“Well, are you going to pick it up and give him the finger, or should I?”
Agatha’s voice is crisp and businesslike, yanking me back into reality. I try swallowing nonexistent saliva. “I’m going to pick up. Please, Agatha. Keep an eye on the ceremony and let me know if something, I don’t know”—I flap a hand—“catches fire.”
She harrumphs something about what she’dliketo see catch fire as I speed walk farther into the shadowed portico. With a last anxious ruffle of my short bangs, I take a deep breath and accept the call.
2GRACIE
Gracie!” Calvin’s handsome face fills the screen, and ten thousand memories I’ve tried to keep buried claw their way to the surface. He’s smiling, his dark blond hair slightly damp, like he’s just showered. I inhale and swear I can almost smell his scent of sandalwood and mint. “It’s been forever, how are you?”
Speaking. Words. Conversation. The last three decades of experience in these fields are suddenly insufficient. “Cal, hi,” I say eventually. “This is unexpected.”
He pulls an apologetic face, eyebrows pinching above deep-set blue eyes. “I know, I’m sorry—I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”
I glance toward the wedding ceremony I’ve been hired to ensure goes perfectly, and then to where Agatha is blatantly eavesdropping, looking every inch like a bad-tempered flamingo.
“Um, it’s fine! Great, I mean. I’m coordinating a wedding right now, but I have a minute. Is everything okay?” And by that, I clearly mean,Are you calling to reveal the unwavering torch you’ve carried for me all this time?
His grin is back, this time wider than before. I’d forgotten the way it gives him those smile lines around his eyes and—
“Everything’s good, good! I’m calling about a wedding, actually. I know we fell out of touch—totally my fault, you know how bad I am at that stuff—but I pop onto your socials once in a while and know you’re planning weddings these days. You look fantastic, by the way.”
At his completely unembarrassed admission to some light social media stalking, sparkling possibilities spring into my mind like foregone conclusions. I imagine him telling me his sister is getting married, and would I be interested in planning it? Maybe discussing it over dinner and a bottle of red?
“Thanks, Cal, you look really great, too,” I say a little too earnestly. “Whose wedding are you calling about?”
His grin slides into something sheepish, and he rubs the back of his damp hair in a gesture I remember all too well. “The thing is… well, believe it or not, it’s mine.” He looses a nervous laugh, as though he can hardly believe it himself.
For a long moment, all I can do is stare, hoping I’ve misheard him or that this is some kind of punishment nightmare for finding finance bro vests remotely attractive. Absently, I realize my jaw has dropped, right along with what feels like a bowling ball, into my stomach. I’m pretty sure it’s my heart.
“I know.” He chuckles, oblivious. “I’m the last person anyone expected to get engaged, but I guess when you find the right person…” He lets out a sigh, and I swear his eyes go heart-shaped. “You’re done for.”
“Right person,” I repeat through numb lips. All this time, I told myself I was letting go and moving on. But now, all I can think of is the single sentence I’ve been grasping onto since he ended things.Maybe when we’re older… who knows?Six words. Six words that have fueled my most pathetic fantasies. I’ve never felt so fucking embarrassed. I begin to shake, and suddenly, getting off this call is more important than my next breath. “Congratulations, Cal. I… I’m happy for you,” I manage. Barely. “But listen, I have to go. The ceremony is finishing up and—”
Calvin sits up, his relaxed posture disappearing. “Gracie, wait. I haven’t even gotten to why I’m calling. The thing is, Brooke and I are in a pickle.”
Brooke. Suddenly, my worst nightmare has a name.Why couldn’t it be Mildred?
“The thing is,” he goes on, “we’re looking to get married in early August. Maybe even at the end of July, if possible.”
My wedding planner brain auto-calculates how long he’d have to plan. “That seems doable,” I say. “Fifteen months is more than enough time.”
“No, not next August,” he corrects me. “ThisAugust. As in, a little over two months from now.”
I blink. “Cal, that’s…”
“Aggressive?” He chuckles. “I know. But the venue you work at is stunning, and I swear we’d be the easiest clients. Brooke and I don’t have time to plan this anyway, so you’d have complete creative control.”
“Me?” I ask, tempted to look around in case there’s another wedding planner hiding in the rosebushes. Until now, it was plausible that he was calling for advice or a recommendation. But at the revelation that he thinksI’mthe woman for the job, my body temperature quickly begins to climb.
“Look. I wouldn’t have asked you, but wehaveto get married in August, and I don’t know anyone else who can, orwould, help us.”
For one unthinking millisecond, my traitorous heart has the urge to swoop in and save the day, just to have him back in my life. Just to get the approval I’ve always craved from him. But the indignity of this task quickly smothers the feeling and then whacks it with a hammer.
“But why the rush?” I ask, redirecting the conversation away from me and the outrageous suggestion that I’m going to help him with this. If he were to set a reasonable date, then he could have his pick of venues and planners—specifically, anyone butme. Hisex-girlfriend. “Surely you both want to enjoy your—” I pause, getting control of the sudden urge to vomit. Or rev a chainsaw. “Engagement,” I finish.
This time, I’m not the only one who looks a little queasy. “Ah, well, the thing is…” He pauses, looking down at his knees before meeting my gaze again. “I’m going to be a dad.” He lets out that disbelieving laugh again, his face turning pink with wonder and nervous joy.
A rogue tear escapes down my face. “Oh my god,” I say faintly. I blink down at myself, trying to clear my eyes and half expecting to see a well-aimed spear sticking out of my chest. “A baby. C-congratulations.”
