says.
“Well…I have some bad news for you.” I wink at him. “A surprise, you could say.” I grin wickedly.
He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair, and grimaces. “Please do not say the B word.”
Bachelor party: it brings to mind all those connotations of men behaving badly, but around here the only mischief they get up to is the usual pranks you’d expect of teenagers.
“OK, I’ll use the S word. The guys checked with me first — they really want to organize a stag party for you.” Damon goes to speak but I halt him with a hand up. “It’s just a small group. Something low-key.”
Damon leans his head back on the sofa. “Low-key? Like a dinner party?”
I tap his leg. “No, siree. I’m afraid you’re going to have to let them drag you out and shave off your eyebrows or whatever it is they do these days.”
He groans. “Shooters of bourbon and tough-guy stories…”
“’Fraid so. Just don’t let them tie you to a pole in the snow, or anything like that.”
Damon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
I hide my smile. “It’s a tradition around here — that’s why smart folks don’t get married in winter…”
Laughter rumbles out of him as he puts a hand to his chest. “Oh, you jest.”
“Enjoy!” I say cheerfully.
“What about you? Are the girls going to organize something special?”
I gulp, suddenly nervous at the thought. “Well, they did say something about heading off to a nightclub…”
“A nightclub? Is that some kind of code for male strippers?”
This time I lob a cushion at him. He ducks and it sails over his head onto the tiled floor. “It might be but my lips are sealed. It’s secret women’s business.”
While Frank Sinatra croons Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas from the speakers above, I grab Damon by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a long kiss.
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