"No problem, kiddo."
The pieces are starting to fall into place in my mind—a mental blueprint of how this disaster can become something beautiful. It won't be the Pinterest-perfect wedding Emma originally planned, but it'll be authentic, personal, and filled with love.
I gesture for Sailor to follow and head for my rental car. I'm still embarrassed about last night, but I'll have to park that for later. Right now, I need to focus.
"Where are we going?" Sailor asks as I slide into the driver's seat.
"We're going to get flowers. And we're going to save my sister's wedding." The pressure's on, but only because it's Emma's big day. Other than that, moving heaven and earth is just another day in the office.
20
BLAIR
Six florists and just over an hour later, we've secured two hundred white roses that are carefully wrapped and nestled in the back seat like precious cargo. Liv even managed to convince two of the florists to spend a few hours at the house assembling centerpieces—something about "emergency rates" and "family crisis" that had them agreeing before they fully understood what they were signing up for.
I grin as Liv emerges from the last flower shop with the final armload of long-stemmed roses, her phone pressed to her ear as she coordinates whatever crisis has erupted back at the farm since we've been gone. She's a force of nature when she's in her element, and watching The Boss in action is like witnessing a master class in chaos management.
"Marcus, I don't care if the watermelons look weird," she's saying as she slides into the driver's seat. "Just get the biggest ones you can find." She pauses, listening. "Okay. Call me back when you're at the garden center."
She ends the call and starts the engine. "Okay, roses done," she announces. "Now the cake. That's going to be the tricky one. Even in case of emergencies, most bakeries need at least forty-eight hours for a wedding cake, and finding someone willing to?—"
"Already taken care of," I interrupt, holding up my phone.
Liv laughs and shakes her head. "Very funny. But seriously, we need to start calling bakeries and?—"
"No, I'm serious." I meet her eyes. "The cake will be delivered in six hours. Same bakery Emma originally ordered from, same design. They're making it as we speak."
She stares at me like I've just claimed I can fly. "How on earth did you do that?"
I shrug. "Just used my charm."
What Liv doesn't need to know is that four thousand dollars is a pretty compelling incentive for a baker to drop everything they're doing.
"You better not be fucking with me." Liv's expression remains skeptical. She pulls out her phone and dials the bakery directly, keeping her eyes on me while it rings.
"Hi, this is Olivia Barnes calling about the Emma Barnes wedding cake for today," she says into the phone. There's a pause, and I watch her face change from doubt to astonishment. "You're... you're actually making it right now? And it'll be delivered this afternoon?" Another pause. "Yes, that's perfect. Thank you so much."
She hangs up and stares at me again.
"Well done, Sailor," she says finally. "I have no idea how you pulled that off, but I'm impressed."
"You're welcome, boss. What's next? Should we head back with the roses?"
"They'll be okay for another hour," she says, putting the car in drive. "We need foliage first. Lots of it. For the tables, the centerpieces, and especially for that archway Marcus is hopefully picking up right now."
She pulls out of the florist's parking lot and heads toward the outskirts of town. Within ten minutes, we're driving down increasingly rural roads lined with dense woods and overgrown fields. Maryland is lush, with wild vines climbing telephone poles and trees heavy with leaves that are just beginning to hint at autumn colors.
"There," Liv says, pointing to a wooded area where the trees grow thick and wild. "Perfect."
She pulls over onto the shoulder and parks near a farm road that disappears into the woods.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask, looking at her stiletto heels.
"I've done worse things in higher heels," she says, handing me a pair of scissors she borrowed from one of the florists. I was wondering why she needed them, but I get it now. "Come on. We need ivy, wild grape vines, maybe some ferns if we can find them. Anything green and trailing that'll look romantic draped over the archway and the table."
I follow her into the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches and stepping over fallen logs while Liv scans the area for the perfect specimens. She points out specific vines and directs me to cut certain lengths.
"That one," she says, indicating a lush stretch of ivy. "And I need about fifteen feet of it."
