Buried In Buttercream

them.
    They folded her into warm embraces, each taking turns clucking over her, expressing their sympathies about the thwarted wedding ceremony.
    “I have to tell you, I’m cursing Fate that something so rotten would happen to you , of all people! Talk about unfair!” Ryan Stone said, his handsome face registering the same degree of pain and outrage that most people would feel over mass puppy-cide.
    “My darling, it’s beastly!” said John Gibson in his aristocratic, British accent. “And when I heard that all of your wedding apparel and accoutrements were burned as well, I could hardly bear it!”
    She reached up and tweaked John’s thick silver mustache. “Eh, don’t fret. What’s done is done. Can’t be helped now.”
    Ryan walked over to the table and shook Dirk’s hand. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “We were really looking forward to seeing the two of you tie the knot. It’s been a long time coming.”
    “Tell me about it,” Dirk said. He held out a cracker with ham spread. “Want some?”
    Ryan’s upper lip curled only slightly. “Uh, no, thanks. We’ve already had breakfast.”
    “How about some wedding cake?” Dirk asked, pointing to the plateful of crumbs and assorted wads of frosting he’d scraped off the platter.
    “No, really,” John replied, raking his fingers through his mane of gleaming white hair and adjusting his ivory linen jacket. “We had crumpets with our morning tea. Much the same, you know.”
    “Oh, okay. Well, sit down.” Dirk moved his leather bomber jacket from the bench beside him to make room for John as Ryan sat beside Savannah.
    As always, Savannah tried not to think about the fact that Ryan was the most stunningly handsome man who had ever walked the earth. Or at least, in her presence. Out of respect for John, Ryan’s partner for many years now, she tried to keep her lascivious thoughts to a minimum. And now that she was herself engaged, it seemed all the more important to censor the graphic nature of her daydreams that starred Ryan.
    But it wasn’t easy.
    Tall, dark, and handsome beyond belief, Ryan stole the hearts of every female—and numerous males, as well—wherever he went. So, Savannah didn’t spend a lot of time beating up on herself for her occasional wayward fleshly fantasies.
    He sat close enough to her that she could smell his expensive cologne and almost feel the softness of the charcoal cashmere sweater he wore over his crisp white shirt. And cuff links. He wore silver Tiffany cuff links. Engaged or not, she couldn’t help thinking how very classy it was to be wearing cuff links at 9:30 in the morning.
    She worked at not sighing.
    Dirk resumed his breakfast, and between bites, he said, “I didn’t get a chance to thank you guys yesterday for hauling all our guests out of that center, and helping Savannah’s family get back home.”
    “That’s right,” Savannah added. “They were all in a dither and running around in circles, like chickens who’d just paid a visit to the chopping block. You two really took charge, and we sure appreciate it.”
    “Glad to do it,” Ryan said, “but just sick that it happened.”
    “That’s for sure.” John reached across the table and covered Savannah’s hand with his. “If you don’t mind us asking, love, what are your plans now ... in light of this catastrophe?”
    “Actually, we were just kicking that around,” Savannah said, feeling awfully weary for so early in the day. “Needless to say, like most engaged couples, we spent too much already on that wedding. We don’t have a lot left to blow on another one so soon afterwards. And to be honest, I’m pretty tuckered out from it all. Planning the wedding, putting it together, the stress of yesterday. . . not to mention all this close familial contact ...”
    “That’s what we figured,” Ryan said. He and John exchanged a knowing glance. “That’s why we thought we’d make you an offer.”
    “And we’d be so grateful if you’d accept,” John added.
    “What sort of offer?” Savannah wanted to know.
    “Well ...” Ryan cleared his throat. “Remember, our gift to you was going to be two days at that San Francisco spa to end your honeymoon in style?”
    “Ugh. Don’t remind me,” Savannah said, feeling yet another pang of disappointment. No wedding. No San Francisco honeymoon. No two days of pure decadence at a world-renowned club. No couple’s chocolate body-painting indulgence.
    “As it happens,” John said,