“We’ll still check them out, but the Harbor Club looks too formal online, at least for a family dinner, and Green Gables Retreat is too small if Lia’s cousins come.” She pulled up photos of each venue. “Online impressions can be deceiving, though.”
I nodded, impressed by her thoroughness. “Agreed. What time are our appointments?”
“Nine, noon, and three. I figured that gives us plenty of time at each location and breaks for meals.” She glanced up at me. “I also made dinner reservations for tonight at the lodge restaurant. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect. I’m starving,” I said, meaning it. Her planning was impeccable, anticipating needs and scheduling without sacrificing the experience. It was the attention to detail I appreciated—the kind I usually had to handle myself.
We spent the next hour reviewing notes and planning questions for each venue. Working with Mari was surprisingly effortless when we weren’t competing. We filled in the gaps the other might miss.
“I think we’ve got this covered,” she said finally, setting aside her tablet. “Dinner’s at seven. I’m going to freshen up.”
While she was in her room, I built a fire in the fireplace. By the time Mari emerged, wearing a simple dark red dress, the cabin was filled with the warm glow of firelight.
“You made a fire,” she said, sounding pleased. “Nice touch.”
“It seemed appropriate,” I said, trying not to stare at her. “You look nice.”
She smiled. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“I’m wearing the same thing as before.”
“Take the compliment, Gable.”
“Thanks.”
Dinner at the lodge restaurant was surprisingly enjoyable. Away from the office and the pressures of Chicago, conversation flowed easily. Mari told stories about her early days working with Anica in New York, and I shared my own stories about growing up as the son of wedding planning royalty.
“Wait, so your parents actually made you work coat check at weddings when you were twelve?” Mari laughed, taking a sip of her wine. “Isn’t that child labor?”
“Character building, they called it. I knew how to fold a pocket square before I could drive.”
“That explains so much.” She tilted her head, studying me. “Why did you stick with wedding planning? Did you ever consider doing anything else?”
“Oh, I definitely considered it.” I swirled the wine in my glass. “I actually tried to escape it. Thought for a while I might study something in engineering or maybe electronics, but I wasn’t good at either, and I was good at organizing. So...”
“So you gave up on that stuff because it was hard?”
I shrugged. “My parents offered me a leg up in the wedding world. It wasn’t hard to get my first clients. The problem came when I worked in competition with my parents.”
“It was certainly bold.” Her expression was thoughtful. “Is that why you moved away from LA?”
“Yup.” Something about the firelit restaurant and Mari’s attentive gaze made it easy to share things I usually kept to myself. “My parents weren’t fond of the idea of sharing the same vendors with me, despite my being their son.”
The rest of the dinner passed in simple conversation. Mari was unsurprisingly knowledgeable about wine and insisted on ordering a bottle from a local vineyard that turned out to be excellent. By the time we finished dessert—a shared piece of cherry pie that Door County was apparently famous for—I was genuinely enjoying her company.
On the walk back to our cabin, Mari surprised me by stopping at the small general store near the lodge entrance.
“Give me five minutes,” she said, a glint in her eye. “Wait here.”
Before I could question her, she disappeared inside. True to her word, she emerged a few minutes later with a small paper bag, which she refused to let me see.
“It’s a surprise,” she insisted, clutching the bag to her chest. “You’ll find out when we get back.”
The night air was crisp with early autumn, and stars dotted the clear sky above as we walked the path to our cabin. Mari’s shoulder occasionally brushed against mine. It shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did.
Back at the cabin, the fire had died down to embers, but I quickly built it back up while Mari busied herself in the kitchenette, keeping her back to me so I couldn’t see what she was doing.
“Okay,” she announced finally, turning around with a triumphant smile. “Prepare yourself for the best s’mores of your life.”
