I freeze what I’m doing.
And stare at her.
How lucky am I?
Clay Butcher once said,‘I’m surprised you believe in luck. It is only real to those who hang on to it for every move. You have raised yourself.’
How can I not believe in luck?
In karma, in magic?
Look at this house, this perfect white cat at my feet, and that wonderful woman opposite me. Gratitude swells in my chest, warming me down to my toes.
My eyes gloss over as I look at her. “Thank you,” I say, voice trembling with emotion, cutting through the early morning quiet.
“Whatever for?” Startled, Maggie tilts her head, a gentle smile blooming, knowing, but not assuming.
“For teaching me,” I say. “For your patience, for never making me feel like a… like a burden.”
She crosses the room and takes my hands in hers. “Oh, Fawn,” she whispers, “you’re more than welcome.”
“I may not have a mother or a father, but I have a lot of great role models. And you are one of them.”
“What kind words.” She swallows over a lump of emotion.
We share a quiet moment. Our gazes lock in mutual affection. Then I shrug and grin. “Right! Let’s get to it. Shall we?
She nods. “We shall.”
“I have until midday,” I offer, “then it’s hair appointments and makeup trials with the bridesmaids.”
For the next two hours, in companionable silence, we begin preparing and draping the fondant. The kitchen fills with the soft sounds of our work and the jazzy tones from my Spotify mix, until a burst of Jasmine and HJ’s laughter coming through the foyer reminds me that time is of the essence.
The front door clicks.
“You have a visitor! And he’s hunky!” I hear Jasmine call out, before speaking to someone closer. “Let me guess, you’re a Butcher? Youmustbe a Butcher. You have that ridiculous jawline and perfect propositions.”
"I believe she means proportions, not propositions," HJ corrects, and I smile at the interaction.
Who is here?
I emerge from the kitchen, dusting flour from my apron, tucking a loose near-white strand of hair back under my hairnet, only to remember—I am wearing a fucking hairnet!
Fucksake.
"I'm only half-a Butcher,” a man says, his tone familiar, deep, and playful.
When I turn the corner, Konnor Slater stands there, dimples deepening as his smile widens. Striking green eyes sparkle with amusement as they take me in, from my bare feet to my hairnet. "Hey, Fawn. Bad timing?"
“Hi?” Smiling, I lift a questioning brow. “I wasn’t expecting…” I gesture at myself with a short laugh. “Company.”
"Sorry for the surprise visit. Thought we should talk before the big day." He shifts his weight. "Been meaning to for a while, actually. Figured something like this deserved more than just a call from outside The District. I just got back to town, and you’re my first call. I hope that’s cool?”
“Yeah, of course.” I wave him through to the lounge, ignoring Jasmine, who peeks around the edge of the wall like a wishful fly-spy.
We sit opposite each other.
I grab my hairnet and tug it from my crown, smoothing down the blonde that is wiry and waving around. “Is everything alright?” I ask, not sure what to say.
