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Tina

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Harry asks as we prepare to leave the house.

Nicole snickers. “You wouldn’t know a good idea if it bit you in the ass.”

“Actually, he’s right,” I say. “It’s a terrible idea, and that’s what makes it the best.” 

I don’t miss the small smile playing on Harry’s lips. He’s been in a remarkably good mood ever since he took that job from Hamilton Enterprises. Not that I can blame him. The man lost out on a managerial job at Wendy’s to a twenty-six-year-old with “impressive experience.” That kind of thing leaves a mark. Still, he’s as much Harry as ever, which means he’s not keen on the idea of Zach and me crashing Simone Labelle’s engagement party. 

Yes, you read that right. Simone only broke up with Zach’s brother a month ago, but she’s already engaged. Part of me can’t help but be impressed—that’s some serious scuttle butt, Labelles!—but I wonder if we should warn this man that Simone is a raging asshole. Or that the Labelles have a habit of overspending.

That’s not why Zach and I are doing it, though, or at least it’s not the main reason. The main reason is that her engagement party is being held at Buchanan Brewery. Simone refused to try their beer last month, and now she’s celebrating her engagement there. Moreover, she’s marrying Deacon Mulroney, son of the owner of Bev Corp a.k.a. the Walmart of brewery conglomerates. 

Meaning he’s stinking rich, or at least his family is.

I guess for a catch like that, Simone and the Labelles are willing to drink a little beer.

“So you’re coming with us, right?” Zach asks, giving Harry his orthodontia-success-story grin. It’s hard to resist that grin, but I know Harry will give it the old college try. This isn’t his scene. He’d much rather send us off with a safe word—mollycoddle, which we picked to annoy Molly the other night—and spend his night worrying.

“I can’t. I’m watching Married at First Sight tonight. In fact, you should stay home and watch it with me.”

“You must really be desperate,” I say with a laugh. Harry hates watching TV with Zach and me. He says we still haven’t learned to watch TV like adults. I argue that if you can’t tell the people on TV that what they’re doing is stupid, there’s no point in watching them at all.

“I am,” he says. “But it makes me feel marginally better that you have an in. Well, several. That means there are also several people who can get you out safely.”

My ex-Marine big brother, Dylan, works as the tasting room manager at Buchanan Brewery, and while the tasting room is on the other side of the building from the events room, he’d knock down every door to get to me if I shouted mollycoddle. Besides, Molly’s sister Maisie is married to the events manager, Jack Durand, one of Dottie’s grandchildren, who got our fake names on the list. Then there’s Dottie herself, who actually drew us a map with all of the exits clearly marked in red. She and her grandchildren (i.e. the Buchanans) are understandably curious as to why the event is being held at Buchanan Brewery rather than Big Catch Brewing, which is now owned by Bev Corp. 

You may be wondering how we hope to crash such an event without being seen. That’s where Nicole comes in. She and Damien are going out of town tonight for unspecified reasons, but she offered to lend us wigs and do our makeup, complete with nose prostheses, and although Zach whined about hiding his pretty face, we’re both pretty pleased with the outcome. Simone probably won’t even recognize us. Or at least it would take several second looks, something she won’t be inclined to waste on people who look neither perfect nor important. Still, my dress is very nice—a red, flippy number that I’ll definitely wear again.

“Thanks, Nicole,” I say as she finishes packing up her makeup bag. 

“Always happy to serve as an agent of chaos or Tina,” she says. “But remember that you promised to take pictures, the more damning the better. I’d go myself if Damien and I weren’t busy.”

It takes super-human restraint for me to avoid asking her what, exactly, they’ll be doing, but I refrain. It’s obvious they’d prefer not to tell anyone, and she did help us. Twice, now.

My phone beeps, letting us know that our ride has arrived.

“Are you ready, Ms. Tate?” Zach asks, holding out his hand. I take it. “Yes, Mr. Paxton, by all means.” 

We’ve decided to use the names of the characters in The Proposal as a little inside joke, what with our history as a fake engaged couple.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Harry says. 

“Do everything I would do,” Nicole says, her smile sharp.   

Zach gives her a wry look. “I think Dottie would frown on it if we set her former paramour’s brewery on fire.” 

Nicole shrugs. “It’s more fun to start other kinds of fires.”

It’s a fair point, so I don’t disagree. I just drag Zach toward the door, waving at Harry and Nicole over my shoulder. “See you both later. Don’t kill anyone, Nicole. I’m not sure Mary’s a good enough lawyer to get you off.”

Her wicked laugh cuts through the air as I shut the door, and I’m fairly certain she’s going to tattle on me to the group chat I still have running with her, Mary, and Dottie, my Greek Chorus.

“The more important question is whether she’s good enough to get us off for trespassing,” Zach says, grinning at me. Even with a dark blond wig and a nose only a mother—or real fiancé could love—he’s unreasonably sexy in his suit. 

“Oh, we don’t need her for that,” I say, “Dylan will put the fear of God into them if they fuck with us.”

“Or he’ll kill me for dragging you into danger. He’d know where to hide the body too.”

He’s at least thirty percent serious, and I have to laugh. I mean, Zach is super fit, but Dylan’s kind of a beast. And he and Zach have butted heads a few times since the first time they met was when Zach busted into Dylan’s home and proposed to me in front of my entire family.

Dad’s old-school Italian enough that he’s pissed Zach didn’t ask him for permission first.

Mom’s pissed because I hadn’t told her about anything about Zach.

Nonna’s just overjoyed that someone, even if he’s not Italian, wants to marry me.           

Family. Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them. 

Actually, I think I got that wrong, but I don’t have time to correct it because we’ve reached the Range Rover waiting for us at the curb, and William is looking at us like we’re insane. Good! This means Nicole’s makeup is working.

Zach pops the door open, and I slide across the seat, Zach coming in after me. 

“Why are you wearing disguises?” William asks in confusion. Then he shakes his head adamantly. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

Fair enough. Plausible deniability and all that. 

We spend the rest of the short drive talking about his currently non-existent dating life, and I urge him to look up Mayberry Matchmakers. It’s an old-school matchmaking business owned by my friend Willow’s family, and in addition to in-person services they help people write clickbait profiles (of course, they don’t call it that).

“Or you could just look at the personal ads on the Asheville Gazette’s website,” Zach says, giving my thigh a squeeze that sends sizzles through me. 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” William says with a grunt. “Only weirdos write those things.”

I laugh. “You tell him, William.” Because, let’s be honest, William knows exactly how Zach and I met. He’s just messing with him.

When we arrive, we pile out and say goodbye to William, who has a bemused look on his face that suggests he’s getting used to us. I feel a slight pang as he drives off, because we’ll be leaving soon, and we won’t see our Asheville friends nearly as much once we’re in Highland Hills. 

“Don’t worry, pookie, we’ll be back as much as they can stand it,” Zach says, putting an arm around my waist. Of course he knows what I’m thinking. Don’t get it twisted—we don’t have some sort of psychic couple’s thing going on. I just have one of those faces that telegraphs everything.

“Promise? I’d hate to let them get away with too much.”

“Promise.”

There’s a little red carpet leading up to the door of the events room, and we walk down it and give our Proposalnames to the doorman. 

When we walk inside, I start laughing and cover it up with a coughing fit. Each of the high tables has a different keg tucked beneath it, and there’s an arrangement of pint glasses by the door with a collection of grease pencils so we can write our names on them. Zach gets to work, writing Pookie Tate on mine and Snookums Paxton on his, which makes me snort. 

One commonality with Simone’s last engagement party is that servers are walking by with platters of appetizers, except it looks like there are only a couple of options—soft pretzels and pigs in a blanket. Apparently the gluten-free diet is a thing of a past. To be honest, it actually seems like a fun party, but Simone must be miserable. 

Zach takes me by the hand and leads me to the side of the room. I pause to fill our beers, because Buchanan’s Home Sweet Home is really good. “So, what’s our strategy?” I say, taking a sip of beer.

“You know me,” he says with a grin, “I’m not the planning type. I figure we circulate and enjoy ourselves.”

“My kind of plan,” I say, giving him a little shove.

Glancing around in a way that’s not particularly subtle, I catch sight of Simone at the far corner of the room, thank goodness, standing next to a man in a baseball cap, expensive blue jeans, and long-sleeve T-shirt with the slogan Life is too short for bad beer. She’s wearing a flouncy white dress with a red belt and has a fixed smile on her face that looks like it could crack like glass. 

God help me, I almost feel bad for her.

Operative word being “almost.”

Her parents are standing behind the “happy” couple, as if to ensure she doesn’t pull a runner. There’s no sign of her sister and Apple, but I suspect they’re around somewhere, spreading mayhem and stealing phones.

“To having fun,” I say, and Zach and I clink glasses.

A forty-something man in a suit approaches us. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asks wistfully, nodding toward the bride-to-be. It’s factually true, so I nod. “Deacon Mulroney is one lucky son of a bitch,” he continues. That is not factual, so I do not nod.

“Side of the groom?” Zach asks.

“Nah,” the guy says, rubbing his jaw. “I’m her brother-in-law.”

What the what? My mouth must have dropped open, because Zach gives me a little nudge. “How’s Tomato?” he asks, his expression totally serious.

“Who’s Tomato?” the guy asks in confusion.

“Oh, we’re real fuddy duddies when it comes to naming children,” I say, waving a hand. “Andrew here can’t tell one fruit name from the next. He was asking about your dear little Apple.”

If he’s offended, he doesn’t let it show. “I knew we should have named her Margaret,” he grumbles. Nodding at the happy couple again, he says, “This guy’s parents and brother aren’t even here. What kind of family is that?” 

I’m tempted to remind him that he was a no-show for all of the events tied to Simone’s last engagement, but I don’t want to blow our cover just yet. Besides, he raises an interesting point. Simone was scandalized by family’s absence at my impromptu “engagement” dinner with Zach. Is she pissed that her future in-laws are a no show?

“What kind indeed!” I say, perhaps a little overexuberantly. “Why aren’t they here?”

He scoffs. “Claims they’re on a business trip, and everything’s moved so quickly they couldn’t reschedule. But Simone hasn’t even met them yet.”

Well, there’s definitely a story there. His wife cuts through the crowd, Apple at her feet, and his eyes widen. “Gotta run. See you…” He’s at a loss because we never offered our names, and I don’t help him out. “Uh, later,” he finishes and takes off for one of the kegs. His family trails him.

I shoot Zach a cringey look, and he grins. “You know, that guy was almost my brother-in-law.” 

“This is getting interesting, huh?”    

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“I’m ninety percent sure you used that wrong,” I say, giving him a little bump with my side.

We approach an older couple Zach swears up and down he doesn’t recognize—given their casual party attire, I believe him—and ask how they know the happy couple. It comes as no surprise that they’re Team Mulroney, so we claim to be distant cousins of the Labelles. 

“Do you know how they met?” I ask, innocently. “They moved pretty quickly, huh? I couldn’t believe it when Simmy called me up and told me she was engaged. Again. I mean, we were at her other engagement party a couple of months ago. But this is the real deal, isn’t it?”

The woman waves her napkin. “To hear Deacon say it, it was love at first sight. Well, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? And so hard done by. Why it’s a regular fairytale, considering that her ex-fiancé jilted her.” She clucks her tongue and mutters, “Awful man.”

 I feel Zach stiffening slightly next to me. Phillip might be a tool, but he’s Zach’s brother, and Simone wronged him rather than the other way around. Saying so seems like a good way to get thrown out, however.

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Do you know why they chose to have the celebration here? To be honest, this doesn’t seem like Simone’s scene.”

“Really?” the woman asks, seemingly taken off guard. “Why, they’re at a brewery nearly every day.”

Goodness. She must really like his money.

“You know how it is, sugar bear,” Zach says, running his hand through the ends of my long black wig. “Love changes a person.”

“Oh, it sure does,” the woman says. She’s beaming again, because Zach—even blond Zach with an oversized nose—is easy on the eyes. 

Her husband or partner or whoever takes her hand as if to remind her that he is present and accounted for. “Besides,” he says, “it’s my understanding that Deacon’s dad has his eye on this brewery. This is his way of scoping it out for him.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Might not get along with his old man, but he’s still got the old Mulroney pragmatism.”

Eeeenteresting.

I shoot Zach a look, and he nods to our chatty new friends. “Nice meeting you. We’re going to go make out.”

A laugh slips out of me before I can contain it.

If we’d said that to a couple from the Labelle side, there would have been scandalized looks. Perhaps some pearl clutching. But the woman smiles encouragingly. “I don’t blame you. there’s love in the air. We might just do the same.”

“Did you mean that?” I whisper to Zach as we walk away, careful to keep distance between us and any Labelles. 

“That depends,” he says, slipping a confident hand around my hip. “Did you want me to mean it?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Absolutely yes. Even if it totally fucks up our makeup.” 

But we don’t get very far before someone bangs a fork against a pint glass, then Deacon Mulroney steps onto a barrel, which is probably more work than he thought because it requires a boost from Bertie, who has a long-suffering look on his face. Deacon grabs a  microphone from Evelyn and says, “I’m so pleased to be here with you tonight. I never thought I’d meet a woman as beautiful and down-to-earth as Simone—”

I choke on nothing, and Zach pats my back. 

Simone stares up at her fiancé with that strained, cracked glass look as he continues. “But I’m a luckier man than I deserve to be, because she agreed to marry me. A few of you have asked about the wedding date, and—” He glances down at Simone, his expression apologetic; she looks like she might have accidentally swallowed some beer, “—we might as well tell them, my love. We’ve decided to elope. Tomorrow! I’m thrilled to have this woman forever by my side. We’ll be toasting our pint glasses in the sky, baby,” he says.

Which means Simone might be stuck drinking beer even after death.

Zach and I exchange identical yikes looks, and we both set our pint glasses down. I pull him toward an exit. Thanks to Dottie’s map, I know the lay of the land, and there’s a short hallway back here, with a storage room at the end of it. We don’t speak until we’re safely tucked inside, the door locked. There’s not much in here but a bunch of industrial shelves stacked with crates and beer bottles, plus several barrels lined up in front of them.

“Do we have to do something about this?” I ask, giving him a cringey look. “I mean, that dude sounds pretty brainwashed. I think we might have a moral imperative here, as much as I’d like to just go back out there and eat pigs in a blanket and drink beer.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe Simone really loves him.”

We both laugh at the same time, and he tries to brush a hand through his hair before finding the wig in the way. He takes it off, his brown hair mussed and unruly after being trapped under it. And I can’t help it, a sound escapes my throat and I come at him. 

Our prosthetic noses get in the way, but we don’t let that bother us. Actually, Zach rips them both off, which will probably hinder any further attendance of the party, but I’m so wrapped up in the moment, I hardly care. His eyes gleaming, he lifts me up onto one of the barrels, and I know we’re both thinking of the first time we had sex, with me sitting up on a dresser that was just about the same height. His lips blaze a path down my neck, pausing to nip my ear, and he reaches a hand under my skirt. A fire lights in his eyes when he realizes I’m not wearing any panties. “Were you planning on this, pookie?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Hell, yes, Mr. Paxton.” 

“Good,” he says, rubbing and stroking between the V of my thighs. I savor in it for a little while, kissing him leisurely, then push him back, a little hard, truth be told, and grab for his belt. 

It’s then that we hear someone coming down the hall.

Well, shit.

Did they run out of beer?

Someone tugs on the handle of the door, but thank God it’s locked.

“Fuck,” we hear through the door, and I think…isn’t that? 

I glance at Zach, who nods. It’s the groom-to-be.

Did he and Simone steal our idea of having a quickie in the storage room?

Except we hear his voice again a moment later, and it’s obvious he’s on his phone.

“They won’t sell,” he says, his voice a growl that sounds almost nothing like the jovial aw shucks persona he was going for moments ago. “I already slipped out and talked to the head brewer. He’s a one-fifth owner, married to one of the other shareholders. Real self-righteous asshole. Said they wouldn’t sell if they were down to their last penny.” He waits, then continues, “But this place is nothing next to Ziggie Brewing. I can get Dad his golden goose, Jeff. I’m marrying into that Highland Hills family, which’ll make me a local. They’ll sell to a local. If I bring in Ziggie, he’ll forgive everything.”

He kicks the door, making Zach and me flinch. 

“I’m telling you, Jeff, Dad’s going to change his mind. I’ll marry Simone, and then I’ll have enough money to make shit happen. End of story. Besides, it’s good fucking press to save a princess.”

Another pause.

“It’ll work because it has to work.”

Then we hear his footsteps pounding back up the hall as Deacon beats a retreat.

“Well, fuck,” Zach says, running his fingers across my jaw, probably smudging a pound of makeup.

“Indeed,” I agree.

“I was going to agree with the whole moral imperative thing—reluctantly, mind you—but now I think we should let them have each other.”

I give it a second’s thought, then get to work on his belt again. “There’s something poetic about two broke people marrying each other for money. It’s like ‘The Gift of the Magi,’ but instead of ending up broke and in love, they’ll just end up broke.” I finish with the belt and unfasten his pants, pushing them and his boxer briefs down to let his gorgeous dick spring free. “Tell me you have a condom.”

“Obviously. I might not have planned for it,” he says with a wink, “but I did hope.”

He stoops and grabs it from his pants pocket. I tear it out of his hand and open it, slowly rolling it down over him, making him gasp for air.

“Like this?” He nods to the barrel.

“Nah, I say,” hopping down, “I have a better idea.” Glancing at him over my shoulder, I flip up the skirt of my dress and grip the top of the barrel with my other hand, leaning over.

“Fuck, Tina,” he says, rubbing his perfect stubble, “you’re going to kill me.” 

“That’s the idea.”

He palms my butt, squeezing it, and then reaches forward to rub the sensitive spot between my legs as he lines himself up with my entrance. He pushes into me, the fullness almost excruciatingly good, and I push back against him, using the barrel for leverage. It’s so amazingly hot that I know neither of us will last long. 

One of Zach’s hands lifts to my breast, rubbing and circling around my nipple through the dress, while he uses the other to hold my hip for leverage, driving into me again and again. Pleasure pounds through me, down to my toes and up the roots of my hair, and I need more. I need all of him. So I push back with each thrust, urging him on. Then his hand is back between my legs, circling and caressing as he continues to take me from behind. It pushes me over the edge, and we tumble into the abyss together. Zach leans against me, trapping me against the barrel, and I laugh.

“Did I kill you?”

“Maybe,” he mutters into my wig. “But it was a good death.”

He pulls out and then swears under his breath. “Tell me you have tissues or something in your bag.”

I laugh as I pull a travel-size pack of them out from my bag, which must have tumbled onto the floor after I tackled him. “I learned from Dottie’s Mary Poppins purse, but I’m not putting the condom in my bag. Nonna gave it to me, and I feel like she’d know.”

“She probably would,” he says, laughing as he takes the condom off, wraps it up, and stuffs it into his pocket.

His face is kind of a wreck. There’s smeared makeup, plus a few gooey bits from the nose prosthesis, and I’m sure mine is the same.

“Should we bother trying to put ourselves back together?”

“Why?” he asks, shrugging. 

So we don’t. We walk through the Mulroney-Labelle party, and a squawk almost immediately reverberates through the room.

“Zachary?!”

We ignore it. On our way out, we pass the couple from earlier, and the woman winks at me. “Getting some nookie makes you feel like a whole new woman, doesn’t it?”

“You bet, Patricia,” I say, although I don’t think I ever learned her name.

 We head straight for the Buchanan Brewery tasting room, Zach stopping off in the bathroom to get rid of the pocket condom. I clean up in the ladies’ room too, or as much as I care to for the moment, and we head to the bar.

My brother Dylan’s tending bar, and his eyes widen in alarm. “How’d it go? You look…peculiar. I knew this was a bad idea, but I figured if I told you so, you’d be even more likely to do it.”

I lift a hand. “Yes, both of those things are accurate. But we’re feeling good, bro. And we’re confident that those people in there are absolutely perfect for each other.”

Zach smiles at me as Dylan pours us a couple of beers. “Just like us.”