Page 107 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

More nervous joking! Stop it, Delilah. This is serious.

“Besides, once you get two senators, a federal judge, and a governor involved, these overzealous state clerks are gonna think twice about overstepping their bounds. Of course, the wedding will cement the deal.”

“Senators? Governor?” she asked in confusion. “What wedding?”

“Anyways, your man must know people in high places.” He waggled his eyebrows at her before going to sit with his wife.

“My man?” she asked, but he was already gone. It didn’t take long for her to realize that Merrill must have been at work, even while he was gone, on his handy laptop or cell phone. The man—not her man, the man—just could not stop meddling in her life. But she couldn’t be mad at him for his interference in her latest problems. Not when they involved Maggie. Still . . .

On and on the craziness went. The seniors from the Patterson house were there, some of them in fancy dance attire. Were they going to give a dance demonstration, or something? But wait. Glancing out the window, she saw a van double-parked outside and some people getting out, carrying instruments. The logo said: “Nostalgia.” It was the popular Outer Banks classic rock band that had played at the Rutledge wedding.

This situation just got weirder and weirder.

Then there were the merchants she’d met in town. And Ina Rogers, the church secretary from Our Lady by the Sea. And was that Father Brad from her church, wearing vestments? Why? Was he going to bless the gold or something?

Self-joking again! Oh, Lord, my brain is going to melt with all this nervousness.

Matt Holter, her local lawyer, came up to her at one point and said, “I know you planned on coming to my office this afternoon, but it won’t be necessary today. I brought some paperwork for you to sign. If I need more, I’ll let you know.” He pulled some folded papers out of the inside pocket on his suit jacket and handed her a pen, pointing to the bottom of several pages marked with an X where she should sign. She could swear that Merrill’s name was on one of them, still waiting for his signature.

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t sign anything without reading the whole thing, but Matt was talking the whole time, and she just said, “Will you give me duplicates of this?”

He looked surprised and said, “Of course.”

The odd thing was, when he walked away, he went over to the priest and showed him one of the papers. Was Father Brad going to be a witness to her character in foster care proceedings, or something? He really didn’t know her that well.

Her new friend, Sally Dawson from the Sweet Thangs bakery, came in carrying a huge box of what must be bakery products, which she handed to the folks manning the other tables in the sunroom. Sally, with her brown hair spiked up for the occasion in a pixie-ish haircut and some out-of-character makeup, which still allowed her freckles to show through on her face, looked very pretty in the peach-colored dress she’d bought at the thrift shop the day they’d had lunch. She came over to give Delilah a hug and whispered against her ear, “Good luck!”

An odd sentiment, unless she had heard about her foster care and parole worries. “I may need it.”

Just then, Kevin was about to walk by. She grabbed him by the arm and asked, “Have you heard from Merrill? He should be here by now.”

But Kevin, who’d stopped dead in his tracks, was staring at Sally as if he’d been gobsmacked. “Who . . . are . . . you?” he finally asked.

“Kevin, this is my friend Sally Dawson. She owns the bakery in town. Sally, this is Merrill’s buddy, Kevin Fortunato, or K-4.”

“I know who he is. Ex–Navy SEAL,” Sally said, raising her ski-jump nose in the air. To Kevin she added, “And don’t be giving me that look.”

“What look?”

“That I-want-you-baby and I’m-so-hot-how-can-you-resist-a-buff-guy-like-me?”

Kevin laughed. “What are you doing later?”

“Nothing involving you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t do military men. One was enough.”

“Do?” he inquired with amusement. Then, “I’m not in the military anymore.”

“Once in the military, especially Special Forces, it’s in your veins. Danger. Excitement.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Listen, Mister Macho Man, go play with your Victoria’s Secret model.” Apparently the whole town must know about the goings-on at her motel during the storm. “This single mother has enough to do with three children.”

“The model is gone. And, by the way, I love kids.”