Right. Of course. "You know you could find a party planner to do all this for you."
"I know. A few coworkers said the same. Turns out, they are all booked. I guess I should have looked into this a couple months ago." He looks sheepish. "I’m willing to pay more for the short notice I’ve given you."
"More? That will not be necessary. It just so happens that I love a good party." I flip to a fresh page. "Let's make a list."
We spend the next hour going over every detail. The guest list. The menu. The color scheme. Ethan is surprisingly opinionated about some things, how he wants white roses and soft lighting, and completely hands-off about others.
"I trust your judgment," he says when I ask about table settings.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
There's something in the way he says it. Something that makes me feel seen.
Noticed.
Important.
By the time we finish, my notebook is full, and my water glass is empty.
"This is a lot," I admit, flipping through the pages. "But it's doable. I'll need to start tomorrow if we're going to pull this off by Saturday." Luckily, I’ve been working only on shopping apps for the last couple of months and can pick and choose when and if I want to shop. If I’d had another job? A nine to five? I’d be screwed.
"Whatever you need," Ethan says. "I'll make sure you have access to everything. Credit cards, contacts for catering and anything else you need, my schedule."
"Your schedule?"
"In case you need to reach me. Or if you need my opinion on something."
"Right. Of course."
He stands, and I follow suit, suddenly aware of how close we're standing.
"Thank you, Lily," he says, and his voice is softer now. Almost gentle. "I know this is a lot to take on."
"It's fine. I'm excited, actually."
"Good." He walks me to the door, and I'm hyper-aware of his presence beside me. "I'll transfer half the payment tonight. The rest when the job is done."
"You don't have to?—"
"I want to." He opens the door for me. "You're trusting me. The least I can do is show you I'm serious."
I step outside, the cool evening air hitting my flushed skin.
"Ethan?"
He looks at me, and God, those eyes.
"Thank you," I say. "For giving me this opportunity."
"Thank you for saying yes."
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other.
Then I turn and walk to my car before I do something stupid like ask him if he's ever considered starring in his own romance novel. As I drive away, I glance in the rearview mirror. He's still standing in the doorway, watching me.
And I'm smiling like an idiot again.
