Page 36 of Love Letters to Christmas

“Perhaps not,” Ruby replies. “Mom and Dad are already upset that we didn’t wait for them for the courthouse.

I’m not making them wait any longer for the ceremony than they have to.

We would’ve done it in June, but June 14th was booked at all vendors, and the next date available that wasn’t in the middle of hot and humid summer was in September. ”

Right. So. We’re having the wedding in September then. Nobody wants to disappoint the Vann parents.

Roman comes to the same conclusion as I do, jaw working as he grinds his teeth. “September,” he grumbles. “I’ll start making the menu.”

Will beams at him, and Ruby manages a teensy smile. “You guys are the best ,” Will says.

My phone alarm goes off before I can think of a reply for that , especially the part where he’s lumped Roman and I together. I shudder. Icky.

“If this is all settled,” I say, fishing my phone out of my pocket and silencing the alarm. “I’ve gotta go. I have a class.”

I ignore Roman’s mumbled suggestion that I should be staying to help iron out a plan for how we’re going to plan this wedding, not attending my class on, he assumes, “shrimp herding and other mainland practices”.

He can think what he wants to. And then, later, he can feel like an idiot when he finds out he’s been wrong.

“I think we’re done,” Ruby says. “If Will’s finished shoving pastries in his mouth.”

Will, mid-shove, freezes. “You’re so smart and hot and cool,” he says around his third scone before he can’t speak at all because he’s pushing the entire thing into his mouth in one go .

Ruby’s nose wrinkles, and she scowls.

Beside me, Roman’s chair scrapes as he stands, and I rise when he pulls my chair out too.

I grab my huge lemon-yellow tote bag and round the table before I leave, hugging Ruby and Will and telling them that I really am so happy for them, even if planning is tight.

“It’s going to be beautiful,” I assure them.

“It’ll have the best music and the best flowers – smell and sight – and the best couple, and it’ll be everything you want. I promise.”

Ruby nods, unconcerned. “I trust you. Just stay in budget.”

Ah, yes. Budget. “Of course,” I reply. “Which is?”

I’m not sure what I expect, considering Ruby and Will are loaded but also want to DIY things, but “$200,000” coming out of my bestie’s mouth is certainly not it.

Two. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars.

On what? I think, but do not ask. What could possibly cost that much?

“I think I can manage that,” I say instead, hugging her again.

Roman uses his superior breadth and width to nudge me out of the way to get his own hugs, and I take the opportunity to wave my goodbye to Will before speedwalking through the clutter of empty tables that dabble the after hours Sweet & Salty floor.

At five foot eight inches, my legs aren’t exactly short, but Roman still manages to eat up my stride with his super-humanly long limbs and make it to the EMPLOYEE’S ONLY door before me, holding it open with a frown.

I return his grumpy face, and we walk in tense silence through the hallway, past the doors to the kitchen, office, and bathroom, and out the back door to where his car is parked in employee parking, my pretty yellow bike hanging off a bike rack on the back of it.

Roman beeps the locks on his car while I pull out my keyring, unlocking the bike lock keeping my baby semi-safe from robbery.

I pull her down as he grabs a girlie, adorable, pink and yellow polka dotted drawstring bag from his back seat.

It holds my safety gear – helmet, elbow pads, knee pads – and he’s religious about making sure I wear them.

I would anyway, so it’s a waste of his time, but still, he hands the bag over to me while going over common sense safety rules, as if I am a child.

“Wear them the entire time you’re on your bike, please. The joint pads too, even if you think they look goofy.”

I don’t think they look goofy. They’re yellow, to match my bike, and I painted big pink flowers on them. They’re adorable. My nose scrunches to relay that information to him.

He glances at my nose scrunch, scrunches his own back, and continues. “If it’s dark after class, come in the front of the shop. The light in the alley is out, and they aren’t coming until later this week to fix it. You don’t need to wind up a statistic in a dark alley.”

“Oh, really? You’re joking. All I’ve ever wanted to be is a statistic.” I blink at him, wide-eyed and naive.

His eyes narrow. “Come in the front. I’ll leave it unlocked for you so you’re not fumbling with your keys in the dark at night. You can bring your bike in, too. I have to mop the main floor tonight anyway.”

“Yes, father.” I salute as my phone’s second alarm rings. “I really have to go now, if you’re finished giving me safety tips a kindergartener would know? Believe it or not, I’m not actually a moron.”

“I didn’t call you a moron,” he retorts, crossing his arms.

“No, you just treated me like one.” I snap, buckling my knee pads on, then the elbow ones. “You know, I am capable of reasonable thought, despite what you think.” I plop my helmet on my head, glaring at him.

He frowns. “I know that.”

Right. Sure. “Whatever, Roman,” I mutter, mounting my bike and silencing my third and final alarm. “I have to go. I’ll be back in two hours.”

“Elodie, wait-”

I don’t, putting my feet to the pedals and swerving around him. And I don’t even run over his toes as I do it.

And I thought Ruby had the lock on character growth.