Our venue's reputation has spread beyond Colorado now. People fly in from California, Texas, places I can't pronounce because they heard about the place where "four people fell in love and decided to make everyone else's dreams come true."
A magazine spread didn't hurt either. Three pages of photos and some story about our "innovative approach." Savannah framed it, not because she's vain but because it represents everything we built from nothing.
We've handled over eighty couples this year. Some easy—people with money and realistic expectations. Others required what Savannah calls "romantic engineering" and what I call "preventing complete meltdowns."
Like the couple terrified of weather disasters. We designed backup plans so comprehensive Xavier nearly cried with joy. Heated tents, generators, snow removal that could clear the property in under two hours.
Or the bride eight months pregnant convinced she looked like a whale. Savannah and the photographer spent hours making her look like some goddess. Photos went viral. Nowwe're the "pregnant bride specialists" with a nine-month waiting list.
Speaking of pregnancy...
Savannah's three months along now. Barely showing but glowing like she swallowed sunshine. Makes sense. Conversation came up naturally one morning when she put down her coffee and said, "You know what would make this chaos more interesting? A baby."
Xavier immediately started making lists. Logan began researching every baby product ever made. I started sketching nursery designs that would make Pinterest jealous.
Because that's what we do. Plan, build, make impossible shit happen.
"Boss," Maria appears next to me, a professional smile not hiding her amusement. "Mother of the bride wants to move everything inside. She's worried about mosquitoes."
I look outside at the snow falling, then at the climate-controlled pavilion where guests are drinking champagne in perfect comfort. "What'd you tell her?"
"That I'd check with management."
"Tell her our pavilion is sealed against insects, including the ones hibernating under three feet of snow," I say. "If she's still worried, we can set up the backup space, but most people seem happy."
Maria nods and disappears. I make a mental note to add "seasonal insect guarantees" to our information packet.
"Crisis management," Savannah says, appearing beside me in a black dress that's professional enough for work but fitted enough to remind me she's mine.
The dress also does incredible things for her new curves, but I keep that thought to myself since we're supposed to be working.
"Just another Saturday night," I reply, pulling her closer until I can smell her vanilla bourbon scent over the flowers.
"You know what I love about this?" she asks, leaning into my side as we watch the reception.
"The money?"
She swats my arm. "The fact that we're helping people believe in forever. Look at them." She gestures at the dance floor where the bride and groom are swaying like they're alone. "We created this."
She's right. A year ago, I thought romance was bullshit that happened to other people. Now I'm in the business of romantic magic, and I'm damn good at it.
"Speaking of forever," Xavier says, joining us with Logan, both looking satisfied with another smooth event.
Now I'm thinking about the couples we could help, the magic we could create somewhere new.
"We'd need more staff," Savannah says, already researching on her phone. "Contractors, vendors, building reputation in a new market..."
"Quality control," Xavier adds. "Won't put our name on anything that isn't perfect."
"Doesn't have to be perfect on day one," I say, watching the grandmother teach the flower girl to waltz. "It just has to be ours."
We stand there planning our future while love happens around us. The DJ announces the last dance, and couples head to the floor for final moments.
"Also been thinking about baby-proofing," Savannah says, hand drifting to her stomach.
Logan immediately goes protective. "Safety gates, outlet covers, rounded corners..."
"Soundproof nursery for couples with babies," Xavier adds.
