Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(88)

“Bessie—you know I love you, right?” Dave whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“And that I’m really happy for you. Even if he is a hockey player.”

“Yes,” I repeat, squeezing his arm.

Dave stops walking as we reach the front, and I get my first up-close look at my groom in his gray tux. He’s perfectly shaved, which is different. But the look on his face is even more unusual. It’s completely disarmed. He tilts his head to the side and smiles at me, his green eyes glittering. Like he can’t quite believe this is real.

“The man knows he’s lucky,” Dave whispers. “That makes this a little easier for me.” He takes my hands and turns to look at me. “This is where I leave you, Bess. But I’ll never really leave you.”

“I know,” I choke out. “Now shut up before you make me cry.”

The people closest to us chuckle. There’s Eric Bayer with Alex. And Rebecca and Nate. And Silas, Delilah, and Castro.

I’d come to New York to get a life, and make a five-year plan. Five months later, I have a life that looks nothing like I’d planned—it’s more amazing by every measure.

Dave leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Go marry your boy.”

Henry Kassman’s face splits into a big grin. He gives me a slow nod.

So I do it. I step forward, where Tank is waiting to take my hand. He lifts it to his mouth and kisses my palm, gazing at me as his lips brush my skin. There’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. He’s humbled by this.

And so am I.

Somehow my bouquet gets handed to Zara. Dave takes his place beside his wife, and the minister begins to speak. I miss most of what he says, because I’m too lost in the moment. I’m holding Tank’s hands as he stares into my eyes. His thumb makes a gentle swish across my wrist, the same way it did when I got flustered and introduced myself to him in Nate and Becca’s backyard.

We didn’t bother with a rehearsal, so when it’s time for the vows, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Tank say the words. “I, Mark, take you, Bess, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward…”

Just wow.

“…To love and to cherish until death do us part.”

Then it’s my turn. I clear my throat and do my best. It’s all so humbling that my voice shakes. I must do okay, though, because the minister pronounces us to be man and wife. And then Tank kisses me while the whole room cheers.

Cinderella has nothing on me.





Thirty-Six





Everybody Likes Sweet Potatoes





Tank





One Year Later


“If he finished the peas, try the sweet potatoes again,” Bess calls from the bedroom. “Everyone likes sweet potatoes.”

I look down into the soulful brown eyes of our foster child Roberto, who is six months old. “?Escuchas eso?” I ask him. “A todos les gustan las batatas.” Everybody likes sweet potatoes.

Roberto kicks his fat little feet and bounces in his chair.

I dip the tiny spoon into the pureed sweet potato and lift it to his lips. Roberto takes the food into his cherubic mouth. And one second later he blows a raspberry, spraying sweet potatoes all over my Bruisers T-shirt.

“Aw, baby. Really?” I sputter, while Roberto giggles. “Honey!” I call. “Not everyone likes sweet potatoes.”

“My bad!” Bess says in the distance.

“Necesitamos un Zamboni,” I tell the small person in the highchair. I grab a paper towel and dampen it. Then I use it to wipe bits of pureed sweet potato off every surface of the room, starting with Roberto’s round little face.

“Oh boy,” Dave Beringer says, walking into my kitchen, his own seven-month-old son on his hip. “Looks like someone detonated a small anti-sweet-potato device in here.”

“That happened,” I say, pulling the baby out of the chair and detaching his bib.

“I can hold two at once,” Dave says. “You need a fresh shirt.”

“I’ll take a baby!” Zara says, popping into the kitchen. She snatches Roberto from me and starts kissing his chubby cheeks.

Is Bess still in the bedroom? It’s taking her a long time to get ready for the team Christmas Eve party. At least fifteen minutes. I guess I’m spoiled by her quick turnarounds. “Anyone need more coffee?” I ask our guests.

“I’ll take one,” Dave says. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Really? That hotel is pretty great. Did you try the croissants?”

“It’s not the hotel’s fault, and those croissants are killer,” he says. “But this guy has forgotten how to sleep through the night.” He pats his son on the butt.

“Ouch. Bess and I have been lucky, I guess.” Roberto has only been with us for about ten days, but he’s a good sleeper. “If only he liked sweet potatoes.” I’m still wearing this wreck of a shirt.

“How do you do it?” Zara asks me as I pour her husband a cup of coffee. She gazes into Roberto’s eyes.

“It takes a few days to learn their quirks,” I say. Roberto is foster baby number three.

“No,” Zara says, smoothing down Roberto’s curls. “How will you hand him back?” She looks up at me. “Isn’t it awful?”