SHARON
"Ithought I was the only one who was nervous about this wedding," I say as I watch Jessica drink her second cup of coffee, and we've only been in the office for ten minutes. How does she even drink them so fast?
"Nervous. No. Bored," Jessica says, setting the empty cup down on the desk. She doesn't finish her sentence because her eyes shift to the door.
That's when the scent enters the office.
It hits me like a physical wave, warm vanilla mixed with something wild and expensive and absolutely unmistakable. My head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. My body goes rigid. My alpha receptors start screaming at me because whatever just walked through that door is not normal.
"Are you?" I point at Jessica, my voice coming out higher than intended.
"She is indeed!" Jessica practically shouts, and then we're both screaming.
Because standing in the doorway of our small wedding planning office in Pine Hollow, Colorado, is Tangle Peak.
As in, international sensation Tangle Peak. As in, the person whose music I listened to on repeat during my entire driveto this godforsaken town. As in, the person who has sold out stadiums, won multiple Grammys, and is currently looking at our disaster of an office like it's the most interesting thing she's seen all week.
She's tall. Taller than me. Taller than Jessica by at least four inches. She's wearing vintage band merch that's been tailored in a way that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, ripped jeans that look intentionally expensive, and a leather jacket that screams "I don't give a fuck what you think of me." Her dark hair falls past her shoulders in waves, and there's a tattoo on the side of her neck that looks like it might be a musical note, or maybe just a very fancy dagger.
But it's the way she moves that makes you understand why she fills stadiums. It's the way she walks through the room like she's already catalogued every person in it and decided if they're worth her time. Her scent fills the small space: warm vanilla and expensive perfume mixing with something wild underneath, something that smells like freedom and bad decisions and the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
"Hi," she says.
"I need help. The kind that involves wedding planning and possibly your sanity."
Jessica is staring like she's about to spontaneously combust. Her mouth is hanging open. There's a coffee stain on her pantsuit now from where her cup went flying, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Oh my god," Jessica breathes, and I have never heard her sound starstruck before. Frustrated, yes. Judgmental, absolutely. But starstruck? That's new. "You're Tangle Peak."
"I am," Tangle confirms, her eyes flicking between us with amusement. She settles herself into one of the client chairs like she owns it, crossing her long legs in a way that makes the rippedsections of her jeans gape open. "And you two are my wedding planners now, apparently. Congratulations. Your life just got a lot more complicated."
I sink back into my chair slowly because my legs have stopped functioning properly. This is happening. Tangle Peak just walked into my office and announced that we're planning her wedding. Tangle Peak, who I have listened to approximately seven thousand times, who I have cried to, who I have danced alone to in my hotel room at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I was too stressed about Ben's wedding.
The universe is not just playing with me. The universe is actively toying with me like I'm a cat and it's a very mean mouse.
"We would love to," Jessica says immediately, and I watch in real-time as she pushes aside every professional boundary and just goes full fan. "Oh my god, we would absolutely love to. When is the wedding? Where? What's the budget?"
Tangle leans back in the chair, and I notice she has the kind of presence that makes even sitting look like a performance. "Christmas Eve," she says, like she just announced that she's planning to fly to the moon. "Right here in Pine Hollow."
My brain stops working.
"As in, the Christmas Eve that is currently coming up? The one that's in, like—" I glance at my calendar, which is sitting on my desk, mocking me with its awareness of dates. "Three weeks away?"
"Give or take," Tangle says, completely unbothered. "My tour bus broke down here two weeks ago. The whole thing was a disaster. Radiator shot to hell, transmission looked like it had been through a war, and the repair place told me it would take at least three weeks to fix properly. I was furious. I was planning to spend Christmas on the road, which is miserable, by the way. Hotel rooms smell like sadness and people who don't tip housekeeping."
She stands up and walks around the office like she's inspecting a property she's thinking about buying. Her fingers trail along the edge of Savannah's desk. She picks up one of the fabric swatches and holds it up to the light.
"But then I got stuck here," Tangle continues. "And something happened that hasn't happened in about five years. I started feeling things. Not feelings, I feel plenty of things. But feelings that stuck around. Feelings that made me want to stay. So, I did."
"You met someone," Jessica says, and it's not a question.
"I met three someones," Tangle says, and there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth that suggests those three someones are everything. "The Brownbox pack. You probably know them. They're pretty famous around here for being annoyingly hot and extremely protective."
I try to search my memory for who the Brownbox pack is, but my brain is currently too busy spiraling about the fact that Tangle Peak is getting married on Christmas Eve. The same day that Ben and Penelope are getting married. The same day that I have been planning a wedding that nobody in this entire town wants to attend.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
