Swinging on a Star (6 page)
“Ooohhh.” Brock nodded. “Got it. Lots of ‘amens’ and even a few gymnastics, if memory serves me correctly. Never could figure out what they were all so excited about.”
“Oh, that’s easy. They’re in love with Jesus.” I closed my eyes after he backed out onto Broadway and barely missed an oncoming car.
“In love with Jesus.” Brock shifted into drive, then looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Not sure how that’s possible. Last thing I heard, he wasn’t around anymore. Right?”
“Oh, he’s around. Trust me.” I stopped right there, finding it a nice stopping point. Might give the boy something to chew on. In the meantime, we had an island to see.
Pointing to the left, I directed Brock south on Broadway, Galveston’s main thoroughfare. I happened to glance across the street at the Burton place and saw Dakota on the roof. What would the kid be doing on the roof? For that matter, why wasn’t he in school like the other kids? Something was definitely fishy here.
Hmm. Better not mention any of this to my guests. Didn’t want to borrow trouble, as Aunt Rosa was prone to say.
As we headed down Broadway, I turned up my radio station. Though I’d never really listened to country music before meeting D.J.—the Christian station being my music of choice—I’d taken to occasionally listening to a local country station just for fun. Turned out country-western music had more themes than just the usual “Let’s get drunk and cheat on each other.” In fact, I’d discovered some heartrending songs filled with truth and emotion.
However, as the music began to play, I couldn’t help but notice the look on Brock’s face.
“What?” I asked. “Don’t you like country music?”
He shook his head. “We don’t get a lot of this out in L.A.”
“Humph.” I thought about it a moment before responding. “You don’t know what you’re missing!” I turned up the volume, singing along with a great Taylor Swift song.
Brock leaned back against his seat and rolled his eyes. “So, tell me about your island,” he said, his voice rising above the radio.
“Oh, sure.” I turned down the music, doing my best to focus. “Our street was hit pretty hard during the storm, but not as bad as the Strand.”
“The Strand? What’s that?”
“Oh, the best street in town, next to the seawall. Turn left at the next light and I’ll show you.”
He did as instructed. We passed downtown, finally reaching the quaint, historic cobblestone street I loved so much. How many hours had I spent here as a teen? Hundreds? Thousands? “Oh, wow.” Brock pulled the car off to the side of the road and took it in. “These old buildings are great. They remind me of the storefronts at Universal Studios, where we filmed
Once in Manhattan
. Very authentic.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s because they’re real. They’ve been here more than a century. They’ve taken a lot of damage, both in the storm of 1900 and from storms since, but they’re a testament to the strength of the island, still standing strong.” I pointed to the Confectionery, my favorite hangout next to Parma John’s. “They’ve got the best taffy on the island, if you’re interested in that sort of thing. And their ice cream is to die for.”
“Want some?” Brock waggled his eyebrows, as if to taunt me.
“H-how?” I wasn’t sure how he thought we could pull that off.
Before I could say anything else, I heard a grunt from the backseat. “I know, I know.” Rob sighed and opened the back door. “What do you want?”
Brock laughed. He gestured to Rob, saying, “He’s done this before.”
“Clearly.” I nodded. “But it doesn’t look like he minds.”
“I don’t,” Rob said. “But sometime today, okay? What do you guys want?”
“Rocky road, man. And some of that taffy.”
“What flavor?” Rob leaned in my window and gave me an inquisitive look.
“Mmm. Cherry for me,” I said.
Brock flashed a boyish smile and passed a fifty-dollar bill through my window.
While we waited for Rob to return, Brock quizzed me about all sorts of things—things that took me by surprise. Turning in his seat to face me, he asked, “How long have you worked at the wedding facility?”
“Oh, I’ve worked there for years helping my parents, but just took over managing the place early this summer.”
“I saw one of your brochures. You do theme weddings.”
“Right.”
“That’s a pretty creative occupation, Bella.” He gave me an admiring look. “And being in the wedding business . . .” He let out an admiring whistle. “I think that’s pretty cool.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You make people’s dreams come true.”
I felt my cheeks flush and tilted my head down to scratch Precious behind the ears, hoping Brock wouldn’t see my embarrassment. There was something about talking weddings with this guy that got me all flustered. Especially the part where he made me feel so good about what I did for others. It was fun making other people’s dreams come true.
“I just like to think outside the box,” I said. “And apparently so do a lot of brides and grooms. You can’t believe how many calls I’ve had from people since we announced the theme weddings.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We had a Boot-Scootin’ hoedown a few months ago. Now, of course, we’re having the medieval wedding. I’ve had several calls from brides interested in themed weddings, so it looks like we’re off to a great start.”
“I think—if I ever found the perfect woman, I mean—that I’d like to have a pirate-themed wedding. Could you pull off one of those?” Brock gave me an inquisitive look.
“Hmm.” I leaned back against my seat, thinking about the possibilities. “Would it require building a ship?”
“Well, of course.”
“Ah. I see.” After a pause, I added, “And would all of the guests have to fit on the ship too, or would that spot serve as a stage for the wedding party?”
“Hmm. Just a stage. The bride and groom should have a special spot above the crowd, don’t you think?” He gave me a penetrating look, and I shifted my attention to the dog once again, my heart now thumping wildly. Brock could speak a million words with those eyes of his.
“Right, right.”
“I think it’s doable.” Brock began to fill my head with possibilities, laughter lacing his words. He explained everything— right down to the costumes everyone would wear and the lines the preacher would speak. “Arrr! By the power vested in me, I now pronounce ye mate and matey!”
He went on in pirate-speak for a couple of minutes, and I finally joined in. Couldn’t help myself, really. There was something pretty mesmerizing about Brock Benson once he got rolling.
By the time we finished, I’d pretty much decided he was right. I could pull off a pirate-themed wedding. With his help, anyway.
I paused from our conversation for a moment, glancing out the window. In all of our chattering, I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be protecting Brock’s identity. With a sweep of my eyes, I did my best to assess our surroundings. What we didn’t need was anyone hiding behind a parking meter with a camera in hand.
“Are you nervous?’ Brock asked with a smile.
“A little.”
“I think we’re okay. You’ve got tinted windows. But there are quite a few people out. More than I expected.”
“Well, it’s only late September,” I said. “The kids have been back in school a few weeks, but we still get quite a few tourists, as long as it’s still warm.”
“You like it here?” he asked.
“Of course! What’s not to like? Look around you. This area is like something from a painting. And the houses on Broadway are amazing. They’re some of the oldest gingerbread Victorians in the state.”
Brock laughed. “I guess you do like it here.” He pointed to a couple of women passing by. “It doesn’t bother you, having so many tourists around? I’d think that would get annoying.”
“On the contrary. They’re the bread and butter of the island. We
want
them to come. We
need
them to come.” I sighed.
“What? Are you frustrated with all my questions?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that getting people to the island is so important. That’s one reason I changed the layout of the wedding facility, to draw people from the mainland. Not just for our family’s sake but for the island’s sake too.”
“What do you mean?”
“The more weddings we facilitate, the more the hotels and restaurants benefit. So I figure I’m really helping lots of people when I sign a wedding. Mama feels the same way about the opera house. She’s a sponsor and a volunteer. She loves it, but it’s not just about that. She wants to do anything she can to draw a crowd so that the island will keep going strong.”
“You Rossis are do-gooders, that’s for sure.” He leaned back against his seat and crossed his arms at his chest, giving me a look I’d never seen from him before, one I couldn’t really interpret. “Why do you care so much about other people, anyway? Just build your business for yourself. Your family. Let your mom enjoy the opera for herself.”
Shaking my head, I responded, “It’s not in us to be like that. And we’re not hurting for money. It’s not about that. We could shut down the wedding facility today and be fine. I keep the wedding facility going for the same reason Uncle Laz keeps Parma John’s open.”
“Why’s that?”
“We love people. We love the island. And—especially after the hurricane—we’ve got to do what we can to help rebuild. That’s why I’m working double time to prove myself with the wedding facility, because it means so much to our family to make a contribution to the island. Like I said, it’s not about us.”
Brock laughed. “I’m trying to envision someone where I come from using those words.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. Can’t imagine anyone saying that.”
A rap on Brock’s window jarred us back to attention. I looked up, expecting to see Rob, but was stunned to find a police officer standing there with a scowl on his face.
Yikes. “Now what?” I whispered.
Brock shrugged. “Now I roll down the window.” He did just that, flashing a winning smile at the elderly officer. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Mm-hmm.” The officer gave a curt nod, then looked over at me. Instantly, Precious began to growl. She tried to lunge out of my arms, but I held on tight, praying all the while. The creases between the fellow’s eyes deepened as his gaze shifted back to Brock.
“Have we done something wrong, Officer?” Brock asked.
“You’re parked at a meter but haven’t put any money in it.”
Brock glanced at the meter to our right. “Oh, you’re so right. We were waiting here on a friend and got carried away. We’ll take care of it right now.” He pulled out his wallet, coming up with another fifty-dollar bill.
“The machines take quarters, son.” The officer scrutinized Brock, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “You’re not from the island, are you?”
“No, sir. You’re right about that. This is my first time to visit your beautiful island, and I’m overwhelmed at everything my tour guide is showing me. I’m particularly drawn in by the buildings on this street. Remarkable history, from what I understand.”
“Mm-hmm. You got any quarters, son?”
“I . . .” Brock shook his head. “I don’t, Officer.”
“Oh, I might.” I scrambled around in my purse, coming up with a couple of pennies and a ten-dollar bill.
“What are we looking for?” Rob’s voice rang out. I looked through Brock’s open window to see him standing next to the officer.
“Oh, we didn’t put a quarter in the meter,” I said.
“No problem. I’ve got plenty of change.” He turned to the policeman with a smile. “Just spent a fortune at the Confectionery. Great place.”
“Mm-hmm.” The officer glanced at Rob for a second, then turned back to Brock. “Where are you from, anyway?”
“Oh . . . well, my family’s originally from Jersey.”
“No way!” I couldn’t help but interject. “Why didn’t you mention that when I told you we were from Atlantic City?”
Brock shrugged. “Didn’t think about it.”
We dove into a discussion about his long history of visiting the boardwalk when the officer cleared his throat. “Is anyone going to put a quarter in that meter?”
“Done.” Rob pointed to the machine, which he’d apparently loaded with change while we were gabbing.
“Thank you for visiting sunny Galveston Isle.” The officer tipped his hat and took a few steps away. He turned back to look at Brock one last time, shaking his head. “New to the island, huh? Could’ve sworn I’d seen you before.”
Rob climbed into the backseat, and we all erupted in laughter as soon as the officer turned to leave.
“I get that all the time,” Brock said, looking my way. He downed a small container of rocky road ice cream, then gazed at me with a smile. “Now where?”
“I guess we could drive past Uncle Laz’s pizzeria. At least you’d have a visual for what we’re always talking about.”
“I’d like that.”
I pointed him in the direction of Parma John’s with an idea whirling around in my brain.
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As I laid eyes on Brock, unexpected laughter almost got the better of me. In the length of time we’d been visiting with the ladies, he’d apparently gotten into my brother’s dresser and pulled out a worn plaid shirt and some jeans that were about three inches too short. He’d donned Armando’s old glasses too, the ones with the broken frames that had been taped together. And his hair . . . what had the boy done to his hair? Instead of the usual well-kept ’do, he’d lopped it to one side, giving himself a strange, geeky look. Of course, the hair looked better than the tube socks. They really took the cake. The guy looked like an Italian Steve Urkel. Only . . . worse.
Rosa inched her way out of the pantry, hands over her mouth. I could almost read her thoughts. She knew better than to give him away, of course, but he’d clearly scared the daylights out of her. I had a feeling she would get him back later.
Can anyone spell “food poisoning”?
Sophia appeared in the doorway and clamped a hand over her mouth as she saw Brock. Before she could open her mouth and say something we’d all regret, I made quick introductions. Steadying my voice, I said, “Ladies, you heard me mention our good friend Vinny DiMarco. Vinny, meet Jolene, Twila, and Bonnie Sue, our friends from Splendora. They’re here to see Bubba in
The Marriage of Figaro
.”
