Nadine leans down and pets Muffin lovingly. “Oh good, Dean did brush you out.”
I highly doubt that—I can’t picture Dean being so soft, gentle, and nurturing with a dog, but whatever.
She does look somewhat more groomed than usual, though it could just be because I’m used to her wearing that little vest.
“So,” Nadine says, eyeing my clipboard, “big wedding. Big vision. Big mess waiting to happen.”
Gee, thanks.
“Hopefully not the last one,” I say with a smile that’s 90% teeth.
She hums, clearly unconvinced. “And Dean agreed to all this?”
“He did.”
“Willingly?”
I pause. “It’s his brother’s wedding.”
“Oh, I know. I just never thought he’d go for it. The Dean I know doesn’t even allow solar-powered garden lights.”
That… checks out. He’s not one for frills.
She folds her arms and glances toward the main house. “He used to live in the city, you know. Sleek little apartment. All concrete and cold air, with furniture out of a minimalist catalog.”
“I can picture it.”
“This place?” she continues, gesturing to the estate like it’s an accusation. “He bought it from a client. Nasty divorce. They just needed out. He got a screamin’ deal.”
“I… didn’t know that.”
“Oh, honey. Most people don’t. He came out here to ‘reset.’ Said it was temporary, that he planned to flip it and make a nice profit. That was three years ago.”
I look down at Muffin, who’s still glued to my leg like she’s making a statement. I brush my hand over her soft little head.
“So now he lives here,” I say.
Nadine narrows her eyes. “He exists here. That’s different. He still commutes to the city a few times a week. Ninety minutes each way.”
Before I can respond, she checks her watch and snaps the lid back onto the lemon bars.
“Well. I’ll leave you to it. Muffin has therapy at three. Acupuncture. And I need to confirm the appointment.”
She gives me one final once-over, like she’s still trying to decide if I’m a threat, a liability, or a tragic lifestyle blogger.
And then she’s gone.
Muffin stays.
I busy myself with the work ahead. Dean has commuted to the city for work today, so the property is quiet. There’s so much to do. This weekend, I’m throwing one of the most important weddings of my career—one that could make or break me.
Ivy Lin is an influencer with over thirteen million followers, and she and Mason arrive in a couple of days, so I need everything to look perfect. A yard crew is patching up the destruction caused by George yesterday, and I’ve still got a lot to do—vendors to call and magic to make happen.
It starts quietly, like all great disasters do.
One minute, I’m organizing a crate of glassware on the back patio. Muffin is curled up nearby in a rare moment of zen, the sun filtering through the trees, and I’m feeling—dare I say it?—slightly in control.
And then I hear it.
