Page 126 of Sweet T
“Shelly has some news,” Tucker said.
She glanced at Ben, then at the rest of them, excited. “SCAD is interested in me. I sent out query letters, and they were the first to respond.”
“Atlanta?” Sebastian asked.
Shelly nodded.
“Wait. What about Parson’s?” Evan asked.
Shelly sighed. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. Parsons may be reputable, but so is SCAD. Both have mucho successful alumni.” She gave Ben another smile. “Besides, I have reason to stay closer to home now.”
“Wow. Thanks, Shel,” Tucker said, sarcastically. “You’ll leave me in a heartbeat, but not Ben.”
“Sorry, T. But Ben has the pickle that tickles. And it’s only a two-hour drive away. In-state. No air-fare.”
“What about you, Ben? Are you leaving me too, for this fashion floozy?”
Ben smiled sheepishly. He looked adorable, with his red hair and his baby face. He was wearing a well-tailored, powder blue, seersucker suit. “I may have sent some query letters of my own. Haven’t heard anything yet, but I’m looking for the one from Georgia State... in Atlanta.”
Tucker threw up his hands. “Great. I’ll just run the tavern by myself.”
Shelly laughed. “Poor, poor, pitiful Tucker. You sound more like Big Britches every day.”
Evan squeezed Tucker’s shoulder. “It’s all right, babe. I can help, and we’ll hire. What about Lance? He’s eighteen. He’s looking for work.”
“Lance wants in my pants.”
Sebastian guffawed. “He knows better. And he’s a good kid, T. You’ll whip him into shape.”
The song ended. Titus and Pedro were across the pool from them at the bar, sweaty, sans jackets and ties. They were chatting with people Evan didn’t know.
A waiter paused at Sebastian’s table with a tray of champagne flutes.
“Oh,” Tucker said. “This is my cue.”
* * *
Tucker snagged his own champagne glass off another server’s tray on his way to the dance floor. The Jess Glynne song had just ended, and he signaled the band to wait for a moment. Once he mounted the platform, he took the microphone.
“Could I have everyone’s attention, please? Just a moment, I promise. Then we’ll get back to celebrating with more great music and food.”
“And BOOZE,” a woman shouted musically near the pool. It was Marjorie Carmichael, the town librarian. She was swaying a bit with her champagne glass held high in one hand and an empty highball in the other. She drew the syllable out for all its money. Several guests snickered.
“Yes, Ms. Carmichael. Plenty of that too.” Tucker grinned. “But first, some history...”
Everyone got quiet.
“My daddy was a widower with a child by the age of twenty,” Tucker began. “That’s unusual. I’m sure it’s happened to others, but I would venture to say not too often. I never knew my Mama, but I know she loved my daddy so much she guided him toward true happiness with a future partner–a man named Pedro Torres. In 1995, they fell in love and, despite the difficulties that would arise with–at the time–an unconventional couple, they persevered. They are the perfect example that love conquers all.”
Tucker’s voice lured Evan. He rose from his seat, dreamlike, drifting along the pool’s edge toward the dance floor and the riser where Tucker stood.
“But my daddy was only inviting a man into his life. Pedro was accepting two–a man and a child. And, let me tell you, his heart was big enough–strong enough–to take us on. He joked with me the other day that he got a package deal–”
The crowd chuckled; a few sniffled. Evan pressed on until he was close enough to see Tucker, but not so near as to distract him.
“We’ve been inseparable ever since. Hell, I still live here in that little house by the pool.”
More chuckles.