Page 23 of Hand Picked
“—has been a resident in good standing of Little Pippin Hollow, Vermont, for his entire life and is not only a prominent town leader, but also owner of the delightful, family-owned Sunday Orchard—” The mayor glanced directly at the camera again and added, “Where you’ll find fine heirloom apple varietals and agricultural fun for the whole family! Check out www dot sundayorchard dot com for more information!”
“What in theworld?” Em whispered.
He glanced down at the scroll again. “And whereas Luke Guilford Williams—”
“Me?” I squeaked. “Wait, how’d you get my middle name?”
“—who is a sheepherder by trade—”
“I think he prefers to call itteaching,” Marco interrupted.
The mayor spoke louder. “—is an esteemed new resident to our town, who has become an integral part of our community—and enjoys shopping at Pippin Feed and Supply for all his animal needs! Stop by their location on Tree Wagon Turnpike and mention my name for a twenty percent discount!”
Webb began shaking his head… and continued shaking it like a metronome as anger tightened his features and tensed his shoulders.
Mayor York stood taller and continued. “And whereas love is love is love, and unions of all types are welcomed and encouraged in our inclusive, diverse community—which also happens to be home to Mattson’s Sugar House, call 555-GO-MAPLE to reserve your spot at one of our maple sugar jamborees today!”
“What is happening?” I hiss-whispered over the table. “What is going on right now?” I was pretty sure I knew, but that didn’t make it any easier to believe.
“And whereas both parties are of sound body and mind and were confirmed by multiple witnesses to fully understand the seriousness of the act they were undertaking—”
“Like fuck we did,” Webb growled.
“And both parties are believed to have long harbored affectionate feelings for one another—”
“Affection?” I squawked. The man had barely tolerated me! “Affection?”
The mayor clapped Webb on the shoulder, and Webb stared up at him in horror. “—and have joined their hands on the town common, blown the revered Unity Bugle, and pledged their unity so that they might seal their troth—”
“Doesn’ttrothmean marriage?” Drew demanded of no one in particular.
“Oh myGod, you got married?” Emma cried, way too loud. “Holy crap, Webb.”
“No,” I whispered, panicked. “No. We didn’t. We’re not. Absolutely not even a little bit. We… there was a legend of the bugle, and a pretty girl, and— Webb,tell them the legend!”
“And whereas both parties will have been furnished with a list of conditions they must complete within the eight-week handfast period in order to confirm their willingness to be declared lawful spouses under the terms of the Little Pippin Hollow Handfast Act of 1762—”
The mayor motioned to Dora, who hurried forward to hand us each a miniature scroll with a bow and a flourish.
I took mine, too stunned to refuse.
Webb made no move to take his, so she set it on the table in front of him.
“Now, therefore, I, as mayor, do formally declare that the aforementioned couple, Webb Sunday and Luke Williams, are herebyhandfasted. What the bugle has joined together, let no man put asunder.”
He sighed in satisfaction and rolled the scroll back up. “Gentlemen, on behalf of the town, I’d like to express our appreciation that you’ve chosen to unify your lives through this venerable tradition. I hope you know you can count on all of us to help and support you as you work to complete your confirmation tasks.”
I was drunk. I had to be. There was no other explanation.
“Cut!” Ginny called happily. “Great job, Uncle Ernie. I’m thinking we can do a couple segments a week on this. Maybe first we’ll interview the grooms—”
“Good idea!” the mayor agreed.
“Terrible idea. We arenotgrooms.” Webb spoke for the first time in a long moment. “Jesus Christ, Ernest. I’m not even gay. What the hell is this about?”
“Hey.” The mayor jabbed a finger at Webb. “I won’t have you being homophobic.”
“Homo—” Webb shook his head, bewildered. “I’m not! Jesus, Ernie, youknowI’m not. I’m just saying—”
