The morning of the rehearsal dinner arrived with the kind of crisp, picture-perfect blue sky that only the Canadian Rockies could provide. Unfortunately for Constable Liam Vance, the serene mountain backdrop did absolutely nothing to calm the logistical storm brewing inside the Pinewood Town Pavilion.
"He's wearing a tie, Liam. It's non-negotiable," Clara said, her voice muffled as she emerged from the back of her antique shop van holding a miniature, custom-made red silk bow tie.
Liam leaned against the bumper, crossing his arms over his chest. "Clara, he is a decorated service animal with three confirmed search-and-rescue tracks this quarter. He has a reputation to uphold. Putting him in formal neckwear compromises his tactical authority."
Right on cue, Bandit let out a soft whine, resting his chin heavily on Liam’s boot.
"It's a clip-on," Clara countered, stepping close to snap the silk bow onto Bandit’s collar. The large German Shepherd froze, blinking up at them with a look of profound, aristocratic betrayal. "See? He looks dashing. Like James Bond, but with more fur."
Liam shook his head, a helpless smile breaking across his face. "If the Sergeant Major sees him looking this sharp, he might promote him over me." He pulled Clara into a quick embrace, kissing the top of her head. "Are you ready for tonight? The whole detachment is showing up."
"I am," Clara breathed, smoothing down her green lace dress. "As long as Mrs. Gable doesn't bring out another clipboard, I think we might actually survive until tomorrow's ceremony."
Their peaceful moment lasted exactly four minutes.
The heavy radio on Liam’s duty belt—which he was required to wear until his shift officially ended at five o'clock—chirped aggressively. “Station to Bravo-One. Liam, do you copy?”
Liam sighed, releasing Clara and unclipping the radio. "Bravo-One copies. Go ahead, dispatch."
“We’ve got a situation down at the old timber mill bridge,” the dispatcher’s voice cracked over the static. “A vintage delivery truck belonging to 'Blooms & Heirlooms' has stalled right across the single-lane crossing. The driver says the parking brake is seized, and he’s blocking the only access route for the catering trucks.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. "The catering trucks? Liam, that’s our dinner! The roasted duck and the artisanal cheese boards are on those trucks!"
"On my way," Liam said into the radio. He clipped it back to his belt and looked at Clara. "Go ahead to the pavilion and keep Mrs. Gable from organizing the silverware into a defensive perimeter. Bandit and I will clear the bridge."
Ten minutes later, Liam’s marked truck pulled up to the timber mill bridge. The situation was a classic small-town bottleneck. A beautiful, heavily restored 1950s pickup truck was wedged diagonally across the wooden bridge. Behind it, three massive white catering vans were lined up, their drivers leaning out of the windows and honking in an uncoordinated rhythm.
"Constable Vance! Thank goodness!" Toby, the frantic baker from the cupcake incident, ran up to the cruiser. "I was bringing the secondary dessert tiers, and the transmission just gave out! It’s jammed in gear, the wheels won't roll, and the ice inside the catering trucks is melting!"
Liam climbed out of the truck, Bandit trotting right at his heel, the red bow tie catching the afternoon light. Liam walked to the front of the vintage truck and inspected the undercarriage. The ancient linkage was completely locked up.
"We can't wait for a heavy tow truck from the next town," Liam muttered, checking his watch. The rehearsal dinner was set to start in forty-five minutes. "The town's internal logistical chain will collapse."
He looked at Bandit, then back at his own truck. "Toby, do you have any heavy-duty ratcheting tie-down straps in the back of this thing?"
"I have two three-inch cargo straps!" Toby yelled, scrambling to the truck bed.
Liam took the heavy yellow straps and secured them tightly to the vintage truck’s solid steel frame. He hooked the other ends to the heavy-duty winch on the front bumper of his Mountie cruiser. It was a tight, technical maneuver that required absolute precision so they didn't pull the historic wooden railing off the bridge.
"Bandit, keep the perimeter clear," Liam commanded.
The dog instantly took up a position at the mouth of the bridge, sitting like a furry statue and barking once at a curious squirrel that tried to approach. The catering drivers stopped honking, watching the operation with bated breath.
Liam hopped into his cruiser, shifted into reverse, and engaged the winch. The steel cable tautened with a loud, metallic whine. The tires of his police truck bit into the gravel, kicking up dust as the raw horsepower of the law met the stubborn weight of vintage machinery.
With a loud, resounding CLUNK, the seized brake on the vintage truck gave way. Liam slowly dragged the vehicle backward, clearing the mouth of the bridge with inches to spare.
The catering drivers erupted into cheers and applause, slamming their horns in celebration as they immediately stepped on the gas to race toward the pavilion.
Liam climbed out of his truck, wiping grease from his hands just as his phone buzzed. It was a text from Clara: The guests are arriving! Where are you?
He looked down at his uniform shirt, which now had a streak of dark engine grease across the front pocket. "Well, partner," Liam said to Bandit, who was wagging his tail happily. "Duty always comes first. Let's go get married. Or at least practice it."
When Liam entered the pavilion twenty minutes later, the entire room fell silent. His fellow Mounties, dressed in their finest civilian suits, stared at his grease-stained uniform. Mrs. Gable looked ready to faint into a basket of dinner rolls.
But Clara just stood by the head table, looking at him with absolute pride. She walked straight down the center aisle, grabbed a linen napkin from a nearby table, and gently dabbed at the grease on his chest.
"A localized tier-one disaster averted?" she asked softly.
"The duck has arrived safely," Liam smiled, leaning down to kiss her. "And the groom is officially off duty."
Bandit trotted up between them, his red bow tie slightly crooked but intact. He sat down, lifted his paw, and waited patiently for Clara to shake it. The pavilion erupted into laughter and toast-raising, the small-town romance perfectly secured for the big day ahead.
