Page 157 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“And now that everything is running smoothly, maybe you can have some fun,” Maple says.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m just here to put out fires.”
Maple dismissively waves her hand. “Please, there are no fires to be put out. At least have some dips and a drink. Hardy was just telling me how he’d love to show you his favorite dips.”
Dear God, does that sound lame.
“You were?” Everly asks, suspicion on her face.
“Oh, yeah. Really want to show you the dips,” I say. “You know, since they’re my pride and joy.”
“I thought the Ed Sheeran playlist was your pride and joy.” She cocks her head to the side, and it’s so fucking cute.
Jesus, what has happened to me?
“That too,” I say. “I have two pride and joys, sort of like children, you know? Equally proud of both.”
“Are you comparing your dips and playlist to children?”
“Yes,” I say as I rock on my heels. “Something wrong with that?”
“I guess not,” she says. “Anyway, don’t worry about me, you guys have fun.” She smiles and starts to turn around when Maple shouts.
“He was trying to be nice,” she calls.
Err, what?
Where the hell is she going with this?
And please don’t let it be embarrassing.
Everly’s brow creases, and she turns back around to us. “What?”
“Hardy,” Maple says. “He was trying to be nice. He actually really wants you to taste my dips—the ones he asked me, and not the caterers, to make special—because he thinks they’re off. He told me because I’m a vegetarian now and can’t taste-test the end product, I didn’t make them properly. I think they look fine, but anyway, he was trying to casually get another opinion without bringing attention to my possible shortcomings.”
What the hell is Maple doing?
Have the roles been reversed?
Is Maple the bridesmaid undercover now? Because if she is, she is not doing a good job.
How many drinks has she had?
“Oh…well, I think everyone seems to enjoy the dips,” Everly says. “I haven’t heard anything different.”
“Can you just go check with him?” Maple says, pushing me toward Everly, not making this obvious at all.
“Sure, if you would like me to, I can,” Everly says.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Maple clasps her hands together in front of her, creating prayer hands as a thank-you.
Together, Everly and I head over to the buffet of dips, some made by the caterer, and three made by Maple.
“Everything seems fine,” Everly says, taking the investigation seriously. If only she knew. “What makes you think they’re not good?” she asks as me as she picks up a plate.
“Uh, just seemed off,” I answer.
“Okay, well, let’s see. I’ve never had buffalo chicken dip before, but we can see what’s going on here.” She takes a Club cracker and dips it into the buffalo chicken, scooping out a chunk. She moves over to the dill chip dip, which is basically sour cream, dill, and some weird chipped beef Maple found. And then the last is a seven-layer taco dip that is my favorite. Once her plate is full, she glances at me. “Aren’t you trying these too?”
