May The Best Man Wed. Darlene Scalera

hate this damn city,” he said.

      She returned her attention to the road, started to search for parking. “They always have coffee for the customers at Mr. Max’s. Mr. Max insists it be brewed fresh on the hour, every hour. The beans are hand-ground.” It was all she could offer him at that moment.

      She felt a warm gratification when she heard his chuckle.

      They were ten minutes late for the fitting but no one minded except Savannah, and even she had ceased to care at that point. Cash immediately christened the owner Max the Madman and after two cups of black coffee with what Savannah thought was an excessive amount of sugar, he charmed the rest of the store’s personnel. Savannah watched him, wondering if anyone, even those who knew better, walked away from him untouched?

      When he stepped from the dressing room, in classic black that instead of refining him only made his raw maleness more lethal, the assistants oohed and aahed, and even Savannah had to swallow hard twice. But when Mr. Max turned to her to second his opinion of Cash as “the most handsome best man to ever set foot in Mr. Max’s Formal Wear,” Savannah merely looked at Cash and in a bored tone, asked, “You will shave for the wedding, won’t you?”