Page 34 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

Noah had a point. The bubble of her imagined title as Officially Event Planner for X Celebrity popped like a can of biscuits. For now, anyway. Elbow on the table, she toyed with her earring for a moment.

“Do you always have to make sense?” She locked on his brown eyes, a playful glint in her own.

“Playing devil’s advocate is my favorite role—well, besides the time I played Sir Robin in Spamalot my junior year. I wish you could have seen me in tights. My glutes were gluting.”

A few drops of coffee dribbled out of her mouth as she fought back a laugh. Coughing, she grabbed several napkins and wiped them away.

“Now that’s a visual I can do without.”

The bell above the door jingled. Natalie looked up, her eyes going round.

“What?” Noah whispered.

“Peacoat guy. He’s back … and looking this way.”

Noah straightened. “Alone?”

“Yep.” She snapped her planner shut. “Which means I’m exiting stage left.”

She squeezed Noah’s shoulder in passing and headed for the door, exchanging a quick nod with Mr. Peacoat. Outside, the wind cut through her. She glanced back into the coffee shop, smiling when Peacoat Guy slid into her chair.

Natalie bit her lip and texted Noah:

Go get ‘em, tiger.

The bookstore Noah recommended was a bust, but a comic book shop around the corner delivered the motherlode. An entire room full of trinkets and gag gifts—most heavily discounted—pulled her in like a vortex. Minutes later, she dumped an armful of absurdity on the counter.

An LED headlamp shaped like the bed of a truck.

A cup holder for ketchup and fries.

A shoehorn designed to look like a human tongue.

Whiskey stones shaped like hand grenades in a box that read “Get bombed!”.

A retro paddleball game.

And for good measure, black boxers printed with OLD FART.

An hour and a half after parting ways with Noah, she was back inside her tiny one-bedroom apartment. As she shed layers of outerwear, a call came in from Kate.

“How goes the shopping?” her sister asked.

“I hit the jackpot. Give me five minutes and I’ll FaceTime you. You have to see this haul.”

Natalie tossed the overstuffed shopping bag on her bed and flopped beside it. She pulled her planner from her tote and logged her purchases in a color-coded ledger that would make any CPA emotional. Nine gifts left to buy, and her budget still held. Barely.

She pulled up her FaceTime app and called Kate back. Between the late afternoon coffee and her success with shopping, she launched into a mile-a-minute recap of her day: the gag gifts, floral arrangements, the jazz trio, and the current state of her budget. It took several minutes before Kate could insert herself into the conversation.

“My God, take a breath. Are you stressed out or heavily caffeinated? Or both?”

“Everything has to be perfect, Kate.”

“And it will be. But obsessing over every little thing⁠—”

“Is my actual job. It’s literally the description of an event planner,” she snapped.

Kate paused. “And because you're so good at it, maybe relax a little?”