"I don't hate weddings," she said carefully. "I just don't believe in the fairy tale they're selling."
"Because...?" he prompted.
She sighed. "I've seen the reality behind too many 'happily-ever-afters.'"
The answer was evasive but also revealing in its own way. Zach found himself genuinely curious about what experiences had made her so cynical.
"Well, for what it's worth," he said as she stepped into the elevator, "I think Anna and Drake are the real deal."
"That's what they all think," she replied somberly.
Zach made a mental note to text his grandmother later: Met the wedding planner. She hates weddings. This should be fun.
CHAPTER 5
42 DAYS UNTIL ANNA & DRAKE'S WEDDING
(Yes, it was 90 Days yesterday… welcome to bridal math where schedules constantly change.)
PIPER
Piper's phone had taken on a life of its own and was determined to drive her insane. It had been buzzing nonstop for the past hour.
Hunching over her laptop, one earbud in, Piper tuned in as the event rental vendor's voice came through her Zoom call. Overhead, the office A/C hummed away, keeping things cool enough to raise polite little goosebumps on her arms, but not cool enough to justify grabbing the emergency cardigan.
Her desk, usually a laminated shrine to productivity, now looked like a crime scene sketched by a caffeinated squirrel. Pens wandered aimlessly. Folders—color-coded, thank you very much—lay flopped open like they'd given up on life.
"You absolutely need the deposit by tomorrow," she asked, already juggling two email windows. "Not the end of the week like we originally discussed? Because Friday is what our contract says."
A text from Tess lit up her phone for the fourth time in three minutes.
Tess: Brand consistent visual = flower girls in cleats. We'll lay turf runners to prevent scuffs, clear liability with legal, and loop equipment for sizing.
Fifth time.
Tess: I'll cover field protection and waivers.
Lucky number sixth time.
Tess: If it's a no, tell me fast. I'll redirect.
"I'm afraid our supplier has changed their timeline," the rep on Zoom replied apologetically. "With the current supply chain issues, we can't hold the items without a confirmed payment."
Of course they had. She took a breath. "And you're only now sharing this? Twenty-four hours before you suddenly need payment?"
The rep sounded genuinely sorry. "I understand your position. If it helps, we can offer a small discount for the inconvenience."
Well, wasn't that generous?
Piper took a sip of her long-forgotten coffee, wincing as the cold liquid hit her taste buds. "I'll get those funds transferred today. But I'll need the discount offer in writing. And confirmation once you receive payment."
One week in and she needed a pitcher of margaritas.
The call ended, so it was on to the next issue.
Flipping open her planning binder gave Piper an unreasonable sense of control.
Color-coded tabs and aggressive sticky notes were her ride-or-die. But right now, every to-do page looked like it had been attacked with angry red tabs and neon Post-its.
