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He nods. “Pretty much.”
“This really is crazy.” I giggle through a shaky smile. But also, I can’t bring myself to do anything but accept the life vest he’s just tossed into my ocean of chaos. “Okay, yeah, count me in.”
“Winslow,” he says, and I quirk a brow. “My last name.”
Winslow. Flynn Winslow, I silently recite his name. Welp, at least it actually goes with Daisy and doesn’t put you in a Julia Gulia situation…
“Right. Next stop…Mr. and Mrs. Winslow.”
Flynn
Neon lights that read Happy Chapel flash obnoxiously in front of us, and I pull my bike to a stop in a small parking lot just off the main drag of the Strip. Just as I push my foot against the kickstand, I cut the engine and plunge us into pseudosilence. It’s not quiet—not with the buzz of the Vegas nightlife so close by—but without the sound of the engine rumbling in my chest, it’s damn near tranquil.
Daisy’s arms don’t loosen like I expect them to, so I prompt her with a couple generous words I’d usually not bother with.
“We’re here.”
I feel the edge of her chin in my back as she nods against it, but still, the hold of her grip doesn’t loosen.
Rather than rush her, I put the weight of my bike onto the kickstand and wait. Red neon lights outline the chapel’s big sign, and a pair of kissing doves are painted on the side of the white brick.
Given our proximity to the desert, the spring night is more balmy than cool, but I swear I feel a shiver run up my clinging companion’s spine.
It’s only afterward that her iron grip softens, and one of her toned legs makes a move to step down onto her sky-high heels.
I stay still, acting as a steady brace as she finds her feet off a leaning bike, and climb off only when she backs away several steps and wraps her arms around herself.
Her curls poke out from the bottom of my helmet, and I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning as I take a couple steps toward her and help her remove it.
“Oh,” she says through a laugh as the padding scrapes over her ears on the helmet’s way off her head. “Right. I’m supposed to take that off, I guess.”
She’s nervous, obviously, but after living with my sister Winnie for as many years as I did, I’m not sure there’d ever be a woman who wasn’t when in this scenario.
And most men would be, too.
I set my helmet on the bike and lock the ignition, and then I head for the door, placing a hand on the small of her back and gently guiding her along with me as I go.
She moves freely and with ease, but her eyes are the size of very pretty saucers.
A happy, laughing, clearly drunk couple stumbles out through the doors ahead of us, and I sidestep, taking Daisy with me to keep them from barreling into us.
Daisy watches them with avid interest, and I have to squeeze the side of her hip to get her to precede me when I hold the door open.
Steps careful, she eases her way into the entry of the chapel, where red carpet, disco lights, busts of naked women, and dozens of bouquets of flowers await. This place certainly lives up to the Vegas wedding scene that most people picture. The front desk isn’t occupied by any other couples, so we’re able to step right up to it, and to the waiting man behind it.
“Welcome to the Happy Chapel!” he greets cheerfully, leaning into the plexiglass top with his elbows. “What can we help you with tonight?”
Daisy’s body locks, her muscles turning to stone and her eyes rivaling those of a cartoon. She looks like the lead character in a Disney movie, her wild curls dancing in the breeze of the air conditioning and tickling at her face.
“Ha!” The man at the desk laughs then, completely ignoring my companion’s audition for the movie Frozen. “Just kidding, obviously! It’s safe to say you’re here to get hitched, which means you’re in the right place. Step right up and take a look at our different packages! We’ve got the quicky, the slicky, the all I want’s the dicky.” His cackles take over, and Daisy’s frantic eyes come to me briefly.
I know she’s looking for some kind words and comfort, but the only thing I can manage is a soft, reassuring smile. Interestingly enough, the entire expression of her face changes at the sight of it, and all of the tension leaves—at least as far as I can feel—her body.
Nodding swiftly, she steps up to the counter and looks down below the glass as the front desk comedian runs through the options in more detail. “The quicky’s just the ceremony without the thrills. No flowers, no décor, just the quick and dirty contract. It does include a witness if you don’t have one of your own, though. The slicky has a lot more pomp and circumstance, two gold wedding bands, and you get to choose a bouquet and a slice of cake. It’s twice the price, but honey, can you really put a dollar limit on love?”
