Buried In Buttercream

Dirk arrived the next morning, Savannah was in her backyard garden, examining the damage done to her roses by her cherub of a flower girl niece. Fortunately, Jillian had picked as many dandelions as roses, so the benefits balanced the losses.
    Savannah was kneeling beside the mangled Mr. Lincoln bush with its velvety crimson blossoms, debating whether to give him a serious pruning or just leave him to heal on his own. She’d just decided to leave it up to the resident rose expert, Granny, when she looked up and saw Dirk emerging from her back door.
    He had a slightly desperate look on his face, like a fellow who had just run some sort of gauntlet and barely escaped with his hide intact.
    He hurried over to her, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a brief hug and kiss. “Wow,” he said, breathlessly, “I don’t know how you take that bunch. The kids are bad enough, but the grown-ups! They’re the scary ones!”
    “Poor baby,” she said, grinning up at him. “What did those mean, awful Reids do to you?”
    “Vidalia asked me if I’d settle a fight between her and Butch by telling him that he shouldn’t bring nudie magazines home, and Marietta asked me if I liked that purple leopard-print miniskirt of hers. I hate it when she asks me stuff like that. I never know what her intentions are.”
    “Where Mari’s intentions are concerned, always expect the worst. You’ll probably be right. And stay out of Vi’s and Butch’s fights.”
    “I remember you told me they’re famous for their battles.”
    “Let’s just say that, with them gone, McGill, Georgia, is enjoying the longest crime-free streak right now that they’ve had in years. Since those two went out on their first date.”
    “I’m afraid to ask.”
    “As you should be.” Savannah drew a deep breath. “Supposedly, Butch checked out some other girl’s butt there in the Dairy Queen while he was eating his banana split.”
    “Uh-oh.”
    “Yeah. What Vidalia did to him is still a popular story, told in hushed whispers around campfires. A cautionary tale to husbands and boyfriends with roving eyes.”
    “So, I shouldn’t offer him a banana split in front of her?”
    “Not if you value your life ... or your gonads.”
    He winced. “I’ll remember that. I’m rather attached to my gonads. . . as they are to me.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes and looked down at her lovingly. “How are you today? Little Jillian told me that you had a bad dream last night.”
    “I did.”
    “Same one?”
    “With a slight, wedding-theme variation. Jillian and Gran comforted me.”
    “Yes, Jillian told me that part, too. Said she made you feel better by keeping the bogeyman away.”
    “I’m sure her motives were totally altruistic and had nothing to do with sleeping in a comfy bed rather than on the floor with her siblings.”
    “I can’t blame her. I’d rather have slept with you last night myself,” he said, his voice deep and low.
    She looked up into his eyes that were so filled with affection for her ... along with a healthy helping of lust. And she wondered how she’d resisted him for so long. Now that they’d crossed the line into a romantic relationship, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
    “Are you hungry?” he said. “We could go wrangle some free donuts at Patty Cake. And the guy at the service station on Lester and Main, he’s been giving me his leftover coffee if I get there before he throws it out.”
    Ah, yes ... now she remembered how she’d resisted him.
    “And you were doing so well,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Never mind. Come inside and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
    He hesitated. The haunted, frightened look returned to his eyes. “In there? With ... all of them? With Vi and Butch? With Marietta’s purple miniskirt?”
    “I’ll protect you.”
    “But I don’t want you cooking for me. You need your rest.”
    “Stop with that protective crap. And don’t worry. I wasn’t going to cook. I was going to give you wienie hors d’oeurves and ham spread on crackers with wedding cake for dessert.”
    His face lit up. “Oh, cool.”
    “You’re hopeless.”

    Half an hour later, they were sitting at the picnic table in the backyard, Dirk eating reception leftovers and Savannah enjoying a standard-issue eggs-and-bacon breakfast, when two of Savannah’s favorite people came around the side of the house.
    “Ryan! John!” she exclaimed as she jumped up from her seat and hurried over to