It had to be perfect. Because if I pulled this off, Harper’s wedding wouldn’t just be my first big event, it would launch Bluebird. And if I didn’t… well, there wasn’t space in my budget, or my pride, for that. Dad always said a Kincaid didn’t get to flinch when it mattered. So I didn’t.
The first delivery truck pulled up to the loading dock at eight sharp. I’d already downed half a pot of coffee, and my nerves had been all over the place while I waited.
“Good morning,” the driver called as he hopped down from the cab, his breath puffing in the cold.
“Good morning. You’ve got the gold Chiavari chairs?” I asked as I looked at my checklist. His was the first of many deliveries I was expecting today.
He checked his own notes. “Yep. Two hundred gold chairs. I’ve got a whole truckload for you.”
A weight slid off my shoulders.
The lodge had offered its standard padded banquet chairs, but I didn’t want to do “standard.” I needed Harper’s wedding to look like it belonged on the cover of a bridal magazine. Gold Chiavari chairs would give me an edge. They were sleek, elegant, and would add just enough sparkle to elevate the whole room.
The hotel staff wheeled stacks of chairs into the ballroom on dollies. I counted under my breath to make sure they hadn’t shorted me and checked for scratches like my entire reputation depended on it. Because it did.
“Careful with that one,” I called when one of the guys bumped a chair leg against the doorframe. He muttered something that sounded like yes, ma’am and slowed down.
The chairs gleamed in the soft light, spindly and perfect. I spotted one with a chipped spindle halfway down the stack and pounced. “This one needs to go back. I need a replacement here by tomorrow morning.”
The driver nodded, scribbling on his clipboard. “We should have a few extras. If not, I’ll get another on the next truck.”
“Thank you.” I forced my tone to stay calm and professional. Inside, my pulse was still jack hammering. One mistake, one slip, and people would see exactly how new at this I really was.
“That’s a lot of chairs,” a voice drawled behind me. “How many folks are the bride and groom expecting?”
I startled and spun around, almost dropping my pen.
Hayes leaned in the doorway like he had nowhere else in the world to be, his big hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and his broad shoulders blocking the view of the lobby behind him.
“Do you ever knock?” I asked, pushing hair out of my face.
“I didn’t realize the ballroom was your private office.” His gaze slid over stacks and stacks of chairs. “What’s wrong with the hotel chairs?”
“These are Chiavari chairs,” I said.
His brows arched. “And that means what, exactly?”
“It means they’re elegant and much better-looking than the lodge’s standard banquet chairs. They’re also lightweight and stackable, and that makes them easier for the crew to move.” I grabbed one from the stack and held it up so he could see the slim gold spindles and delicate legs. “And they look beautiful in pictures.”
He eyed me like I was speaking a foreign language. “Looks like a chair to me.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s a detail that elevates the entire room. Trust me, when Harper walks in here on her wedding day, she’s going to notice. Guests will too. It’s subconscious, but it matters.”
He tipped his head slightly, that unreadable look in his eyes. “I always figured you liked order, but I didn’t realize you lived for it.”
“Lived for it?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curved just enough to be irritating. “Looks like if a chair’s an inch off, it might ruin your whole day.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What ruins my day is people getting in my way.”
His smile flickered wider than before. “Fair enough.”
The linens came next. They were folded into huge bins, so heavy I’d never be able to lift one on my own. I’d chosen winter white velvet tablecloths and gold satin runners. I knelt down and smoothed my hand over the fabric. It was thick and buttery-soft, catching the light like fresh snow.
For a split second, I let myself picture it all together: the white tables glowing under candlelight, gold-rimmed chargers sparkling like halos, and Harper’s face lighting up when she walked in. The image was so real it almost hurt. Then, I snapped the lid shut and got back to work.
By late morning, the ballroom looked like a staging ground for a luxury invasion. Chairs stacked six high. Linens piled in pristine folds. Crates of gold-rimmed charger plates, still wrapped in tissue, lined the back wall.
