#non.event

Asher's original plan had been to blindfold Gillian before they got on the road, but the rare instance of him thinking something through for once told him that would be a bad idea. Having someone blind-folded in the passenger seat on a four hour drive would probably alarm someone, and not being pulled over on the trip to Arizona was preferable.

So, he strapped down everything in the truck bed without telling Gillian what was packed with the promise of 'when we get there, I will show you'.

It's when he takes exit 287 from I-17 he's sure it clicks, and he starts to spill.

"Obviously, so obviously, we're going to Sedona," he starts with less than thirty minutes left on the drive. "But I figure we could spend the start of our new year at like the start of all of this."

Van rocks back and forth in her new rocking chair, a bag of strawberry Milano cookies resting on top of her stomach. She nibbles on one while she observes her husband at work -- one foot keeping her in gentle motion while the other idly brushes over Bayou's stomach as he rests loyally at her feet.

"How bad would you crash out at me right now if I said I wasn't sure about the color?"

As his mother does with any new neighbors, Paxton has been sent down the block with a dish covered in tin-foil. He stands on the doorstep, and as soon as it opens to the woman unfamiliar to him as well as the rest of the neighborhood, it's held out.

"Hi. I'm from down the block in the big gray house. But, don't feel like you have to accept or eat it or whatever, but it's a welcome gift. To, uh, this neighborhood. Or town?"

Not that it's really his business to pry.

"But if you try it and you don't like it, just promise you won't say so. Her name's Carin, but she's not crazy. She still might bawl her eyes out, and it becomes my problem. I'm Paxton, by the way, and yes, I'm asking you to lie to my mother's face about her casserole."

Someone at the bar bumps into Aiden, but he is in uncharacteristically okay spirits. It’s Mack’s birthday, he’s ordered up a tray of shots, so Aiden decides he doesn’t actually have to punch the dude in the nose.

Right now.

There’s always time for violence later.

"Here you go, ya fucker," he drawls with his own form of affection. Aiden presents the four shots, precariously balancing three of them in one palm while holding the fourth in preparation to toss it back. "Two for you, two for me."

Aiden takes his shot, a golden burn in the back of his throat, throughout his chest as he swallows it down. There's a warmth there, too, due to nothing more than seeing his best friend shining on his day. It's easy to wear a grin that night, even easier to shove his problems aside to dedicate every ounce of his energy into celebrating.

Van had easily come to the conclusion that surprise weddings were the best way to get married because nothing could possibly ever replace the brand-new core memory of a house full of the people who were closest and most special to her gasping and cheering with joy when she and X announced that they weren't actually all gathered there for an engagement party.

They were all there for a wedding.

With the party joyously buzzing and with a kiss to X, Van had retreated to their bedroom with her mother and his so they could help her slip into her dress (that she'd bought before he'd ever proposed and had kept stashed in a garment bag in the back of her side of the closet).

She'd never been one for over the top -- taking her all of twenty minutes to get herself ready and collect her bouquet of magnolias in the kitchen. After a final hug and kiss with her mother (who was filling a double duty as the officiant), Van hid herself behind an opportune corner and waited for the simple guitar music to start and play her down the aisle.

There wasn't an ounce of nerves or jitters or stress on her face as she walked to him, beaming in her veil the whole damn way. Reaching the front of the gathering of loved ones in their backyard, Van's hand immediately moved to hold X's.

And she commits it to memory -- the most right and perfect her life has ever felt.

"Hey, cowboy," she greets playfully -- despite the fact it had been less than thirty minutes since they'd last stood next to each other.

“Alright, so, I’m not like a surfing instructor, and I’m definitely self-taught and just about average, but I can teach you the basics for cheaper.”

With Asher’s recent parking ticket debacle, his bank account could use the extra, untaxed flat cash. He just hopes word doesn’t spread, and that Jared doesn’t catch him distracting a potential customer from hiring one of the staff.

It's when the door open, Aiden holds up the brochure for the California Culinary Arts Institute, and he says, "I want to know if this is legit. My application is already in, but if it isn't, I'll look for somewhere else."

"The weather turned out perfect today, so I'm glad you get to see it all while we chat about it. Do you have any big questions that have been popping out, or would you like a tour first?"