Her platinum hair resembles a bird’s nest that lost a fight with a hurricane, her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, and she’s got mascara smudges that tell the tragic tale of a very long night. She’s weeping into a monogrammed napkin while Macy and Camila flank her like well-dressed bodyguards who’ve run out of ideas.
“My wedding planner is dead,” Charlotte sobs, “and so is mywedding. I’m doomed! Everything I’ve ever wanted is doomed!”
Honestly, the only one that is truly doomed is Tessa. But I’ll be the last person to point that out to the bride.
Camila sips iced coffee through a lipstick-stained straw while Macy taps her glitter acrylic nails on the table in a rhythm that lets us know she’s plotting something nefarious. And knowing my sister, she so is.
“Here,” Emmie presses a cinnamon roll and hot coffee into my hands. “You’ll need this. Consider it ammo—or a peace treaty.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, approaching the table with caution. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry about Tessa. This must be devastating.”
“You think we didn’t try consoling her already?” Macy snaps my way. “She’s been crying for two hours straight!”
“The wedding is in five days,” Camila growls at me. “Five. Days. Do you know how impossible it is to plan a wedding in five days?”
Without thinking, I blurt out the stupidest thing possible, “I’ll help plan the wedding.”
I shrug over at the bride, because let’s face it, I’ve done ten stupider things before breakfast on any other given day.
Both Macy and Camila gasp as if I just announced I was joining the circus. Honestly, that would not be a stretch as far as career pivots go.
“We’ll help, too!” they shout in unison.
And here it is. The moment my life officially spirals into madness.
“Really?” Charlotte looks up with hope shining in her tear-stained eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course,” I say, because apparently my mouth operates independently of my brain during crisis situations. And it’s a fact my handsome husband is well aware of.
Camila whips out a glittery notebook that sparkles like a disco ball, just as Macy pulls up a calendar app on her phone with the efficiency of a wedding planning ninja.
“Okay,” Camila says, clicking her pen with authority. “We need cake tasting, twice, in case of flavor confusion. I’m thinking a luau-themed bachelorette bash with coconut cocktails—unless we come up with something better. And by better, I mean strippers. Of course, we’ll have a pre-wedding massage day with champagne foot soaks. That’s mandatory.”
“Dress rehearsal fashion show with music and applause,” Macy adds, typing furiously. “Speed-gift-unwrapping contest—I’ll sponsor that one. How does yoga with goats in flower crowns sound?”
“Like a horror story,” I quickly insert.
She wrinkles her nose before deleting it all.
“Bonfire beach karaoke night,” Camila continues. “Love Ballads and Betrayals theme.” She grips Macy by the arm. “We’ll call ourselves the Bridal Rescue Brigade!”
“Yes!” Macy shouts as if she’s just won the matrimonial lottery.
My brain short-circuits halfway through their list. What have I done? I run an inn, not a circus. Although at this point, the inn sort ofqualifies as both.
“That sounds wonderful,” Charlotte sniffles, brightening a touch. “You ladies are angels.”
Angels of chaos, maybe. Ella coos and laughs from her stroller as if she agrees.
A movement outside the sunroom window catches my eye. A brunette is waving at Charlotte through the glass, and I recognize her immediately.
Oh my word. It’s the brunette who slapped Tessa into next Tuesday—and maybe the afterlife.
“Who is that?” I ask, nodding toward the window.
“Oh, that’s my bestie, Kiki Parker,” Charlotte says, her face lighting up for the first time since I’ve seen her this morning. “She’s been my rock since college.”
Fantastic. A slapping bestie. Definitely getting suspect energy from this one.
