Chapter 12

twelve

ELLA

The next hour and a half goes off without a hitch, which is sweet relief. No one is late, all the music plays in the right order, the minister’s mic stays on throughout the ceremony, and I only have to escort one amateur photographer to the back of the ceremony site to honor the bride and groom’s wishes. I’m not sure why people think it’s socially acceptable to block the entire aisle to take photos with a cell phone, especially when there are signs clearly expressing they want them put away, but it happens at every event.

As the groom spins his bride onto the dancefloor for their first dance, I finally allow myself a moment to relax. Jessica waffled between using the barn or setting up outside, a gamble on a fall evening, but it’s clear we made the right choice. Cafe lights connect the massive pines, swaying gently with the slight breeze, casting a romantic glow over the happy couple and all of their guests.

Given my natural proclivity to embrace a good love story, wedding planning was less of the punishment Charlotte expected it to be for me. I took to it almost immediately. Planning happily ever afters in great detail made the last decade go by quickly enough. But it hasn’t come without tears or deep-seated longing for what might have been. Or what could be.

The job sometimes makes it all too easy to wonder ‘what if’.

What if my parents were still alive? That question usually plagues me during planning sessions or when the bride is getting ready. When the dad gives her away.

What if love had actually taken root? That question plagues me the most.

I think about Patch during the first dances. Or the laugh out loud moments like a garter toss that’s been turned into a slingshot. The moments where there’s laughter and fun and they can exist without deadlines.

I think about Luke when the groom reassures his bride toward the end of planning. Those quiet moments when everything is most stressful and things tend to fall apart. Whispers of elopement and promises of a honeymoon.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

No one needs to explain why certain things remind me of each of them.

“No complaints from the mother-of-the-bride?” Laila nudges my hip with hers, gently letting me know she’s here. She knows today has me in my feels for a multitude of reasons.

From a distance, we could pass for sisters. We’ve both got blonde hair, but hers is thick and looks like it’s straight from a shampoo commercial. She’s an influencer on the side, also handling the social media when she’s not assisting me. The amount of makeup and cute clothes that fill her room are mind-boggling.

While I’ve graduated from thrift shops, I’m still cost-conscious and happily shop the women’s sections at places like Target and the cute little boutiques I stumble upon when I get the chance to shop on my trips.

She opts for thick lashes that make her eyes pop, whereas I only wear them for events to maintain the image Charlotte has created for her brand.

But the thread that binds us together is her heart.

She might not have always been kind to me, but as we navigated our new life here together, something shifted. Almost like she saw things in a new light. If you were to ask me now, I’d tell you she’s genuinely one of the nicest people I know. From an outside perspective, she still looks shallow and has a pretty serious resting face. But for all the things she receives from sponsors, she donates probably half of it when she thinks no one is looking.

“Funny enough, she hasn’t said a single word.” I chuckle, my eyes on the couple swirling around the dance floor.

“Because you pulled off the impossible.”

“It’s her only daughter, Laila. She wanted everything to be perfect. I can’t fault her for that.”

Memories of my mom get hazier as time passes. What I remember paints her as laid back. The type of mother who would’ve encouraged me to do whatever makes me happiest.

Mom and Dad might’ve fallen in love during fall, but their whirlwind romance led straight to a winter wedding. Despite my intense love for fall—for obvious reasons—my dream wedding would be in the thick of Christmas. I’m talking a blanket of snow on the ground and magic sparkling in the air.

But that requires a husband, and there are currently no prospects.

Well. There were prospects.

I’m just scared to see if either still exists.

“I’ve been thinking. Don’t dawdle around here, okay? Go home. As soon as you can.” She’s leaned in close, putting an extra emphasis on home, so I know she doesn’t mean the one here. “Find your Prince Charming.”

“What?” I twist my head to look at her, fully expecting a crazed, wide-eyed look. But she’s perfectly calm. “I’m sure he’s moved on by now.”

“Which one?”

“You can’t be serious, Laila.”

“What?” She elbows me in the ribs and simultaneously rolls her eyes. “Bachelor number one is your soulmate. That’s how the mailboxes and letters work, right? You’re supposed to be together. Maybe he’s been pining away for you this whole time.”

She’s one of two people that know about the letters, and only because I got overly nostalgic one night and spilled the entire story to her.

The idea of Patch being single and lonely like me colors my mood. A splash of grey over the vibrant colors painted across this wedding. Does he feel the same yearning I do? To find his person, his place? Is he also surrounded by people but lonely when he goes to bed?

“I don’t?—”

“And bachelor number two,” she continues on, plowing past my meager objection. “He always had a thing for you. First loves don’t just disappear.”

“He didn’t love me,” I wrinkle my nose. “Now you’re just saying things.”

Her eyes widen as she looks at me. “You’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about that?”

Laila’s perfect brows draw together as she considers.

The little girl deep inside me that collected fairytales like baseball cards reminds me either route could end in an incredible love story. Invisible strings tying us together through space and time despite bad timing and missed chances .

But that was then. Now paints a very different picture.

Patch and I haven’t written in years. Even though I still talk to Gaby, I haven’t seen Luke since I left. Going home means addressing both elephants in the room. I ran away from Patch and left Luke a hastily written note.

Sure. It’s possible I imagined the whole thing between us. But what if I didn’t? And what if he’s moved on?

“He’s probably forgotten about me.”

“Ella. First, you’re hardly forgettable,” Laila replies, bumping her hip against mine once again. “Second. You owe it to yourself to explore those feelings you’ve kept bottled up inside this whole time.”

I don’t tell her I wasn’t specifically referring to one of them. There’s a sudden urge in me that has me latching onto her words. Missed chances are a thing. I’ve seen reconnection stories over and over; people who harbored quiet feelings for each other until they stumbled onto each other again.

They’re usually elopements or hastily planned weddings because they don’t want to waste another minute apart.

Could that be my happily ever after?

Murmurs from the crowd catch my attention and my gaze follows their pointed fingers to the starlit sky in time to see a shooting star.

I can almost feel the eagerness pumping off Laila. “Make a wish, Ella.”

It’s the surge of emotion that always follows a wedding, I think. Mixed with memories and the relief of freedom. But I close my eyes, and I do.

I wish my dreams could become real.

Even the ones no one else knows about.

Sane people are sleeping right now. I can think of several places I’d rather be, starting with my bed, wrapped in my oversized comforter like a burrito.

But instead, called to Charlotte’s office is a bit like being summoned by the principal.

Logically, I know it’s not about tonight’s wedding. The mother of the bride raved about everything and stuffed a couple of hundred-dollar bills into my hand at the end of the evening as her husband quietly grinned and escorted her out of the reception and to the valet.

I doubt Charlotte is inviting me to a family dinner, or sending me off in style since I’ve fulfilled the terms of our contract. It’s also doubtful that she’s asking for ideas on how to cozy up her office space. Much like her, it’s cold and detached; there are sleek lines, a neutral palette and few personal touches. If it were my office, it would burst with color. Warm, worn leather seating, brightly colored rugs, and favorite images from client weddings splashed across the walls.

She stands by the windows; the view cloaked by velvety darkness. It gives ominous undertones, making my nerves dance. During the day, there’s a spread of aspens dotted with pine trees. This time of year, they’re right on the verge of shifting into a variety of golden colors to create a Rocky Mountain masterpiece. It’s incredible.

Without waiting for an invitation, I scoot into a chair on the opposite side of her desk and bite back a groan at the relief my feet feel. It’s short-lived though, because she turns to me and shoves a paper across her desk.

With a heavy sigh, she tucks raven black hair behind an ear, a stark contrast to my sunny blonde.

“You need to sign this.”

I blink twice. “What is it?”

“It’s an NDA and I can’t say anything further until you sign it.” She motions at it with a hand and waits impatiently as I stare at the paper.

Maybe I should’ve had that last espresso at the coffee bar after all. My exhaustion has caught up with me, because it looks like Charlotte is conducting a professional meeting in the wee hours of the morning.

I just finished my last wedding. So I’m the last person who should sit in this chair.

I’m a little curious, but only because we rarely have clients so huge that NDAs are involved. Whoever this is for is the biggest of deals.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

My contract with you is done.

Patiently, I wait for Charlotte to read between the lines. Just as patiently, she inspects her nails.

“Signing this just means I can’t talk about whatever this is with anyone else. Correct?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a commitment. Read it front to back. I don’t care.”

I skim the paper before I scrawl my name across the line, then fold my hands in my lap so she can’t see the nervous shaking.

“Holly Everheart and Cade Montgomery are getting married in a couple of weeks. This was a last-minute decision, and they’re wanting the utmost privacy, so word won’t get out until afterward.”

“Holly and Cade?” I repeat slowly.

If I’m being honest, it’s taking an obscene amount of control to not scream like my favorite boy band just walked into the room. But I doubt Charlotte would appreciate the enthusiasm. Or that I literally just received a badge on Spotify for being one of Holly’s top listeners.

Holy is the biggest music star in the world right now and this would skyrocket our business the minute word gets out we were involved.

Nope. Not our business. Charlotte’s.

So why am I here at an irrationally early hour—or late, depending on how you look at it? Is she wanting to gloat?

“Yes. Holly and Cade.” Charlotte sets her jaw.

My spidey senses are tingling. There’s something amiss here. Charlotte knows I like Holly Everheart, even if she doesn’t know how much.

“Why am I here?”

“You have a choice to make, Ella.” She leans back in her chair, looking like a queen on a throne. “You’ve served your time here. And you’ve done well.”

Did Charlotte just… compliment me? My senses are fully on alert at this point.

“Thank you.” I swallow. “What choice?”

“You’re free to go and do whatever you please. Or you can work on this wedding.”

There’s a catch. I know there’s a catch as surely as I know it’s late September and the sky is blue. But since I’m here and not in my bed, I want to know what it is.

“And?”

“And what?” She glances at her nails again.

“Charlotte. I know it’s not that simple.”

A cheshire smile spreads across her face, sending a skitter of chills across my skin.

“I’ve trained you well, Ella. Of course, it’s not that simple. You can choose to go wherever you’d like and find a new career. But you won’t have a home to go back to.”

My brain feels like cobwebs stretch across it. No home to go back to… here?

“Or…” She leans forward in her seat, her back still ramrod st raight. “You can work this wedding and the farm is still yours.”

My mouth goes dry. “My parents’ farm?”

“Yes. That silly little thing.”

It’s hardly little . My home sits on over one hundred acres in Enchanted Hollow.

“You promised it would be mine as soon as finished my contract with you.” I whisper. “My contract is done.” Sitting is no longer an option, so I shove to my feet.

“Don’t get dramatic.” She sighs. “It’s business. Maybe a little personal.” The cackle that escapes her sends a shiver down my spine. “Take the wedding. Get your farm. It seems like a winning combination to me.”

My feet have a mind of their own as I pace the floor. Suddenly, this place feels like a prison. I should’ve expected that she’d yank the rug out from under me at the last minute, but I assumed after a decade she’d have moved past that.

How silly of me.

“It’s that simple.” I stop and glare at her, my hands gripping the back of the chair I was sitting in. “I execute the wedding and we’re done . The farm is truly mine?”

“If you pull it off. Yes.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It’s a celebrity wedding, Ella. I supposed I should mention the rest before you decide.”

“There’s more?”

Silence permeates the air as I wait for her to continue. She sits behind her desk, and her practically chiseled expression falters—just a smidge. I only notice because I’ve learned to pay attention to all the details. Even the ones you think don’t matter.

“They’re getting married in Enchanted Hollow.”

The silence between us is deafening .

Charlotte doesn’t talk about home. My home. Ever. Her only mention happened moments ago when she mentioned my farm.

I want to be brave right now, and ask what this means exactly. But the words won’t come. There are too many emotions bubbling up inside me, rushing to the surface like the carbonation in a shaken up soda bottle.

I manage one word: “When?”

“In a couple of weeks.”

We both know that fall is when Enchanted Hollow really likes to show off. The magic there makes it as beautiful as Colorado can look, with brilliant leaves and cool weather—a literal enigma in the middle of Texas.

We also both know I won’t say no. I can’t. Not with her holding my parents’ farm in front of me, again , like a carrot. I didn’t give up the last decade of my life to lose it now.

“Do you think you can handle it? This would be your last official wedding for Gilded Vows so I need to know if you’re not up for it. I can’t have something like this smearing my track record.”

Stop downplaying your talents, Ella.

The words whisper along my skin, and they come so far out of left field I think I’m half-hallucinating when she says the next part.

“Holly and Cade want their wedding on that farm you always loved so much. It will require working with the family heavily to pull it off.”

I blink out of my haze, sure that I heard her wrong. “I’m sorry, did you say that farm? As in Ever After Farms?”

My feelings wrestle each other like Luke and Dean always used to do when they couldn’t come to an agreement. Forget rock paper scissors.

Luke has already been hovering in my subconscious since earlier in the evening, memories with him in a pumpkin patch projection size on display in my brain. There’s no looking away.

This makes it so much worse.

“Yes.”

“The farm?” My voice squeaks a little as I frantically flip through the folder she slid across the desk at some point. “I assumed they’d want to get married somewhere else in town. There’s the cute little bridge, or by the lake, maybe?”

There are already tabs and notes on the printouts inside. It’s an impressive amount of information for such short notice, but it’s doing nothing to quell my fluttering heart rate.

Charlotte lifts a hand to stop me, and I freeze like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze.

“They want the farm. So they’ll have the farm. She’s on a break from her tour and he’ll soon have a break in his schedule — a very brief one. They apparently can’t wait anymore.” She sneers as she continues. “Young love and all that. You need to make contact with someone on the farm by tomorrow.”

The effort it takes to continue to keep my face even a little neutral is exhausting at this point. I haven’t seen Luke in years; not since that night. As clever as Charlotte thinks she’s being, she would have none of this if she knew. There are rules for working with her and if I agree to this—when I agree to this—Luke and I will more or less be co-workers.

Which means no funny business.

But everything concerning Luke is complicated.

Charlotte was so absent as my step-mother that she didn’t care where I was half the time, so long as all my chores were done.

She was clueless that Luke became a quiet confidant in the years after my father died. The only thing that ever came of it was the night we left. Before that, sometimes, we simply existed with each other. He knew I needed to feel less alone. On the farm, at the lake, walking through town. He understood my need for quiet, when everyone else thought I needed more.

More people surrounding me, more noise, more distractions.

I always thought that if he ever stopped seeing me as Gaby’s best friend, we’d have more to get to know each other. Beyond the things you pick up from growing up around each other, anyway.

My knowledge about him in the years since extend to what Gaby shares during catch-up sessions, and now it’s not enough. The need to know who he is now is like waiting for rain during a Texas drought.

Who he really is, when it’s just us.

Charlotte robbed us of that time, and she’s got no clue that she’s handing me another chance. It’s surrounded by barbed wire that might be dipped in poison, but it’s still there.

This, of course, will lead to a long overdue conversation at some point. Gaby may be my best friend, and we tell each other almost everything. But they don’t make cards that say ‘hey, I have feelings for your brother’.

They should, if real life pair ups happen anywhere near as frequently as they do in the books we still read and have video chat meetings about. It’s a whole lost market.

Maybe I can make her a card, complete with glitter and sequins and a gift card to Once Upon a Brew. Luke is single now, and while that fact alone means nothing—Enchanted Hollow has a mind of its own.

And chemistry doesn’t just—snap—disappear.

He’s not even here, and he’s still a bad influence.

“Where do I sign?” I ask.

“This wedding cannot have any problems, Ella. It has to go off without a hitch. You understand that?”

Oh, I understand.

“No hitches.” I shake my head.

As I sign my name across the sheet of paper, I can’t help but think about the fact that Mrs. Jackson once told us that nothing good happens after two a.m.

It’s too late to heed that warning now.