"So we're really doing this?" I ask. "Research, planning, potentially expanding into a second location?"
"We're really doing this," Savannah confirms.
"All of us, together," Griffin adds.
"Whatever comes next," Logan says.
I open my laptop and start a new document titled "Expansion Planning - Phase One." Because that's what we do now. We make plans, we solve problems, and we turn dreams into reality.
For ourselves, and for every couple who trusts us to make their impossible day perfect.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
GRIFF
One Year Later
Christmas Eve and I'm standing in the shadows like some kind of wedding stalker, clipboard in one hand and radio clipped to my belt, watching another couple lose their minds over flower arrangements and cake flavors.
A year of this shit, and I still can't believe people pay us to watch them cry over vows.
The bride looks good, I'll give her that. White dress, fancy flowers, the works. The groom can't stop grinning like an idiot. Their families are already breaking out tissues because apparently crying at weddings is mandatory.
Twelve months ago, we were four people pretending we didn't want to tear each other's clothes off. Now we're the poster children for "unconventional relationships that somehow don't end in disaster."
"Griffin." Xavier's voice crackles through my earpiece, all calm and professional like he's not coordinating a circus. "The photographer wants to mess with the lighting. Can you tell catering to hold off for fifteen minutes?"
"Already handled," I grunt, catching Maria's eye across the room. She nods and disappears back into the kitchen. Good thing we poached her from Romano's. The woman actually knows what she's doing. "Anything else about to explode?"
"Everything's running smoothly," Xavier says, and he sounds surprised. Like after a year of this, he still expects the ceiling to collapse.
That's the thing about weddings. There should be chaos. There was chaos when we started. But somehow when the four of us work together, shit just... works. Savannah makes everything look pretty, Xavier plans for every possible disaster, Logan keeps everyone from panicking, and I make sure nothing actually catches fire.
We're good at this. Annoyingly good.
"How are the happy idiots?" Savannah's voice joins the conversation, warm and satisfied like a cat in sunshine.
"Disgustingly in love," I report, watching them feed each other cake like it's some sacred ritual. "The photographer takes shots that'll make their kids gag when they're older."
"Perfect," Logan rumbles through the comm. "Bar's wrapping up, dance floor's filling up, and the DJ's actually sticking to the timeline for once."
Yeah, we learned our lesson after the Anderson wedding. DJ decided nine PM was the perfect time to turn a classy reception into a rave. The grandmother requesting more bass was entertaining, but we like our events predictable.
Business has exploded this year. What started as desperate damage control for Emma's disaster has turned into the most wanted venue in three states. Bookings through next year, a waiting list that makes Savannah's eyes light up with dollar signs, and a reputation for fixing things when they go sideways.
Because shit always goes sideways. Last month, a groom forgot his vows and started reciting Shakespeare. Month beforethat, a flower girl decided the aisle was perfect for an interpretive dance about her dead hamster. Two weeks back, a best man showed up drunk and had to be escorted out before he face-planted into the cake.
But we fixed it. We adapt. We turn disasters into stories people laugh about later.
"Remember the Brown clusterfuck?" I ask, watching tonight's flower girl spin around without falling over. Miracle.
"Which part?" Savannah laughs. "Dress catching fire, cake collapsing, or best man proposing during the father-daughter dance?"
"The fact they still call it the best wedding ever," Logan says.
"Because we don't let disasters win," Xavier adds.
He's not just talking about work.
