Meri moved along the back wall, refilling bowls of sprinkles and gently wiping away drips before they turned into full rivers. She didn’t say much, but the set of her shoulders said she had already accepted that she would be finding rogue sugar for days.
James arrived halfway through the first round of decorating. He swept into the room like the host of a show that no one had officially hired him to lead. “Ladies, how are we doing?”
“Making art,” one bridesmaid said. Her cookie looked like a snowflake that had survived a long winter.
He picked up a piping bag and turned toward the nearest camera. “Decorating is about balance,” he began. “Symmetry, yes, but also personality. You want each cookie to tell a story.”
He chose a gingerbread man and began piping a jacket onto it with a confidence that didn't entirely match the outcome. When he finished, the poor cookie looked like it was wearing a very anxious tuxedo. The bridesmaids murmured polite compliments.
The crew shifted to capture James’ work. That meant two cameras turned away from the bride, who was quietly constructing a surprisingly elegant tree cookie with delicate lines and minimal sprinkles. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Braxton stood near the equipment, hands in his pockets, watching with the patience of someone who had seen this type of chaotic energy before. When one cameraman tried to squeeze between the table and the beverage station, Braxton moved a step to the side.
“You might want to come around this way,” he said, pointing to a clearer path. “Less chance of bumping into anyone.”
The cameraman adjusted without argument. Braxton did it in that calm, matter-of-fact way that made it seem like he was doing them a favor instead of rescuing the rest of us.
As James finished his “demonstration,” he turned back to the bride. He reached for another gingerman cookie. “Now you should try a more advanced pattern.”
Before he could begin a second lecture on the philosophy of icing, Braxton stepped closer. His tone was pleasant as he asked, “James, could I steal you for a minute?”
James raised an eyebrow. “Is it urgent?”
“It is about catering,” Braxton said.
James brightened immediately. “For your firm?”
“Yes,” Braxton answered, and I didn't miss the slight hesitance that told me he was making it up as he went. “We are planning something at the office. Small but high profile. I thought your input would be invaluable.”
“Of course you did.” James’ conceit was flattered. He straightened, dropping his gingerman cookie directly on top of the bride’s intricate tree cookie, ruining it.
“The menu still needs refinement,” Braxton quickly added as the bride looked at her cookie in dismay.
James handed his oozing piping bag tip first into the palm of a nearby bridesmaid who awkwardly clutched it in surprise, squirting icing all over her dress and the table. An unbothered James followed Braxton toward the hallway, already asking questions about guest count and theme. The assistant director, sensing “content,” trailed behind them with a camera. The rest of the crew stayed put to keep filming the actual party.
The room felt instantly easier to breathe in.
“I knew I should have taken that apron,” one of the bridesmaids sighed.
One of the bridesmaids leaned toward the camera operator. “Do you film weddings often?”
“Sometimes. We do mostly food segments,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said. “That is very… artistic.”
The way she said artistic left no room for doubt about what she actually meant. A second bridesmaid wandered over to the other camera and asked him about his favorite lens, which Isuspected she didn't care about at all. The cameraman explained aperture with more enthusiasm than anyone expected.
Across the room, another bridesmaid slid closer to Lucy. “Is the architect single?”
Lucy glanced at me first, then at the bridesmaid. “He is very busy with work.”
“So he is single,” she said in satisfaction
I felt a tightness in my stomach.
“Alright,” Lucy said more loudly, clapping her hands. “We are going to have a contest.”
Several heads snapped toward her with interest.
