“Yes,” he said, his face flushing. “I love her. Can anyone help me?”
A middle-aged man called out, “Why do you need the paper?”
Garrett put his hand on top of his head. “I just do.”
A woman hit the man on his chest, giving him a disapproving glare. “Roy! What kind of question is that?”
“It’s a logical question, Bev!”
She scowled and gave his arm a slight shove. “Give him your printer.”
“What?”
“Let him print off his paper thingamajiggy on your printer.” She glanced over at Garrett. “Roy has a portable printer in his bag here. He can set it up and print off your paper.”
“Thank God.” Garrett hurried over to the couple and watched as the man slowly pulled his printer from a bag and set it on a coffee table in the lobby.
The man glanced around. “I need an outlet.”
Garrett took the cord and plugged it in, then proceeded to watch the man set up the machine as slowly as humanly possible. A crowd gathered in a tight circle around them as he waited for the printer to warm up.
“Can I do anything to help?” Garret asked, running his hand through his hair and glancing up at the clock.
“What time is your wedding, dear?” Roy’s wife asked.
“At five. In fifteen minutes.”
“Look out. Get out of the way!” a man shouted as the crowd parted. He appeared in the opening, wearing a hotel uniform, and handed a paper to Garrett, gasping for breath. “I heard about your situation while I was standing in line at the bakery. Is this what you need?”
Had the desk clerk called him? Garrett didn’t care how he’d heard, only that he had what he needed. He snatched it from the man’s hand and scanned it. “Yes. Thank you!” Then he grabbed the man’s face and kissed his cheek. “Thank you!”
The employee grinned from ear to ear and blushed profusely as Garrett let him go and turned to the elderly gentleman who was still working on his printer. “Thanks for your help, Roy.”
“Go get ’er!” his wife shouted, punching her fist into the air.
It was only as he ran toward the front door that he realized he’d parked valet. He’d have to wait several minutes for them to get his car.
“I need a taxi,” he told the valet parking attendant.
“He’s about to stop a wedding!” a young woman shouted out to the employee. “Make it snappy!”
The employee glanced at his hand. “With a legal document?”
Garrett released a groan. “It’s a long story.”
The attendant shook his head, warily eyeing the papers. “I don’t know, dude. I’m not sure I should get involved.”
Realization washed over Garrett, and he held them closer to the man. “You don’t understand. I’m trying to save the bride. The groom is threatening her, and this will protect her.”
The attendant’s eyes widened. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He looked around the drive, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “It might take several minutes to get a taxi though.”
“I don’t have several minutes!” Why hadn’t he thought to have his car pulled out of the garage while he waited on the printer?
A hipster-looking guy in his twenties, a beanie cap on his head despite the August heat, tapped Garrett’s arm. “Where’s the wedding?”
“Uh . . .” Garrett shook his head. “The First Presbyterian Church.”
A murmur went through the group of twenty-some-odd people who had gathered around him.
“We can drop you off,” the young guy said. He turned to the woman next to him. “Can’t we?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! But I want to watch.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Garrett nodded and waved his arm. “Just get me there.”
“Let’s go,” the guy said, leading him out to a tiny compact car parked in front of the hotel. His female companion climbed into the back while Garrett slid into the passenger seat, his knees tucked under his chin. He was surprised to see a small crowd of people following them.
A young woman leaned into his open window, her eyes bright with excitement. “He said the First Presbyterian Church, right?”
“Yep!” Garrett’s new driver said, starting the car. “See you there.”
To Garrett’s horror, several people were hopping into the cars parked around them. “Oh, my God. Are those people following us?”
“Well, yeah,” the woman in the back said with a laugh, huddled over her phone. “You always hear about this kind of thing, but who ever gets to see it? Shoot, people are tweeting about it. There are hashtags even.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Yeah, there are two—#legalweddingcrasher and #fixtheprinterstopthewedding. The second’s kind of long, but it seems to have the most tweets. A hotel employee even tweeted that he was racing back from his break to help.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She laughed again. “You’re going viral. What’s your name?”
“Uh . . . Garrett. Why?”
She grinned, took a photo of him, and then started typing on her phone. “No reason.”
“Stop tweeting about me!” Garrett didn’t use Twitter much, but he dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the app, trying to remember his password. He looked up at the road and didn’t recognize the route. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Yeah, I grew up around here. We’re only about five minutes away.”
Garrett glanced at his phone. His worthless Twitter app was open, but it was unusable without the proper password. “It’s five minutes ’til. I should barely make it.” Neil would be up at the altar already. Since he thought Garrett had a contract that would guarantee him a few million dollars, Neil wouldn’t mind getting pulled away, but Nana Ruby had a part to play in this new scheme. How would he know where to find her?
“Oh,” the woman in the back murmured, sneaking a glance up at him. “They have a good point.”
“Who does? What are you talking about?”
“People think you look like shit. We need to clean you up if you’re going to crash a wedding.”
He let out a groan and looked down at his jeans and T-shirt. “I’ve spent an hour trying to hunt Blair down—”
She frowned and cringed. “Uh-uh. Don’t put it like that. You sound like a stalker.”
He shook his head. “And then I’ve spent the last three hours trying to draw up a legal document to get my cousin to agree not to marry my ex-girlfriend. I didn’t have time to change into my tux.”
“Wait. Tux?” the driver interrupted. “You’re in the wedding?”
“Was. My grandmother made me a groomsman, but after this morning, I doubt anyone wants me there.”
“What happened this morning?” the guy asked, leaning closer.
“Uh . . .” What was he doing? He was spilling his guts to complete strangers. He looked over his shoulder—and saw that the woman behind him was tweeting a play-by-play. He snatched the phone out of her hand and scanned the screen. When he saw the photo of him littering the stream—his eyes half closed and his mouth open, his body twisted at a weird angle as he leaned over Roy in the hotel lobby—he understood her previous comment.