Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,25
to film yourself eating it?” Gene asked.
“Probably not tonight, but I’ll let you know,” Irene answered with a teasing quirk of her lips as Gene shook his head.
Her friend picked up her purse. “And don’t worry about Mr. Tuesday, Georgie. He can stay with us for as long as you’re gone.”
Georgie hugged her friend goodbye, then turned to Mr. Gilbert.
“Just because something is on the internet, it doesn’t mean you have to watch it.”
The man scoffed. “I was so damned proud I figured out how to get to your CityBeat site, I clicked on the first thing that popped up. Oh yeah, and congratulations on your engagement, by the way! I would have told you at your party, but you didn’t seem to be there.”
“This wedding is a little non-traditional, to say the least,” she replied.
“And your mother is certainly happy,” Mr. Gilbert continued.
Georgie eyed the man. “You know she lives for a good champagne fountain.”
“And I know your dad’s looking down on you from heaven and smiling, too,” Gene added, his gaze softening.
Georgie felt her chest swell with emotion. “I wonder what he would have thought of all the hoopla?”
And then it hit her. She didn’t have her father to walk her down the aisle. Sure, there was her stepfather, Howard. He’d always been kind to her and would probably do it if she asked. But he was always working or away on business.
She’d lived in the man’s house for years but rarely saw him.
Her mother had fallen into the role of a Denver socialite and a pageant mom more than the life of a wife. Still, she and Howard seemed happy in their own doubles-tennis, drinks at the club way. But that wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted with Jordan.
“Your father would have seen that you were very much in love, Georgiana,” Gene answered, pulling her from her thoughts.
Her father was a renaissance man. He’d loved fixing cars and reading literature. He’d awakened her love of reading and all things book related. Losing him as a girl had been dreadful, but she’d found comfort and companionship with the books her father had gifted her before he’d passed. She’d discovered her literary trifecta, the fictional helpers she knew in her heart her father had sent to guide her.
She wiped a runaway tear from her cheek as the excitement of the day got to her. “I think you’re right.”
After his death, Gene and Marjory Gilbert had been a godsend, taking her to the library between beauty pageants. A few months ago, when she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep the bookstore going, it was the Gilberts, bringing in their friends to buy books and purchase her baked goods, that had allowed her to get through the hard times.
She met her old friend’s gaze and knew what she needed to do.
“Would you walk me down the aisle, Mr. Gilbert?” she asked.
Gene tapped his hearing aid. “This thing must be on the fritz. It sounded like you asked this old codger to walk you down the aisle,” he teased, but his playful expression dissolved into a teary smile.
“Well?” she asked, her gaze growing glassy.
He steepled his hands and stared at his wedding ring. “Marjorie and I weren’t able to have children. Did you know that?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know.”
“We’ve always thought of your father as a son and you as a granddaughter, especially now that your grandparents have passed.”
“You have?”
He patted her hand. “Why, sure! What do you think we’re doing here in your shop all the time? Do you think we eat those muffins because they’re good? We order them because we love you,” he added, with a cheeky grin, but the shine in his eyes betrayed his snarky words.
She wiped another tear from her cheek. “Hey, codger, I’ve watched you eat three of my chocolate chip muffins in one sitting.”
“Maybe they’re not that bad,” he countered.
“So, are you in on this crazy wedding? Will you walk me down the aisle?” she asked.
The man nodded. “I’d be honored to stand in for your dad, Georgie.”
“What’s all this?” Marjory asked, patting Gene’s tear-streaked cheek as she joined them at the counter. “You’re not reading Chicken Soup for the Soul again, are you? Sweetheart, you sobbed for days.”
Gene kissed his wife’s cheek. “No chicken soup books, dear. Georgie asked me to walk her down the aisle.”
“Georgie, that’s so lovely of you,” the woman said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
“I’m the lucky one. I’m so grateful to the