We settle in. Ansel’s flipping through polish swatches, Blythe’s got her usual iced lavender matcha, and I try to ignore the tight knot forming in my stomach.
Over the last year, the three of us have become as thick as thieves. You should see our group chat—Blythe might look like she’d gasp at Ansel’s chaos, but that girl can banter like a pro.
We’re halfway through pedis when Ansel eyes Blythe’s carefully folded hands.
“You sure you didn’t tweak it decking someone who deserved it?” she teases.
Blythe lets out a breathy laugh, too practiced, then lifts her drink, taking a long sip like she’s washing something down.
She sets it on the tabletop. Looks at us both. And then she says it.
Voice soft. Even. Still polite.
“If he ever touches me, he’ll be lucky if all of him ends up in the same urn.”
Ansel blinks.
I blink.
A beat of silence.
Then Ansel snorts so hard her polish smudges. “Jesus,Sinshine,remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Blythe just smiles, all pink gloss and pearl earrings, like she didn’t just casually promise post-mortem chaos.
She picks up her latte again, swirling the ice with her straw like she’s stirring a spell.
“Oh, speaking of chaos,” she says lightly, “Anna gave a manicure to some blonde girl the other day. Said she’s from Agave Hills.”
She takes a slow sip of her lavender latte.
“I wonder if you know her.”
Donovan
Everyone’s finally here in Devil’s Cove, North Carolina—just a few days away from the happiest damn day of my life.
Stella and I have the honeymoon suite. It’s perched high, with a full view of the ocean. The bed faces the balcony, perfectly positioned to catch the sunset pouring in. I can already picture her in that golden hour glow—soft skin, bare shoulders, nothing but my wife and the sea breeze.
But I won’t get to enjoy it with her. Not yet. Ansel put her foot down and declared they’re bunking together until after the wedding. I’m stuck with Theo. Honestly, not the worst trade—the guy’s solid company and snores less than I expected.
Tonight, the whole wedding party hits The Cove Steakhouse for dinner. The place is buzzing. Laughter. Clinking glasses. Someone’s retelling that story about Ansel’s accidental trip to a nudist beach—and Mac is wheezing like it’s the funniest damn thing he’s ever heard. Which, to be fair, it is.
I glance over and catch it—the light hitting Stella’s ring just right.
It still floors me that her mom passed it down to us. There’s something sacred about that. A piece of her family stitched into our forever.
Her nails are painted a dark purple. The same shade as my tie. The same shade I plan to watch wrapped around me when she’s finally, officially mine.
I wake up early the next morning, and I can see the sun rising above the ocean. Nerves have me pacing the room.
It’s still a few hours until we say I do, so I decide to go for a run along the beach. I nudge Theo awake and throw his shirt at him.
“Hey man, let’s go for a run. Mac is meeting us on the beach.” Theo looks at me like I have three heads.
“You do know I teach theater, not football, yeah?” How the hell am I supposed to keep up with you and Cowboy Mac?
I look at him, with my arms crossed, “Okay, okay,Mother.Let’s go for a run.”
