Darlene Scalera - May The Best Man Wed

Cash stopped dead, such a look of alarm on his face, Savannah would have smiled had it been anyone else.

“You’re kidding?”

She looked at him, confused. “They match the bow tie.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, enjoying a smile until Cash slid in beside her.

“You are kidding,” he decided.

She glanced at him, her expression betraying nothing. “Buckle up.” She put the car into gear and headed for the interstate.

“Stop.” He pointed to a mini-mart as they came to an intersection “I need caffeine.”

“There’s no time.”

“Come on.” He elbowed her in the side as if they were old school chums. “A man can’t live on love alone.”

She had an urge to rev the engine and shoot past the convenience store, but she always drove at the speed limit.

He leaned back against the seat, stretched his arms, reducing the space even further within the car. “If you’re in such an all-fired hurry to get downtown, why are you driving so slow?”

“I’m driving at the posted speed limit.” She snapped on her blinker, eased into another lane.

“Follow all the rules, don’t you, Slick?”

“That’s what they were made for, Walker.”

“Maybe, but it’s more fun to break them.”

“There’s more to life than fun.”

“Is that what you want on your tombstone?”

She decided to ignore him. In reality, she was too aware of him—his size, the movement of muscles as he shifted in his seat. The omnipresent heat, seductive as a southwest wind. Heat that she’d told herself she’d only imagined, until this morning when she’d felt it with her own body.

Fortunately they weren’t far from the heart of downtown now, having left behind the old-money estates and new-money monster mansions. Mr. Max’s was north of the city’s center among the upscale department stores and towering hotels and office high-rises. Cash groaned as they passed an advertisement for Fresh Mountain Roast Coffee.

He slumped against the seat. “All I can say is the bridesmaids better be gorgeous—each and every one of them.”

Savannah thought of her sister. Cash would be pleased. “I’m assuming then, you’re not bringing someone to the wedding?”

“Why? Do you need a date?”

Patience, Savannah, patience. “You just seemed rather fond of this Angeline person—”

“Angeline?”

The unexpected steel in his voice drew her gaze. His expression was even harder.

“That’s the name you called me when you accosted me in your bedroom. I assumed—”

“Honey, I’ve done a lot of things in a bedroom but accosting has never been one of them.”

As usual, his recovery was swift. Jaw set, she focused her attention on the traffic.

“You’re thinking you don’t like me again, aren’t you, Slick?”

Her jaw muscles locked.

“Angeline was the woman I left at the altar seven years ago.”

She swung her head to him. He was watching the passing buildings, the streets busy with people. “I’m sorry.”

He angled his head to look at her.

“Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I mean I knew what happened but, but—” She was actually stammering.

“The story isn’t exactly the type of fare that lends itself to amusing anecdotes at family reunions, is it?”

His barbs were rendered null and void by the pain etched in his expression.

“Why’d you do it?” Her words came without thought. Blame it on her current situation. Blame it on the loneliness she sensed beneath his laughter. She needed to know.

He shook his head. “She knew it was over. I had told her that morning.”

“Maybe she didn’t believe you?”

His words were certain. “She believed me.”

Savannah sensed he would say no more. She tried to fill in the blanks. “You were scared?” She felt her own fear, refused to let it take hold.

“Not at all. I wasn’t scared of anything back then. I was gaga about her.” He winked at her. She had to smile, her own fear falling away.

“Wild about her, absolutely wild. Followed her around hot as a three-dollar pistol.” His smile was rueful as he looked out the windshield at nothing and remembered. “It ended badly, but boy, in the beginning…it was something.”

Savannah could only nod dumbly while a faceless, nameless need rose inside her as if she were twelve again, dreaming of her first kiss. She wanted to ask more, know everything, but Cash turned to the window, his face lifting toward the bronze sunlight. “I hate this damn city,” he said.

She returned her attention to the road, started to search for parking. “They always have coffee for the customers at Mr. Max’s. Mr. Max insists it be brewed fresh on the hour, every hour. The beans are hand-ground.” It was all she could offer him at that moment.

She felt a warm gratification when she heard his chuckle.

They were ten minutes late for the fitting but no one minded except Savannah, and even she had ceased to care at that point. Cash immediately christened the owner Max the Madman and after two cups of black coffee with what Savannah thought was an excessive amount of sugar, he charmed the rest of the store’s personnel. Savannah watched him, wondering if anyone, even those who knew better, walked away from him untouched?

When he stepped from the dressing room, in classic black that instead of refining him only made his raw maleness more lethal, the assistants oohed and aahed, and even Savannah had to swallow hard twice. But when Mr. Max turned to her to second his opinion of Cash as “the most handsome best man to ever set foot in Mr. Max’s Formal Wear,” Savannah merely looked at Cash and in a bored tone, asked, “You will shave for the wedding, won’t you?”

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