Page 53

53

ALLISON

I ’m sitting in the passenger seat of the pink Cadillac while Connor drives, tension radiating from him. He hates this car so much, it seeps from his pores.

I shift in my seat, the breeze whipping through my hair. “Aren’t you curious about the location I’ve chosen for the honeymoon?”

Connor glances at me, smirking. “It’s gonna be warm, sunny, and likely involve a beach. That’s all I need to know.”

I glance over my shoulder at Gram, about to involve her in this.

She’s busy tapping away on her phone, making me nervous as hell. “Do you have social media, Allie? Oh, I found you. Never mind.”

I freeze, my eyes wide.

Oh, God. What is she doing now?

She takes a sip of her mimosa, sunglasses shielding her eyes, sequins blinding in the sunlight. Mischief radiates from her.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Connor eyes her wearily in the rearview mirror, his jaw clenching.

“I uploaded a video of this amazing day. Clips of the pancake-eating contest, the vow masterpiece, followed by the epic dance competition.”

“Oh, fuck.” Connor slaps the steering wheel. “Gram, I’m a hockey player.”

She takes another sip. “And a viral star, if this is anything to go by.” She holds up her phone.

I’m busy looking at mine. “You captioned the video ‘My grandbabies got married… AGAIN’ followed by a heart, ring, and dancing emoji? And used the hashtags #MenaceInVegas #WeddingPartTwo #DanceBattleRoyale #GramCam #ElvisApproves ?”

My eyes lift to my husband. “Our lives are ruined.”

He furrows his brows. “#GramCam?”

Gram beams from the backseat. “It’s catchy as hell, right?”

Turning my attention back to the phone, I reluctantly press play. “Viva Las Vegas” plays while the shenanigans roll, one after the other.

“It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it, Allie?” Gram presses her hand over her heart, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “Did you see the view counts? They keep climbing.”

“I see it.” I shake my head. “I’m reading some of the comments.”

Connor white-knuckles the steering wheel, muttering curses, repeatedly looking at me like he’s waiting for an asteroid to hit the pink Cadillac and end our existence.

“These comments are pissing me off.”

Connor slams on the gas and then jerks the wheel, whipping into an empty parking space. He throws the car in park and grabs my phone, reading the comments aloud.

@ChaosQueen88: Pancake Daddy needs a reality show ASAP.

@HockeyWivesUnite: Is that Connor Byrns? From the Avalanche? DEAD.

@GlitterandChaos: THE SHIMMY! I’m crying. This is iconic.

@RealElvisFan69: Elvis would be proud!

He eyes Gram in the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. “Are you @RealElvisFan69?”

I spit out my drink all over the dashboard.

My husband doesn’t flinch. He’s still glaring at Gram in the mirror.

Wiping a hand over my mouth, I stare at him wide-eyed. “I didn’t even make the connection.”

Gram simply grins, looking content. “Calm down, sugarplum. You’re trending.”

I sigh, rubbing my hand over my forehead. “Dammit, Gram.”

Connor groans, banging his head lightly on the steering wheel. “We’re gonna be a meme, aren’t we?”

Gram winks. “There’s already a trending GIF of you with syrup on your face and ‘Pancake Daddy’ embroidered across your chest.”

Connor groans like he’s been shot.

I gasp as I lean over, looking at Gram’s bio. “Jesus! You have 42.6k followers?”

She grins. “I do now.”

Connor hits his head again, his groan echoing through the pink car.

I grab my phone, staring in awestruck horror at the page on my screen. “And your handle is @GramCamOfficial. Your bio says, ‘Chaos curator. Matchmaker. Sequin enthusiast.’ Which is just a polite way of saying you’re trouble wrapped in rhinestones.”

She grins so hard, I’m worried her dentures will fall out.

“Did you see the best part? Look at all the hearts my comment, ‘She SHIMMIED. IT’S OVER’ has.”

“Oh, fuck.” Connor leans back in the seat, looking as though he’s about to vomit. “My life is over.”

“You’re a hazard, Gram. A four-alarm fire.”

She raises her mimosa. “Compliment accepted, my dear.”

I blink at her, unable to speak.

Turning to my husband, I reach over and lace my fingers with his.

He stares ahead like he’s rethinking every life choice that led to this moment.

“We’ll survive this,” I whisper.

“Will we?” he mutters.

Gram just laughs. “You survived me. The internet’s nothing.”