Page 28 of Seale the Deal

How’s the Seale crew this morning? he asks as we approach the counter.

Walter’s older, broad through the middle, with silver hair combed neatly back and the kind of permanently amused expression that suggests he’s spent most of his life laughing. The confident energy speaks of someone who isn’t afraid to insert himself into everyone else’s business for entertainment, and what better place to collect small-town gossip than a coffee shop?

Iced chai, non-fat? he asks Remi.

You know it.

Then Walter’s attention lands squarely on me.

He’s grinning ear to ear.

Well now, he says. So this must be the Canadian fiancée.

Wow. Remi wasn’t kidding. Bonnie works fast.

She is, Ruger says easily. He glances down at me with an adoring gaze I can’t help but melt a little under. Finally got my Wrenley up here.

My Wrenley.

My name hits different when it’s said like a declaration.

Well, I’ll be damned, Walter says, a huge smile on his face. Didn’t think this day would come.

Gee, thanks, Ruger says sarcastically.

You can’t blame me. After the whole Anchorage debacle. He shrugs. I’m surprised you even entertained the idea of a relationship.

Anchorage debacle? I look at Ruger quizzically, who seems to actively avoid my gaze.

The heart knows when it’s right, Ruger says.

Does it, though? Because if that’s true, my heart owes me a written apology for the years I wasted. Good thing he and I are about paperwork and not hearts.

It always butters my sourdough when people find love. The most important question is who’s performing the wedding? Walter asks, but it’s not really a question. He leans in, cupping his ear.

You are, Remi says in a tone that suggests she’s placating him a little bit.

Walter nods. That’s what I’m talking about!

He slides Remi’s drink toward her, and she takes it.

Well, she’s gorgeous, Walter announces loudly enough that two people glance over from a corner booth.

Thanks, I manage, voice thin.

Walter beams at me. What can I get you?

My mind immediately blanks.

Normally, I’d order an iced coffee, but I’ve been freezing since I got here, and it’s obvious, based on the coffee machine at his house, Ruger only drinks hot coffee. I should probably start adapting, but based on aesthetics alone, I’m not entirely convinced this place serves coffee that doesn’t need some kind of syrup and oat milk combo.

When I don’t immediately answer, Walter must think I’m nervous because he looks to Ruger. You must know her order.

Ruger’s mouth opens. Then closes.

Uh… I prefer when she orders for herself, he says. She’s perfectly capable.

How about I get started on yours, then, Ruger? he says. Cream with a hint of coffee, right?