Bring It Back(list) Going to the Chapel by PG Forte

Going To The Chapel

Oberon/LA LoveLessons Crossover Book 1.0 

Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AjeaA

In Waiting For The Big One, Gabby and Derek went from being friends to being lovers. Now, they're waiting for their "big day". But will it be the wedding of their dreams? Or a bride's worst nightmare? 

 A quick trip to Gabby's hometown turns into the wedding from hell when Gabby and Derek are plagued by hailstorms, lost reservations, voracious goats, angry bees and enough family drama to fill a barn. 

 Guess it's true what they say, "The course of true love never did run smooth." But can the happy couple hold it all together, or will their Big Day turn into a Big Mess?

 ​***A different version of this book was previously released as part of the Sapphire Falls Kindle World program.***

Excerpt:

We arrived at Gabby's family's farm at about four in the afternoon. A large metal sign hanging from the front gate proclaimed it to be the Quick Browne Goat Farm. 

"So who's Quick?" I asked. 

Gabby shot me a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?" 

"On the sign." I pointed behind us. Browne was the family name, and the goat part was also obvious, but Quick? 

Gabby smiled. "Oh, I don't know. The goats, I guess. You know that sentence they make you memorize when you learn touch typing: 'the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog'?" "I've heard of it, sure." "It's like that. " 

Puzzled, I turned in my seat to stare at her. "It's 'like that' how?" 

"Well, I mean, we've always had some of the laziest sheepdogs you've ever seen. I'm sure they've been jumped over a time or two." 

"By foxes?" "No." Gabby eyed me strangely. "By goats. It's a goat farm, remember?" 

I probably should have given up at that point. I've gotten into these kinds of conversations with her before. They never end well. "Okay, but then where do the foxes come in?" 

 "They don't." 

"But..." "Look, the whole point of that sentence is that it uses all the letters of the alphabet, right? They had to use fox. Goat wouldn't have worked at all in that context." 

"Obviously." 

"Okay, and so what should also be obvious is that it wouldn't make any sense to call this the Quick Browne Fox Farm. Right?" 

None of it made sense; that was the problem. And I was just about to say so when she hit me with that smile. Now, here's something you might not know about my Gabe. She has one of the greatest smiles in the whole damn world. It's fucking radiant. It's the kind of smile that makes men stupid. If you haven't seen it, you'll just have to take my word on that. I knew I was in trouble the very first time she flashed it my way. I'd never before been covetous of a facial expression, but in that moment, I desperately wanted to keep her smiling at me—and only at me—just like that, forever. I know it's only a matter of time before her career takes off, because I can't be the only one who feels that way. 

"Well?" Gabby prompted. "Would it?" 

 But her smile had done its usual good work. My train of thought had so thoroughly jumped its tracks that my brain was the mental equivalent of a heap of twisted steel. "Uh...what were we talking about again?" 

 Gabby shot me a mock glare. "The Quick Browne Fox Farm. Remember?" 

"Oh, right." Now, I'm all for sticking to my guns, but I also know when I'm beat. "Yeah, you're right. That's crazy. That wouldn't work at all." 

"Exactly," Gabby purred as she pulled the truck to a stop. She glanced at me again, and her smile went from bright to brilliant; I felt a thrill of delight, until I realized the reason for it wasn't my easy capitulation, it was the fact that she was home. 

 I turned to look around me. We were parked in front of yet another picturesque farmhouse, complete with wraparound porch and white picket fence. This one was white, with blue trim and shutters. Blue and white Lilies of the Nile skirted the foundation. Blue morning glory vines twined along the fence. White wicker baskets overflowing with periwinkle and lobelia hung from the eaves of the porch. 

"I see someone likes blue." 

 Gabby nodded. "It’s my mom’s favorite color." 

The blue-and-white color theme was not confined to the house. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I saw hints everywhere. In the English Sheepdog dozing on the porch swing; mostly white with bluish-gray patches. In the flock of mop-headed chickens pecking at the lawn—oddly reminiscent of the dog, with similar plumage in matching shades. Even the drive where we were parked, with its blue-gray gravel, and its border of whitewashed rocks fit the picture. It was an impressive achievement, in a slightly over-the-top, borderline obsessive kind of way. Not that I'd ever say so. 

 Listen, just 'cause my family's dysfunctional, doesn't mean I don't know better than to criticize someone else's. 

 I’d have had to be an idiot not to notice the eager expression Gabby’d been wearing ever since we'd arrived in Oberon. While, intellectually, I knew she loved acting, that she loved the life she'd built for herself in the city, that she loved me, I still found myself starting to worry. How much work was it going to take to drag her out of here next week? Just because I’d never been here before, didn’t mean I hadn’t heard the familiar adage. Oberon, they say, is a hard place to get to—and a harder place to leave. I’d only been here a few hours, and I was already concerned. 

"Let's go see where everyone is," Gabby said as she jumped from the truck. I started to follow, but just then a man came striding around the corner of the house to greet her. 

 He was tall and lean, with the kind of weathered skin and corded muscles that you only get from spending most of your life working out-of-doors. I'd pegged him as Gabby's father even before she turned and waved impatiently for me to join them. 

Gabby's dad, Mick, looked every inch the aging hippy farmer Gabby had described him as being. His hair was long, just starting to go gray, and the bandana on his head was clearly there for functionality, not as a fashion statement—despite it being blue and white, like everything else around here. He had a firm handshake, a steely gaze, and a smile that would probably have been a whole lot warmer if I were someone else. But I was the stranger who would shortly be marrying his daughter, the bastard who'd gotten her pregnant. I suspected it would be a long time before he forgave me for either of those offenses. And, until he did, I figured my chances of getting a genuine smile out of the man were slim to no-fucking-way. 

"Did I tell you that Derek teaches yoga?" Gabby asked, threading her fingers with mine and leaning against my shoulder. I was intensely aware of her tit pressed tight against my bicep, and not in a good way, given that her father was looking on. I felt like she was claiming me for her own, marking me as hers, all of which I'd normally be in favor of. But, right now, with the hostile vibe already rolling in waves off her old man? Not so much. "That's how we met." 

"So you've said," Mick replied dryly. I didn't miss the way his face hardened as his gaze latched onto all the places where Gabby's body and mine connected. It was all I could do not to push her away. Something told me that would be worse. 

 "My dad's been practicing yoga for years," Gabby informed me, seemingly oblivious to the tension. 

"Very cool." I smiled at Mick. "What style do you prefer? Sivananda? Kripalu?" I was expecting him to be into something like that, something old skool and classic. Maybe a little Bikram in the winter. 

 What I wasn't expecting was, "Goat." 

 "Daddy!" Gabby scowled at him. 

 "What? You've never heard of goat yoga? Look it up sometime, if you don't believe me." Mick gazed at me challengingly as he added, "Sometimes the chickens join in too." 

"I think I saw something about that online." Of course, I'd assumed it was a joke, but maybe I was wrong? "I'd be interested in seeing that in action while I'm here. We don't get much of a call for it in Los Angeles." 

 "Their loss." 

"I guess so."