Page 26

Two weeks later

Hamish

"Wow! It's so red. And pink. And white. And pretty. What an interesting place to visit."

"Ye sound like me, the first time I saw a fanny up close."

Her eye roll is as epic as her new blonde hair.

It took some doing, but we're here. Jody had me spend an entire week negotiating the deal with Sky Sports, shaking hands and going to so many Zoom calls, my chair feels lonely when I'm not sitting on it. And Brandi declared my knee good enough to take a short break from PT.

Mum called me the day after our fight, holding an agenda in front of her as if we were back seven years ago and she was micromanaging my day.

The call lasted less than sixty seconds after I told her I appreciated the care, but not the control.

Her face turned a color that would fit in right here in Love You, Maine.

Might even be the town’s official shade of red.

Since then, silence.

Amy keeps looking at me as we reach the outskirts of town. "That's... a pink police car."

Amy's voice is halfway between horror and a laugh, the kind you let out when your brain can’t decide if it’s walking into a nightmare or a fever dream built entirely out of fondant and glitter. The pink police car turns right, a flash of red in the driver’s seat.

I lower the window and the air hits us, full of warm sugar and over-the-top wholesomeness.

I detect hints of cocoa and roses, a whiff of cinnamon.

And... is that vanilla bean? On our left is Love You Bakery, its window crammed with heart-shaped cupcakes, pink-iced cookies, and what appears to be a cinnamon bun in the shape of two people kissing.

"Smells like a cake farted."

She snorts. "Hamish."

"I'm serious. It’s like someone bottled Valentine’s Day and sprayed the whole town wi’ it."

At the next traffic light, our SUV is next to a baby-pink moped covered in sparkly XOXO stickers.

"This is brilliant."

Amy groans and flops back in her seat. "It’s fake. It’s all fake. No real town is this... love-shaped."

I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. "Love is universal. Says so on the welcome sign."

Her face contorts. "That’s what scares me."

Block after block, the buildings look like Cupid himself drew the plans after a three-day bender on love hearts.

We pass Love You Flowers, which has a chalkboard sign set up outside the door.

The message reads: Today’s Special! Red and Pink Roses—Because Your Love Isn’t Beige .

A man and woman are standing in front, apparently arguing over a stack of empty vases, while a teenager with a clipboard and hair tinsel takes notes.

“Did we just drive into a Hallmark card?” Arms crossed, her expression is somewhere between dread and indigestion.

Further down the street is Love You Books, a cozy-looking red and white storefront with a heart-shaped bell on the door. A person in overalls is setting up a window display, arranging books with red covers into a giant heart.

"Look at that sign—Love You Coffee. Mugs shaped like hearts? Bet the coffee here is good.”

“I could go for a cup,” Amy admits, warily eyeing the library next door. It’s brick, with fire-engine red shutters, and a big heart-shaped red sign.

"I love it here," I say, practically vibrating.

Amy looks like she’s fighting hives. "This town is too much."

"What does 'too much' mean?"

"Says the man who is too much."

"I take that as a compliment."

"You would."

I reach for her shoulder and catch her eye. "Hold on there. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I have to return my eyes to the road. "Amy."

"This is... a lot. Maybe we should have just gone to Boston City Hall and had a quickie wedding."

"I like quickies."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't." She's confusing, blowing hot and cold, though I'm accustomed to her icy moments. They're a smokescreen for something deeper. "Katie said we needed ta hide ourselves. Be in disguise. A City Hall wedding wouldna accomplish that."

"I know."

"Yer havin' second thoughts?"

"About marrying you? No. About - " she waves her hands in the air " - all this? It's just so - ugh ."

"It'll grow on ye. I did, and see how that turned out?"

She makes a decidedly Scottish sound she must have picked up from me.

"Nessa said to meet Archie at the hot springs," I remind her. "It’s just down that way. Past Bilbee’s Tavern?—"

“I might need more than coffee to get through being here,” she mutters.

I chuckle and lean forward over the steering wheel. “Look over there—Love You Chocolates. Meltin’ hearts and blood sugar levels alike.”

“I’m getting a cavity just looking at this place.”

“D’ye see the library? Red bricks, red paint, red roses in the flower boxes. And the police cars are pink, lass. Pink! Even the police force is on brand.”

Amy’s eyes narrow. “It’s all deeply unsettling.”

We round the bend and there it is: the famous Love You Forever Inn and Drive-Thru Chapel, where people can get married without even leaving their convertibles. There's a neon sign shaped like (what else?) a heart, with a ring in the middle that flashes, SAY I DO IN UNDER TWO MINUTES!

And the inn sign says, “Check in single, check out married!”

Amy’s face has gone full Jane-Austen-heroine-in-distress.

“This is my worst nightmare," she whispers.

"This is ma best dream."

"Hamish."

"Amy!”

I lean in close and murmur in her ear, “We're doin' this. We’re takin’ our story back. And we’re goin’ ta do it surrounded by people who’ve built their lives around love. Even if they show it wi’ pink police cars and cupcakes."

She exhales. "Only for you."

“My mother tried ta cancel our wedding. Yours threw a rock through yer window. They’re both bampots. We’re doing this our way. One heart at a time.”

“Only for you,” she repeats. “Okay."

A puff of steam rises from the springs up ahead. The sign says: Love You Hot Springs: Soak It In! Archie from Wedding Protectors stands at the gate, arms folded, sunglasses on, wearing a pink security polo that should look ridiculous, but somehow doesn’t.

"Welcome to Love You," he says. "Code Chuckles and Code Fiona, keeping us on our toes. I love a challenge.”

Amy gives a dark grin.

This town may be heart-shaped and sugar-frosted, but it’s ours now.

And I’ve never loved any place more.

"Blending in?" I ask. "Pink is an innerestin' choice."

"I find matching the law enforcement color scheme to help with interfacing," he says in a clipped, military tone. "How I dress depends on the assignment." He looks down at his shirt and sighs. “If it were baseball season, I’d happily wear a Love You Cupids team jersey, but I didn’t pick the date.”

"Sounds smart," is all I can think to say, while Amy rolls her eyes hard enough to pull a muscle.

“Why don’t you find a parking spot and meet me by the front door?” Archie suggests.

"I can't get used to you with black hair," Amy says for the nineteenth time since we got on the road. In an effort to disguise ourselves, we took Katie's advice and dyed our hair. Amy went blonde, I went dark. All temporary, of course.

I look like a cartoon villain from a kids' television show. Isn't that great?

Amy, meanwhile, is a blonde bombshell. I can't wait to get to our room. It’ll be like having a spontaneous shag with someone new.

Who is also the woman of my dreams.

And then marrying her.

She's clearly less enthusiastic about my dye job than I am about hers. I park and we get out.

"How'd we do, Archie? We'll blend right in, aye?"

Archie looks up. Way up. I'm 6'4" and used to it.

"Sure," he says dryly. "You're as dull as concrete."

I nudge Amy. "See? Told ye."

"Nessa and I are here to manage whatever security issues you have, whether it's mothers or paparazzi. We've met with the key players here, Chief Luview, Rachel Hart–she’s the director of development–and Boyce Armistead."

"What's he do?" Amy asks. "Is he the mayor?"

"No. Owner of the chocolate store. His mother recently stepped down."

"Why would our security have anything to do with a chocolate store?"

"Small town. Power settles in strange places. Trust me. We've done our homework."

By now, we’ve reached the door to the Love You Forever Inn. Archie holds it open and in we go.

It smells like vanilla icing blended with a bottle of prosecco.

The lobby’s done up like a wedding chapel exploded. The carpet’s pink, and not a soft, elegant pink. I’m talking Barbie’s liver pink.

The chandelier is made of thousands of crystal hearts. There’s a fireplace framed by carved cherubs and to the left, a wall of framed photos labeled JUST MARRIED IN UNDER 120 SECONDS! featuring couples in everything from matching velvet tracksuits to full Civil War reenactment costumes.

Amy’s eyes are wide. Too wide. She’s in a sensory battle between homicide and fainting.

Nessa’s face is... composed.

And by composed , I mean she’s smiling like her jaw is a rusty mousetrap being forced open one tooth at a time.

"Well," she says in a tone so chipper, it feels vaguely threatening, “isn’t this festive."

Archie strides across the room, nodding at the front desk clerk, who is wearing a bowtie, a tiara, and a short veil.

"Front suite’s ready," he says. "Room 14B. Heart-shaped bed and tub, and mirrored ceiling."

Amy looks up at me very slowly. “Mirrored. Ceiling.”

I grin. “So ye can admire yer own form while ye ride me like a stolen Vespa.”

“Hamish!”

“What?”

She swats my arm and says something that might be “divorce” or might be “Jesus take the wheel.” I can’t be sure.

Archie turns a shade of pink that can only be described as embarrassed flamingo.

"Ahem," he coughs, tugging at his collar. "I’ll, ah... do a perimeter check. For, uh... moose. Very aggressive in this region. Especially near... satin."

He pivots so fast, his sensible orthopedic loafers squeak against the floor, then flees like a man who’s just seen cleavage in a church pew.