Page 111 of In Your Wake

The whole party came together in less than forty-eight hours after Asher proposed, and Mabel, Vennie’s grandmother, apparently decided the entire town needed to celebrate immediately before she “died of happiness.”

So here we are.

Alone, I stand near the bar setup—courtesy of the Four Brothers Brewery—and force in a deep breath. I inhale the scents of the roses, cut grass, and the citronella candles we’ve scattered around to ward off the demon mosquitoes. Unfortunately, the peachy dress Bethany chose for me is too tight around my ribs, cutting off my airways, so I keep tugging at it.

Kegs are being tapped, glasses polished, laughter drifting through the garden while the inn glows warmly behind it all.

It’s all lovely. Not just the party. The inn. The fresh paint, the repaired shutters, the flower beds blooming. A month ago, this place looked exhausted, but now it feels alive.

Maybe Mitch was right all along, which I find deeply irritating. If only I had the same positive outlook that he has.

Bookings aren’t soaring, and I’m still skeptical that no matter the changes we’ve made, the inn will never be what it used to be. Like a lot in life, some things are often better left in the past.

“Came out pretty good,” Bethany says, appearing beside me in a sharp white satin pantsuit that molds to her curves perfectly. She clutches a clipboard with the deranged joy of someone who thrives on this sort of shit.

I shouldn’t be surprised she pulled this off. The fundraiser she threw together last year for Spencer’s mom turned out wonderfully, so I never doubted her skills.

“Look at this turnout!” she adds.

The garden’s packed. Guests mingle while waiters with trays of beignets and miniature crab cakes weave through the crowd. A jazz band plays on the small stage near the bar.

“Honestly,” I begin. “If editing doesn’t work out, you should become a party planner.”

She blushes slightly. “That’s what Spencer says, too.”

I ignore the fact that Spencer and I somehow agree on something for once and scan the crowd instead. Immediately, I regret it when my eyes land on Mitch.

Of course, he’s here. He’s Asher’s friend. And unfortunately for me, he looks offensively good tonight in dark pants, a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and broad shoulders that seem unfairly large.

I quickly look away before my brain embarrasses me further.

We haven’t really spoken since Spencer’s boat. Since his mouth devoured me. Since the awkward conversation afterward that somehow felt even more intimate than the physical part.

I’ve spent the last few days pretending none of it affected me. Avoiding him at the inn. Keeping conversations short. Hiding behind work. Which would be easier if every cell in my body didn’t light up each time he entered a room.

“You okay?” Bethany asks, eyeing me.

“Never better.”

Her expression says she doesn’t buy it, but thankfully she gets distracted when her younger sister, Marcy, appears across the lawn looking mildly panicked and waves her over.

“Food crisis,” she mutters before hurrying off.

Celia arrives next with her daughter Ella attached to her side. Ella quickly gives me a wave before running toward the dessert table like a tiny sugar-seeking missile.

“Max, this place looks amazing,” Celia says, hugging me.

“You can thank Bethany. I mostly moved furniture around and stress-cleaned.”

Hunter sneaks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the side of her neck. Celia laughs softly, shoving him away while he grins like an idiot.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my brother this happy. It’s almost disgusting.

“Did you see the bagel tower?” he asks.

Celia’s jaw drops. “There’s a bagel tower?”

Hunter nods. “Asher insisted. Said it was necessary to balance out Vennie’s spicy food choices.”