“Yes,” I said. “Soon.”
He nodded and turned to Dex. “Let’s go find twenty-four chairs that don't exist.”
Dex gave me a sympathetic look and followed him with a sigh, like this wasn't his problem but had become his problem by proximity.
I exhaled and followed Kitty into the reception room, where chaos was arranged into neat little piles and labeled as organization.
Kitty unrolled the seating chart across a table, smoothing it as if it were delicate fabric. “I’m sure the guys can sort that out. Now what about this seating plan?”
Lydia lifted a hand. “Could we seat people on hay bales?”
Mom shook her head. “No. Your father has allergies.”
Lydia’s eyes widened in innocent surprise. “It would be rustic.”
“This is not a barn wedding,” Mom firmly replied.
“It could be,” Lydia said, as if the main problem was imagination.
Kitty looked at me. “Jane.”
I pressed my lips together. “No hay bales.”
Lydia sighed dramatically. “Fine. No hay bales.”
The next hour unfolded like a series of near misses.
I would spot Braxton across a room and start toward him, only to be intercepted by someone needing an immediate decision. Table spacing. Candle regulations. Whether fairy lights counted as emergency lighting. Whether battery candles were romantic or deeply depressing. Whether the groom’s aunt who cried needed a seat near the front or a seat near an exit.
By late morning, I had answered so many questions that my brain felt like it was mushy.
In the hallway outside the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Braxton carrying a stack of folded linens. He saw me at the same time and veered toward me, intent clear in his posture. My heart jumped.
“Jane,” he said, stopping close enough that I could smell the clean winter air clinging to his sweater.
“Braxton,” I said, and my voice came out softer than I intended.
He opened his mouth.
Lydia swooped in and hooked her arm through mine.
“Quick question,” she said brightly, as if she had not just intercepted a moment I had been hoping for since yesterday. “Do we prefer ivory or winter white for the napkins?”
Braxton’s eyes closed briefly. When he opened them, he wore an expression of heroic patience.
“Winter white,” I said automatically knowing that the napkins were already in our cupboards and I wasn’t planning on ordering more. “We already have them.”
Lydia nodded. “Excellent. I knew it.”
She began steering me away, already talking about chair sashes and the emotional meaning of ribbon. I glanced back at Braxton, helpless.
His mouth curved into a small smile, but the look in his eyes said,This is absurd.
I mouthed,later.
He nodded once.
By the time Lydia released me, I felt like I had escaped a fashionable tornado.
