Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series) Read Free

Andre lowered his head, revealing the roots of his mousse-spiked,
bleached hair. He wore a dark maroon suit with a matching jewel-toned silk
shirt unbuttoned midway, showing sparse hair on his skinny chest. The smell of
his cologne drifted over and tickled my nose. “Do you have a photographer?”
    “Yes,” I
ventured.
    “No,” Aunt
Maggie cut in. “She has some guy who shoots kiddie team pictures.”
    “Oh my.” Andre
circled something on his clipboard. “No photographer.”
    “And you’ve gone
for a wedding cake tasting?”
    “A tasting? I
think I already know what vanilla and chocolate tastes like by now.”
    Andre shook his
head as if I were a child. “No, my dear. You will be pleased to find out there
are other flavors like white amaretto, champagne – girl, you can even get
peanut butter if that’s what floats your boat. So I take it you haven’t had a
cake-tasting session?”
    “You would be
correct,” I replied.
    “I see.” He
circled another line. “And your flowers?”
    “She’s using
Lenny Stokes, and she’s already put a deposit down,” Aunt Maggie said.
    Andre grimaced.
    “I see. I’ll
need his number and address so I can get in contact with him to put him on my
approved vendors list.” He circled another line. “And what is the venue?”
    “We are going to
have the ceremony at the community church.”
    Andre’s eyebrows
raised as he nodded and smiled. I had finally done something right.
    “Do you have any
kind of documentation on this?” he asked.
    “Not officially,
no,” I said. “I have talked to the pastor about it, though and he says it’s
open. We live in a small town, Andre. Documentation isn’t always required.”
    “Mr. Andre,” he
corrected.
    “We just don’t
have the same kinds of waiting lists like there are in the big city.”
    He clutched his
hand to his chest. “Well, that’s a relief.”
    “And your
invitations?”
    “We weren’t
going to send those out until mid-January. We were afraid people would lose
them. I have them ordered.” Mr. Andre’s eyes slanted toward me. “Well, they’re
not exactly ordered, but I do have them picked out.”
    A pause hung in
the air as Mr. Andre summoned up the strength to go on. “Are you sure we’re
planning a wedding and not some kind of country barbecue where they cook a pig
over a spit?” He clasped his hands together in front of him to emphasize his
point. “You are in crisis mode, Madame Happy Hinter.”
    I gulped. So
maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t nailed down enough of the details. I felt a tear
escape onto my cheek. Andre, used to overwhelmed brides, reached over to a
satin-covered tissue box and slapped it down on the table in front of me.
    “Dry your eyes,
sweetie. We’ve got work to do,” he said. “You should know what a lucky girl you
are. I just removed myself from a wedding on the same day. No one – I repeat,
no one – does a wedding like Mr. Andre, but even I have my limits on
troublesome brides and monster mothers. As fate would have it, I’m yours.”
    He walked over
to a filing cabinet and pulled out a large white leather binder. Mr. Andre’s
picture was on the front, and underneath that, “Weddings Exclusively by Mr.
Andre” was embossed in gold lettering.
    “I don’t care what
religion you are,” he said. “This, lovey, is your new bible. Carry this with
you everywhere and fill it with notes, questions, business cards, quotes and
everything – I mean everything – that has to do with your wedding. Is that
clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said
and saluted before I could stop myself. Aunt Maggie broke out into a laugh, but
Mr. Andre turned quickly, fixing his eyes on her. She quickly stifled her
reaction and stood up a little straighter, becoming just another draftee in the
world of white satin.

     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    “So, Mr. Andre
is going to check out the photographer and the florist, and we are going on a
wedding cake tasting tomorrow.” Leo, who had been