Stand-in Groom by Suzanne Brockmann

“If you wind the little key on the bottom, it’ll play a very square version of ‘Harlem Nocturne.’”
    Intrigued, she wound the key and laughed as the melody came tinkling out. “I know this song.”
    “It’s supposed to swing a whole lot more, but there’s not much you can do with an old-fashioned cylinder-style music box that’s this small. I’mamazed they managed to fit eight bars of the tune onto something that tiny.”
    “It’s such a pretty melody.” She looked up at him almost shyly. “This is so sweet.”
    “I’m glad you like it.” Damn, it would be so easy to lose himself in her blue eyes. …
    “I feel like a jerk—I didn’t get you anything.”
    “In that case, I’ll let you pick up the tab on the champagne.”
    “Champagne?”
    Chelsea watched as Johnny gestured for the flight attendant. The young woman came over almost immediately, ready with a big smile and a flutter of her eyelashes. “Yes, sir?”
    Johnny reached for Chelsea’s hand, turning it over to look at her wristwatch. “In about three minutes we’ll be celebrating our two-and-a-half-hour wedding anniversary. Do you think you can get a bottle of champagne opened in time?”
    “Only two and half hours since you were married? Oh, aren’t you so sweet!” She rushed toward the food-preparation area.
    “Two and a half hours,” Chelsea echoed. Johnny was still holding her hand, and she gently pulled it free. “Are you sure you don’t want to skipthe fractions and go for the solid hours—wait for three to celebrate?”
    “I’m not real good at waiting.” He fished in his jacket pocket, trying to pull something free. “Besides, we need to have something to drink right now—to wash down our wedding cake.”
    He tossed a double package of Twinkies onto the tray table.
    Chelsea looked from Johnny to the Twinkies and back.
“That’s
your idea of wedding cake?” She couldn’t keep from laughing.
    “I could have done a whole lot better if I’d had a couple hours and a bakery kitchen,” he admitted. “Instead, all I had to work with was an airport vending machine. It was this or Yodels. And I figured wedding cakes are supposed to be vanilla, so …”
    Chelsea picked up the Twinkie package. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to get me to eat one of these.”
    “You don’t have to eat an entire Twinkie,” he told her, somehow managing to keep a perfectly straight face. “You just need to take a little, tiny bite.”
    “I eat only healthy food,” she told him, stilllaughing. “Twinkies are the total antithesis of both healthy
and
food. No way is this getting anywhere near
my
mouth.”
    “But isn’t eating the wedding cake supposed to bring good luck?” Johnny asked, tearing the package open. “Don’t we risk the wrath of the wedding-cake god if we don’t partake? Isn’t that, like, bad juju or something?”
    “Believe me, it would be
very
bad juju for me to take even the tiniest bite of one of these.”
    He took a bite and waved the half-eaten Twinkie in front of her nose. “Sure I can’t tempt you with its flavorful aroma?”
    She laughed, pushing his hand away. “Oh, God, it smells like my elementary-school cafeteria. Tiffany Stewart
always
brought three packs of Twinkies in her lunch—she told her housekeeper that there was a special table where privileged students could leave food donations for the scholarship kids, and since her father had more money than God, her housekeeper always let her take two extra packs. Of course, there was no such table. Tiffany threw away her sandwich and existed on a pure Twinkie diet for about three years.”
    “You went to a private school, huh?” he asked.
    “The Wellford Academy. Pre-K through twelfth grade.”
    The flight attendant brought two plastic glasses of champagne. “Congratulations.” She turned to Chelsea, nearly beaming with happiness. “You’re so lucky—he’s good-looking
and
romantic.”
    “So why is it you’re not married?”