“A Valentine’s date.” I brush my hair back behind my ear, oddly nervous. Something’s different between us. Something is new. “I need to go help Maya.” I’m backing toward the door, grabbing my bag of toiletries and the dress I brought for getting ready. “I’ll see you at the ceremony?”
“I’ll be there.”
The cottage is already full steam ahead when I arrive, bridesmaids buzzing from room to room. The cottage looks like a 2011 JC Penney post Black Friday, clothes strewn haphazardly across furniture, dresses hanging in doorways, food left half eaten on the counters. Music drifts from every room—different music, I’d like to add—creating a cacophony of sounds.
“Is that Chloe?” I hear Maya’s voice from somewhere inside the mess. There’s a hint of nerves to it. She’s on edge, and the morning’s only just begun.
“Chloe! Thank goodness.” Lauren shuffles into the room carrying a large box, her hair twisted up in one of those no-heat curlers across the top of her head. “This just arrived at the hotel. The front desk had it delivered.” She drops the box on the counter, sliding it toward me. Inside, about ten billion crisp sheets of paper lined with names stare up at me. “They’re the escort cards.”
My stomach plummets. “What?—no. We ordered the escort cards from a specialized printer. They’re supposed to alphabetize and cut them.”
Lauren shushes me, glances toward the door to Maya’s room. “I wouldn’t bring that up with Maya. Apparently…your dad saw the bill and about had a heart attack when he realized how much he was paying for the bells and whistles.”
“He did not.” But even as I’m saying it, that doesn’t surprise me. My dad has never been one to pay for a job he could do himself…or in this case, a job I’ll have to do. I slump down in the open seat at the counter and drape myself across the box.
It’s gonna be a long day.
But a day that ends with me telling Brody that I love him.
A day that maybe ends with the beginning of our own happily ever after.
“I’m gonna need scissors, zip lock bags, and a big cup of coffee. Stat.”
I spend the next three hours in crisis-management mode. Slicing, creasing, and alphabetizing the three hundred Valentine’s-themed escort cards, placing each letter of the alphabet into its own little baggy. Once that’s done, I try my best to wash the glitter off my fingers (I really didn’t think that through when I was ordering the cards—but then again, I didn’t anticipate needing to hand-crease every single one of them, so…). Then I pop out of the cabin to check the ceremony site and lay assigned seat cards on the first rows, along with tissues and programs for Derek’s parents and mine. I do a once-over of the space. Chairs in perfect rows facing the lake, white fabric draped just so, the arch decorated with pine branches and winter flowers. Make sure the candles are ready to light.
On my way back, I stop in at the reception, which is coming along. The linens are draped, the florists bustling here and there with centerpieces and greenery. The catering manager meets me at the bar to confirm our timelines.
It’s all perfect.
It’s after lunch when I finally make it back to the cottage, and the energy has shifted. Maya sits gracefully in a white director’s chair, having her makeup done. The other girls are all lounging around, drinking mimosas in their matching pink robes, their hair and makeup already finished. The music has died down, only one speaker crooning now.
“You’re back!” Maya says, peeking at me while her makeup artist works on her other eye. “How does everything look?”
“It’s all running exactly as planned.” Which is a relief, because this is one thing in my life I cannot afford to mess up. The money from Brody won’t be able to save my business if my wedding failure is plastered all over magazines and social media.
I’m pulling on my dress—a frosty blue that Maya picked, fitted and elegant and making me feel like a slightly more sophisticated version of myself—when a hush falls over the room.
The kind of hush you just know is about you.
Maya is staring at her phone, her face pale. Lauren is reading over her shoulder, her expression somewhere between shock and pity. The other bridesmaids are exchanging glances, their gazes flickering toward me but not making contact.
“What?” My heart is already racing, because there’s really only one thing this could be…
Maya looks at me, her face a wash of emotions—hurt, confusion, disappointment maybe? She walks over, phone in hand. Turns the screen to face me.
It’s an article. Minnesota Bridal Magazine. Posted two hours ago.
The Not-So-Perfect Wedding Date: When Hockey Romance Meets Cold Reality
By Jennifer Hartley
And there’s a photo. The one from yesterday morning. Me and Brody in front of the fireplace, smiling like we’re really in love.
I scroll down, my hands shaking.
This weekend, I had the pleasure of covering the Dawson–Munson wedding at the beautiful Maple Haven Resort. During my stay, I met event planner Chloe Dawson and her boyfriend, Minnesota Blue Ox defenseman Brody “Candy” Kane. They seemed like the perfect couple—attentive, affectionate, clearly smitten.
But something didn’t add up.
