The Grand Ballroom had elegant Valentine's touches—white linens, crystal chandeliers, romantic lighting. But someone had taken it further. Elaborate centerpieces on every table, each one different. Heart-shaped napkin rings. Heart-shaped place cards with calligraphy so perfect it had to be hand-done. Crystal hearts dangling from chair backs. Garlands of flowers wrapped around columns.
A man in an impeccable three-piece suit was directing staff with the precision of a five-star general, clapping twice at a waiter adjusting a centerpiece.
"That's Hudson and Kendall," Hunter said, his hand finding the small of my back.
Near the center of the room stood Hunter's identical twin—same face, same height, but neater. Shorter hair, perfectly tailored suit. Everything about him screamed responsible. Next to him was a blonde in pink, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Here we go," Hunter murmured. Then louder, "Hudson! Kendall!"
Hudson's face broke into a warm smile. "Hunter! You made it."
They embraced, genuine affection clear between them.
"Wouldn't miss it." Hunter pulled me forward. "This is Dixie. Dixie, my brother Hudson and his fiancée Kendall."
"Oh my goodness gracious!" Kendall grabbed me in a hug, bouncing on her heels like a cheerleader who'd had three espressos. "It is so wonderful to meet you! Hunter never brings anyone to family events—not once in all the years I've known Hudson—so this is absolutely huge! Monumental! I'm Kendall, and I am just thrilled you're here! Isn't Valentine's Day the most romantic day in the entire world for a wedding? I've been planning this since I was six years old! Six! I had binders with tabs and color-coded sections and magazine clippings and everything!"
She said it in approximately one breath without pausing.
"It's going to be beautiful," I managed.
"It's going to be perfect! Beyond perfect! Absolutely flawless! We have two chocolate fountains—one milk chocolate, one white chocolate, both with strawberries and marshmallows and pretzels and those little shortbread cookies—and a five-tier cake with real gold leaf that the baker said was one of the most elaborate she's ever made, and flowers that only bloom in February which meant coordinating with three different florists across two entire states, and the florist in Houston almost cancelled but I cried on the phone and she felt so bad she overnighted them overnight express, and tomorrow there's going to be a string quartet during cocktail hour and a full orchestra for the reception and we're releasing doves after the ceremony—actual white doves!—and—" She stopped, laughing at herself. "Sorry! I get so excited! Ask Hudson—I haven'tstopped talking about this wedding for eight solid months straight!"
"Every single day," Hudson confirmed with obvious affection, though his smile was fond. "Multiple times a day, actually." He shook my hand, his grip firm. "Nice to meet you, Dixie. How'd you two meet?"
"She was my Uber driver," Hunter said easily. "Picked me up from The Rusty Spur a few weeks ago. We started talking and I couldn't let her drive away without getting her number."
Kendall pressed both hands to her chest, eyes actually welling with tears. "That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my entire life! A modern fairy tale! Better than a fairy tale because it's real! Think about it—you were just driving, doing your job, he was just a passenger trying to get home, and then fate intervened! It's kismet! True, honest-to-goodness kismet! Oh, this is absolutely perfect—you'll have the most adorable how-we-met story to tell your children someday! I'm already tearing up just thinking about it!"
"More like GPS and luck," I said.
Kendall laughed, delighted. "And she's funny! She's gorgeous and funny and perfect! Hunter, you did so good!"
Kendall gestured toward the man in the three-piece suit, who was now measuring the distance between a fork and knife with what appeared to be a small ruler. "That's Beauregard Montrose the Third. My wedding planner. He's from Savannah. A little intense, but he's done weddings for governors and senators. He's the best."
As if summoned, Beauregard swept toward us, assessing me with sharp eyes. "Ah! Hunter's young lady. Welcome, welcome. I trust you've prepared emotionally for tomorrow's festivities? This will be a wedding Bitter Root discusses for the next decade."
"Um—"
"Excellent! Now, if you'll excuse me, someone has placed a napkin at a forty-seven-degree angle when I specifically requested forty-five degrees." He swept away, already correcting the nearest table setting with surgical precision.
I watched him go. "Wow."
"Told you," Hunter said. "Nothing about this wedding is subtle."
An older couple approached. The woman had Hunter's green eyes and carried herself with quiet elegance. The man was tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered in a way that said he'd worked ranches his whole life.
"Mom, Dad," Hunter said. His body tensed beside me. "This is Dixie Lane. Dixie, my parents—Ward and Jolene Massey."
"Mrs. Massey, Mr. Massey." I offered my hand. "Wonderful to meet you."
Jolene's handshake was gracious but her gaze assessed me thoroughly. "Dixie. Where are you from, dear?"
"Bitter Root. Born and raised."
"And what do you do?"
Here it came. "I work at The Hungry Heifer during the day. Drive for a rideshare service at night."
