Why was I doing this?

I parked outside Mandy’s house and waited for my semi-hard mistake to pump some blood back into my brain.

Christ, I was like a teenager again. Whenever I thought of Mandy, every synapse in my head fired directly for my crotch.

And for what? Mandy didn’t understand that she was the only woman who ever made me want more. My cock had a mind of its own, and somehow it convinced the rest of me that it was a good idea to pursue her.

Mandy flipped between hot and cold, but even at her craziest, she never turned frigid. She refused to admit it, but every word she had spoken to me was layered with desire. She might have thought our night together was wrong or just this once, but I knew the instant I took her, everything had changed.

That revelation should have scared the piss out of me, but it only got me harder. Convenience and persistence brought us together that first time, but I’d take her again.

It didn’t make sense to walk away from something so…amazing.

Shadows walked the path to Mandy’s house. I recognized his limp.

I hoped Dad didn’t visit the Prescotts because he saw me parked in the driveway. He stopped before the steps to their front porch and waited for me.

I swore. He didn’t flinch when I slammed my car door shut.

“Nathan.”

My father clutched his favorite bible. The dark leather wore down under his fingers, leaving lighter, tan streaks against the book. That didn’t make him a martyr, and the black clothes didn’t make him any holier.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Dad said.

“You either, Pastor.”

“The Prescotts invited me to their home to help…mediate.”

Mediate?

I glanced over my shoulder. The SUV. Right. I was so used to seeing Conrad’s vehicle in the driveway that I forgot it no longer belonged.

“A shame about their separation,” my father said. “But perhaps with my intervention, they might see their daughter’s joy with her upcoming marriage and remember their own happiness.”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t get involved?”

His hair had greyed, but he didn’t act like it. He shoved his barrel chest into everyone’s business. “I go where I’m needed. These people are in pain.”

He was so full of shit I didn’t want to stand downwind of him. The Prescotts didn’t need a minister; they should have called an exorcist. They fought viciously and loudly, and when I was growing up I usually heard them from my house down the street. No one could repair what they’d fucked up, least of all my father.

Or my mother.

She hurried across the sidewalk, dressed in a new suit and skirt. Pressed to perfection, as always. Her hair piled high on her head, and she clutched some brand name purse I didn’t recognize. Doubted Dad did either, but as long as the price tag matched the image he wanted to project, it wouldn’t matter. Our family wouldn’t squeeze through the eye of a needle, but at least we’d look respectable.

She nearly stumbled in her heels as she hurried to my father.

“Your ankle still bad?” I asked.

Mom’s eyes widened as she saw me, but she smiled and kissed my cheek.

“You shouldn’t be in heels,” I said.

“Oh, it’s healing. Just a little tight sometimes.” Mom didn’t look at Dad. “I was in too much of a hurry leaving the house.”

“I told you to be ready for eight,” Dad said.

Mom apologized, her natural state. “I couldn’t find my necklace, and I wanted to make sure I looked perfect.”

“No one is perfect,” Dad said. “Only the good Lord.”

And him. He wouldn’t say it, but Dad thought he was as good as Jesus H. Christ, and damn anyone who said otherwise, including Mom.

It wouldn’t have killed him to give her a nice compliment once in a while.

“What are you doing here, son?” Dad’s stare was about as welcoming as a punch to my cheek. “I doubt you’re offering the Prescotts counsel.”

“I’m not convinced you are either.”

“Nathan.” Mom’s warning came with a smile. “You know your father cares very deeply for his parishioners.”

He cared more about being the man others confided in during times of crisis.

Dad raised his chin. “There’s still time, son. The good Lord calls…but he doesn’t hang up.”

“You couldn’t get me within ten miles of a seminary school.”

“No matter how much you needed it.”

They wouldn’t have taken me anyway. Minsters weren’t supposed to sleep around as much as I did, and it wasn’t acceptable for them to drink as much as I liked. And I refused to end up like a carbon copy of my family. My parents worked to create the ideal marriage, meaning I was supposed to go to seminary, find a parish, marry some virgin, then start knocking her up like a brood mare to create a family of suburbanite perfection.

No thanks.

Dad didn’t hide his disappointment. “I know why he’s here. Nathan is after the Prescott girl.”

Jesus, she had a name. He didn’t always have to sound so damned sanctimonious, especially when we were neighbors with the Prescott girl.

“I’m a groomsman in the wedding,” I said. “I got things to go over with the Maid of Honor.”

“You leave that girl alone.”

“I’m not doing anything to that girl.” At least, not yet.

“Amanda Prescott deserves a nice man.”

“Who says I’m not nice?” I shrugged. “And who says I’m even after Mandy?”

“Oh good.” Mom patted a flat hand over her heart. “I was worried.”

I frowned. “About…?”

“Well, the Prescotts are…and you’re…”

Were they serious? Somehow time warped me into a conversation better suited for 1962.

“That’s great,” I said. “Who would Jesus date, right?”

My mom protested, but I ignored her, taking the steps to the house two at a time. I hated that it looked like we planned to come together. I’d been out of the family and away from my dad’s expectations since I was eighteen. Five minutes in his presence and I was outraged again.

I knocked. Mom licked her thumb and tried to rub an invisible smudge of dirt off my cheek.

Fantastic.

Mandy opened the door, her mouth dropping open as she looked from me to my parents. I gave a little shrug. It confused me too. She didn’t care.

“Pastor Kensington, Kathy, thank you so much for coming.” Mandy nearly leapt into my father’s arms. He offered a hand to shake, but she used it to haul him inside. “I hoped we wouldn’t need you to intervene, but…”

“I understand,” Dad said. “Some families require a little spiritual intervention to focus on what’s important. I’m here to give advice and guidance during this time.”

Mandy nodded. “Yeah, you aren’t wearing a flak jacket by any chance, are you?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Can I get you some coffee?”

My parents always did love Mandy, though apparently, not as much as I thought. They smiled as she led them inside, practically ripping their arms out of their coats to play hostess.

I followed her to the kitchen. I wasn’t about to witness my father witnessing to the Prescotts. Not sure why he insisted we pretend to be so perfect when every other family greeted him with puckered asses and false sincerity. My dad’s ideal world was some Leave it to Beaver bullshit…until the oldest child disrespected the father’s wishes, got the hell out of the house, and became a stain on their good name.

The American way.

Mandy leaned over the sink. She sipped the running water with her hand only to spit it out. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she took a breath deep enough to twist her inside out.

“It can’t be going that bad,” I said.

She yelped and spun to face me. I avoided the towel she pitched at my head.

“You should warn someone before you sneak up on them.”

“You’re right.” I grinned. “Bend over the sink again. I’ll make my presence known.”

“Very funny. What are you doing here?”

So she was playing it cold tonight. Good to know. But I wasn’t going to beg to get another chance with her. Luckily, Mandy wasn’t cruel enough to get off on that.

“You wanted to go out tonight,” I said.

“Oh my God, you were serious?”

“You weren’t?”

“I never thought you’d actually show up.”

Ah, a vote of confidence. Great. “Well, here I am. You ready to go?”

“Are you kidding?” Mandy pointed to the living room. “It’s Thunderdome in there. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because my dad’s here, trying to figure out his half of the wedding costs while Mom is trying to flip him upside down and collect the change that falls out of his pockets.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“She’s telling him to mortgage his company to pay for the string quartet. Lindsey’s cried four times. Bryce looks ready to walk. The Washingtons are terrified, and I’m trying to sneak them out through the first floor bathroom window like this wedding’s underground railroad.” Mandy groaned. “And somehow this is my fault because I bought a turkey sandwich ring instead of the ham. If I could just get a simple dinner order right, hell, maybe Mom would be renewing her vows with Dad at this very moment.”

I wasn’t sure I liked how her eye twitched. It was time to get her the hell out of here.

“I’m taking you out,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Are you listening? I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Let your sister and parents sort out her wedding. You don’t need to be so involved.”

“Yes, I do. I have to keep everyone happy.”

“Says who?”

Mandy didn’t have an answer. “It’s…someone should play peace-keeper.”

“So send in the UN. You don’t have to be in the middle of this.”

She distracted herself by smacking the coffeepot, teasing the last few drops out. “I’m always in the middle, Nate.”

“By choice.”

“And what would you know about it?” She moved too quick and coffee grounds flew everywhere. “Not all of us can leave home, open a brewery, and fall out of the family tree.”

I offered her the towel and grinned when she grabbed it. I tugged it and her close. “You should take a lesson from me. I’m getting out of Thanksgiving this year. If I have it my way, I’ll only visit for Easter and Christmas.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

Mandy pulled away and poured two mugs of coffee. She loaded the tray with creamer and sugar, but swore. She turned to brew a pot of tea as well. I shifted out of her way as she headed into the living room.

Mandy was a gallon of crazy in a pint-sized container, but that was nothing compared to the psych ward convening in the living room.

Lindsey cradled a box of tissues and forced Bryce to fan her forehead. She rested on the couch, feet up and head nestled against a bag of frozen peas. Sandra sniffled and held my mom’s hand, crying into a handkerchief. Conrad frantically apologized to his wife, his daughter, and baby Jesus.

The radio blared gospel music, the TV blasted pre-recorded wedding-themed reality shows, and Bryce’s iPad had been commandeered to slideshow different floral arrangements, decorations, and color schemes.

If we caged a lion and featured a trio of trapeze artists with spandex creeping up their asses, the Prescotts could have charged admission for this circus and paid for the honeymoon.

In the corner, Bryce’s parents huddled on a loveseat. Darla clutched her coat, prepared to bolt. Pretty sure Marcus was listening to a college football game through the earbud he tried to conceal.

Mandy set the tray on the table and offered my parents their coffee. She knelt at her mom’s side, handing her the tea.

“Made your favorite,” she said. “Can I get you another tissue?”

Sandra glanced at her mug and the cups of coffee in my parents’ hands. She made a face. “You’re supposed to serve what the guests are drinking.”

“But—”

“Mandy, I have no idea where you learned your manners.” Sandra glared at Conrad. “But I have a good idea.”

“Okay, enough,” Conrad said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying I don’t want centerpieces—”

“Yes, you are, Daddy!” Lindsey kicked. The iPad flew from Bryce’s lap. He dove to catch it, nearly crashing head first into the television. “You didn’t like any of the vases I picked out!”

“They were crystal.”

The music blared. “Our God…is an awesome God, he reigns…”

“You hated the flowers!” Lindsey yelled.

Conrad tried to calm her down. “They weren’t in season.”

“And you hated the whole arrangement!”

Mandy tried her hardest to mute the television. Instead she replayed the last show. “…And on this episode of Wedding Hunters, we sent Brett and Donna to a tropical paradise, but when the groom catches malaria, Donna might have to cancel her pre-wedding manicure—”

“Those centerpieces were five hundred dollars a pop!” Conrad waved at his ex-wife. “Sandra, we agreed on twenty tables of eight. That’d be ten grand alone on centerpieces.”

Lindsey bolted upright. Bryce avoided her swinging arm, but he howled as her three inch heel cracked down against his toe.

“Twenty tables?” She pitched the frozen peas into the wall. The bag exploded.

The song continued. “—With wisdom and love…”

Lindsey growled. “Are you kidding me? Mom!”

“Conrad, I told you.” Sandra took her daughter’s hand. “It’s thirty tables of eight.”

“Thirty?”

“Yes.”

The TV crackled. “But when Brett refuses to get married in the ICU, Donna realizes she won’t compromise on love and finds a new groom for her tropical honeymoon—”

“That’s eighty more people!” Conrad shouted.

Lindsey and Sandra looked at Mandy. She froze, clutching the tea in trembling hands.

“You didn’t tell him?” Lindsey said.

“Tell me what?” He grunted. “That this wedding is out of control?”

“—He reigns from Heaven above—” The song crescendoed.

Mandy bit her lip. “I didn’t know I was supposed to tell him the guest list shifted. I redid it and gave it to Mom.”

“You are the liaison here,” Sandra snapped. “I expected that you would inform your father of all the changes to the bridal party and our plans.”

“But Lindsey said—”

“Don’t make excuses. Your sister is upset enough.” Sandra pointed a finger at Conrad. “It’s thirty tables of eight. And you will give your daughter the centerpieces she wants.”

Conrad laughed. “I am not spending five hundred dollars for a centerpiece.”

“—But Brett isn’t willing to give up on his bride-to-be. Even with a one hundred and four degree fever and hallucinations, he crawls to the altar—”

“Oh, you certainly will,” Sandra said.

“They’re flowers. Put something in a jar and drop a couple candles.”

Lindsey shrieked. “Mom, do you hear him? My wedding will smell like Citronella!”

“Like the devil it will!”

“—Our God is an awesome God—”

Jesus. I turned off the television. The gospel music synced from someone’s phone, and I was pretty sure the song stayed on repeat. Mandy didn’t notice, and her bottom lip started to quiver.

My dad stepped forward, tapping a hand against his bible. “Let’s sit and discuss this. Flowers and decorations are special to the bride, but do you know what’s more special?” He smiled. “A loving family, working hard to make her day as joyous as the joy she brought to their lives.”

I didn’t have to laugh. Mandy scoffed first.

Then the fireworks started.

“Hear that, Conrad? You do want your little girl to feel joyous, don’t you?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t you dare take the Lord’s name in vain!” Sandra scolded him. “We have a man of God in the house!”

“Good. Maybe he’ll turn some water into wine so we can save money on this ridiculous wedding!”

Bryce’s mom raised a hand. “Actually…the wine is paid for by the groom’s family…”

Sandra grunted at her husband. “Oh, this is so like you, Conrad.”

“—With wisdom, power, and love—”

Was the song getting louder, or was the house starting to implode? And why the hell didn’t anyone pop some popcorn for this shit show?

Mandy bit her lip. “Dad, don’t. Drop it.”

“I’m like what?” Conrad extended his arms. “I’m the only one in this family who ever cared about money.”

“Don’t argue money in front of the guests,” Sandra scolded.

Mandy covered her face. “Mom, please.”

“Did you plan to spring all these extra costs onto my side of the bill now, so I couldn’t argue them with guests in the house?”

“Why are you even arguing?” She pointed at a sobbing, particularly snotty Lindsey. “This is the most precious day of your daughter’s life. Why would you deny her happiness?”

“Because the seven thousand dollar wedding gown should still be making her pretty damn happy.”

Mandy covered her face. “Nine grand.”

“Nine?”

Lindsey bared her teeth and launched from the couch. Bryce caught her before she lunged for Mandy’s hair. “You little traitor—”

Mandy threw the remote and bolted away.

“Another two thousand dollars?” Conrad grunted. “We can’t afford all this. It’s only a party.”

Lindsey, Sandra, and my mother all gasped. Conrad apologized immediately, but the damage was done.

Marcus chuckled, despite Bryce’s shushing. “Nice knowing ya, Conrad.”

Sandra’s voice rumbled low. “I should have prepared for your selfishness. Everything is money money money to you. Payday was more exciting than our honeymoon!”

Mandy stood, forcing a smile as my parents slurped their scalding coffee. Second degree esophageal burns were preferable to the awkwardness of excusing themselves from the room.

Conrad blew his fuse, and probably an artery in his neck. His eyes bulged, and he pointed a thick finger at Sandra. “Of course I looked forward to pay day. About as much as you’ll look forward to your alimony check!”

“Don’t you throw that in my face,” she said.

“Get a job!”

“Support your family!”

“Stop bleeding it dry and maybe we’ll have a chance to save some money!”

“Stop denying your child the wedding she deserves so you can pinch more pennies. For God’s sake, Conrad, it’s not like Mandy’s going to find a man.”

Mandy threw the tray against the wall. The room silenced.

“Stop it!” Tears rolled over her cheeks. “Can’t we talk like normal people for once? You used to love each other! Just be civil for one hour!”

Sandra huffed, her mouth falling open. “Mandy, don’t make a scene. You’re embarrassing yourself!”

Silence.

Almost. Bryce tried to play it cool and turned on the TV.

“Next week on Wedding Hunters, Denny wants to propose, but he can’t afford a ring! It’s off to the plasma bank for a donation in the name of love—”

Mandy stormed out of the living room. I followed. I didn’t have to hurry. She trembled in rage and couldn’t unlock the back door. I helped her, but she didn’t speak, just rushed outside.

It tore me apart to see her that upset. Mandy’s smile was too pretty to lose to tears, especially when it was bullshit family drama sapping her energy and…

Getting her sick in the bushes outside?

Damn. She took her family seriously. There was her first problem.

“You okay?” I asked.

Mandy flinched. She froze, staring at me.

“I’m sorry. I’m…worked up.”

“It’s okay.”

She heaved a breath. “I can’t go back in there.”

“Come on.” I guided her away from the bushes. “I’ll take you out. Get you something to eat.”

“I’d rather crawl under a rock.”

“How about under the sheets?”

I regretted it as soon as I said it, but she actually giggled.

“You know…” Mandy bit her lip. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

It was the first time a beautiful woman’s proposition ever took me by surprise.

And it was the first time I ever considered refusing one.

If she was this hot and cold when she wasn’t dealing with the DMZ imploding in her living room, Mandy wasn’t ready to get fucked. She needed someone to talk to.

For whatever reason, I liked that I was the man who’d listen.