Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

brIAR

T he young woman with Miss Lillian gave me a sour look as I walked into the studio, and I lifted my chin and stared right back at her. I looked fabulous, and I knew it. I was rocking my crepe powder blue pants and matching asymmetrical ruffled jacket, courtesy of my latest visit to Saks at Stony Point. I made sure to lift my hand to fix my hair, knowing the light would glint beautifully off my diamond tennis bracelet, as I strode toward the counter, my kitten heels clicking on the polished hardwood floors.

"Good morning, Miss Lillian," I said.

"Oh, Briar!" Miss Lillian had to be at least a century old, always wore bright pink lipstick, and looked as delicate and fragile as some of the orchids she kept in cold storage out the back. She was always so delighted to see me. "You look absolutely ravishing, sugar."

"Well, so do you!" I exclaimed, and leaned across the counter so we could air kiss.

I always felt at least eighty percent more femme after stepping into Miss Lillian's studio, and that was coming from a guy who was wearing silk panties right now.

The young woman looked impossibly more sour, and she murmured something under her breath as she stuffed her pocketbook and her planner back into her oversized purse.

"I'll let you know what my daddy says about the order," she said and left, flinging her hair over her shoulder.

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh my."

"A complete bridezilla," Miss Lillian confirmed, and then laughed. "I've over quoted her five thousand dollars, so that if she does come back, I'll at least be able to afford a nice bottle of Salon Le Mesnil Blanc de Blancs to soothe my nerves."

"I don't know what that is," I said, "but I guess you don't make mimosas with it."

Miss Lillian laughed again, and patted me on the back of my hand. "Oh, honey, you most surely do not!"

All the diamond tennis bracelets in the world—and I only had one—didn't mean I ran in Miss Lillian's circles. Her "little flower shop" as she called it, was a million dollar business. And, if it ever failed, her family had money. Oil money. Miss Lillian was a sweetheart too, and a Richmond institution, and if you wanted only the best floral arrangements, you came to her studio, and you drank sweet tea with her, and then, when she told you the cost, you decided which organs to sell on the black market.

And then you paid what she asked.

After all, was it really a Richmond society wedding without flowers by Miss Lillian? (Spoiler. It wasn't.)

"What can I do for you today, honey?" Miss Lillian asked.

I pulled out my iPad from my leather satchel and tapped the screen, bringing up my to-do list. "I just came by to check on the order for next Saturday and confirm that pickup time has been moved up to the morning."

Miss Lillian gave me a wry smile and opened a huge, old-fashioned planner. She claimed that technology was all well and good, but she refused to give up her pen and ink. She tapped a pale pink nail against the page where she'd written the new collection time in an elegant, looping script. "I have it right here. You watched me write it in." She closed the heavy book with a thud and arched an eyebrow at me. "Now tell me the truth. Are you nervous, sweetcheeks?"

I laughed. It was more wavering and high-pitched than I wanted. Of course she'd seen right through me. She always did. "I'm worried about the compotes."

Miss Lillian stared at me over the rims of her glasses. "Briar, honey, I told you that vases are out, and taller-footed compotes are in."

Nerves bit at me. "I know. I know they are."

Miss Lillian leaned over the counter and patted me on the wrist. "You have a great eye, Briar. Trust it."

I took a shaky breath. "It's just that this is a big deal for me. Everything has to be perfect."

Miss Lillian raised her eyebrows, and I wondered if I was in for one of her famous tongue-lashings. All unfailingly polite, of course. Like those ridiculous old movies Casey watched where the hero swished his sword around in the air, and the villain was still standing there, laughing, thinking he hadn't been touched, and then a second later all his limbs fell off. Miss Lillian was so sharp you wouldn't even know you were cut until you were already dead.

It was one of the reasons I adored her.

But instead of reducing me into a neat pile of sliced lunchmeat, her expression softened, and she said, "Do you want to look at the portfolios again?"

"Yes," I said, relief welling up in me. "Yes, please."

We both knew it was too late in the game to change anything, but at least looking through the arrangements would reassure me that I hadn't suffered some horrendous lapse in judgment the next time I woke up at 3am second-guessing all my choices.

I was perched on one of Miss Lillian's Queen Anne wing chairs, three quarters of the way through the Blue Portfolio—I'd already gone through the Cream Portfolio—when Miss Lillian, carrying our empty glasses away, said, "Oh, I think your young man is here."

The door to the studio opened, and Casey stepped inside.

"Good morning, Miss Lillian," he said, perfectly polite and respectful, and then his expression split with that same wide, easy grin that took me straight back to Lassiter, and flag football, and beer pong, and every second word out of his mouth being bro . "Hey, babe. You ready to go to lunch?"

"Casey, I have so much?—"

"He's ready, hon," Miss Lillian said. "Take this boy and feed him and tell him it's going to be fine, I'm begging you. He's wrinkling the pages of that book, he's so wound up."

I glanced down and was horrified to find that yes, I was folding the corner of the page back and forth into a dogear. I gasped at my own sacrilege, and tried to press it back down.

Miss Lillian reached out and gently took the portfolio from me. "Now that you've looked, is there anything you want to change before the big day, or are you just a nervous nelly?"

"No. Yes. No. I don't know."

"He's a nervous nelly and your arrangements are perfect, Miss Lillian," Casey said, dropping a hand to my shoulder. I leaned into the touch.

"Then you leave the flowers to me, and you go and have something to eat with your young man, Briar. He looks like he's had a day of it."

I glanced up at Casey, taking in his crooked tie and unbuttoned top collar button, and immediately felt ashamed. I hadn't even thought to ask how his morning in court had gone. I opened my mouth to ask, and he snorted.

"They got another postponement." He shook his head. "David's all pumped up to work late next week, which is dumb, because we're already prepped, but he's chasing that partnership, and dragging the rest of us along with him." The corner of his mouth quirked. "And don't worry. I made sure he knows I have vacation time."

I closed my mouth and pretended I hadn't been about to ask.

"Come on," Casey said, and held his hand down to help me stand. "Let's get lunch. We could both use some."

"Can we make a stop on the way? I need to check on the?—"

"Nope." Casey threw me a sideways look as we headed down Broad Street. "Briar, the flowers are perfect. The seating plan is perfect. The caterers are perfect. The music is perfect. It's all perfect, and you haven't forgotten anything, and nothing bar a natural disaster is going to wreck anything, and—Jesus, you're checking your weather app, aren't you?"

"There's a low pressure system building in the Gulf of Mexico," I said. "Is it too late to change the venue? I knew that outdoor photographs were a bad idea. Oh my god, this is going to be a disaster!" My thumbs flew over the screen as I pulled up a list of rental places. "What if I arrange some marquees as a backup?"

"Briar. It's at a hotel . If there's an actual hurricane, which there won't be, there's a whole ass big building to have the photos in."

And sure, Casey wasn't trying to be condescending, but the way he spoke, like I was worrying over nothing, was the last straw.

"It won't be perfect!" I burst out. All the tension and uncertainty, the pressure of months and weeks spent nailing down every single detail of the wedding spilled out of me. "I know you think I'm ridiculous, but this is the most important day of my life!"

Casey shot me a look that could have stripped paint, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and a heavy silence fell between us as I replayed what I'd said in my head.

I'd always had a tendency to snap when I was stressed, but I could sense that this time I'd crossed a line. Because this wedding wasn't just about me, but here I was, making it into the Briar show. But Casey knew me well enough that he'd understand, right?

Neither of us spoke as he took the next off-ramp and parked the car.

I almost cracked a smile when I saw we'd pulled into the parking lot of a Sheetz, but then I took another look at Casey's expression and smiling was the furthest thing from my mind.

He didn't look pissed. He looked worried .

"Stop. Stressing. Out," he said.

"Magic," I said, deadpan. "I'm cured."

Okay, so now he looked pissed. "The most important day of your life?"

Yeah, when he said it back like that it sounded bad. And the smart thing to do would have been to apologize. But I'd always been more stubborn than smart.

He stared at me, and I stared back at him, and finally he caved first. He opened the car door. "I'm getting lunch."

He climbed out and waited, but I didn't move except to fold my arms over my chest, so he slammed the car door shut and went inside Sheetz. I wondered if he was going to get me anything or not. Then I wondered if he was going to get me something, and throw it in my face.

But no, Casey had never been petty and dramatic. That was all me.

Guilt crept up on me as the minutes passed, and I fiddled with my tennis bracelet.

I'd bought it with the first paycheck from my new business, after agonizing about whether or not I could truly afford it when we'd just moved into a new apartment and the increase in rent had felt pretty brutal in those first few months.

"It's pretty," was all Casey had said. "Like you. You should get it."

And then we'd gone home and had ramen .

We were doing a lot better now. Casey's wages were still mostly swallowed up by his student loans, but me? I was doing well. It had been a long time since we'd eaten ramen. Casey could have been the sensible one that time with the tennis bracelet. He could have nudged me into seeing that it wasn't the smartest idea to buy it. He could have pointed out that we could have used that money as a safety net instead. But he hadn't. He'd wanted me to have something that made me happy, something to celebrate my first paycheck, something that had no purpose except to be pretty and to make me smile.

The guilt wormed deeper as I sat in the car waiting for him, and when the doors to Sheetz rolled open and Casey stepped outside, I leapt out of the car to meet him halfway across the cracked parking lot.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm hungry and cranky and an asshole. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

His forehead crinkled, and he looked young and unsure of himself. "Are you sure? Because I kind of thought the most important day of your life would be when we got married. It'll be the most important day of mine."

Oh, fuck him six times over for being right.

"God, yes," I said. "Of course . I was just—this is a huge deal for me, the biggest, but I shouldn't have said it like that."

He clutched the Sheetz bag to his chest, and looked back at me.

"Did you—" I wrinkled my nose. "Did you get me a quesarito?"

"Obviously, babe. I know when you're hungry cranky. Have something to eat and we'll both feel better." He gave me one of his lopsided smiles and pulled a cellophane wrapped package out of his jacket pocket. "I got those cinnamon sugared nuts you like."

He really was the best, and I didn't tell him nearly enough.

We leaned against the hood of the car and ate our lunch. Fast food and gas stations. These days we were more likely to eat in places that had cloth napkins and waiters, but I guessed a part of me had never outgrown this. Cheap food, the smell of gasoline, and Casey beside me. It reminded me of every weekend road trip we'd made back when we were at Lassiter, and then afterward when Casey was at law school. We'd thought we were so grown up back then. Now, it felt like we were just those same kids still, only we were leaning against a much nicer car.

Some things hadn't changed, though. I was still stupid in love with him.

The quesarito worked its cheesy magic. "I'm really sorry I've been so snippy lately."

"Oh, have you? I hadn't noticed," Casey said. One thing that had changed over the years was that now, he called me out on my bullshit. That didn't mean I took it with any grace, of course.

I knocked my shoulder against his. "Shut up."

He grinned at me, and I knew I was forgiven.

"If you and me—" I stopped and started again. "When we get married, of course it's going to be the most important day of my life."

"When we get married," Casey said, "you're not being our planner."

"What? I have all the connections!"

"You are not being our planner," he repeated.

"Casey, it's literally my job!"

"Yeah? And there's a reason they recommend that lawyers don't represent themselves," Casey said. "You know why?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because we'd be assholes about it," he said. "Total assholes."

"Oh," I said, and imagined myself planning my own wedding. A part of me was sure that I was the perfect candidate. And then I thought of the bridezillas I'd dealt with, and imagined what my reaction might be if the wrong flowers came, or the napkins were ivory instead of cream, or if the photographer was late. "Okay, yeah. We'll hire someone else."

"Who would you hire?" Casey asked me.

"What? I don't know. Maybe Caroline."

"Huh." He shoved his half finished burger at me. "Hold this."

I took it.

It was followed by his milkshake.

"Do I know Caroline?" he asked as he dug around in the inside pocket of his suit jacket for something, probably leaving sauce stains all over the lining.

"I don't think so. Why would you?—"

And suddenly there was a small black velvet box shoved in my face, and Casey said, "You should probably call her some time soon."

My brain shorted out. I looked at him, and the still unopened box, and then at him again.

"Whoops," he said, and opened the box. A gold band with diamonds blinked in the sunlight.

"Is this what I think it is?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Aren't you supposed to be on one knee?" I looked down at the state of the parking lot. There was a mysterious oily puddle right there. "Maybe not."

"I was going to take you to lunch," Casey said. "A proper lunch, not Sheetz. But then, when I pulled in here, all I could think of was how you always made me stop at a Sheetz whenever we were going to DC, and how I could make you smile just by getting you a quesarito, and, Briar, you didn't smile for anything back then. And you were so prickly and trying so hard to pretend that you didn't need anything from anyone, but you always let me buy you a quesarito without stabbing me, so I figured you and me, we were meant to be together."

"Because of a quesarito?"

He shrugged. "It was symbolic, or something. "

I laughed, my eyes stinging. "This is the worst proposal ever."

He showed me that easy grin. "Right?"

"I mean, you haven't even asked me yet."

"Oh, shit." It was his turn to laugh, and I loved that. I loved that this was a total mess, and neither of us cared because we both knew exactly what my answer was going to be. There was never any question about it. But it still somehow took my breath away when Casey cleared his throat and said, "Briar Sutton, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I said around the sudden lump in my throat. "Of course I will. Duh."

Casey beamed at me, fumbling to get the ring out of the box and then holding his hand out for mine. I looked at the ring, and at the burger and milkshake I was holding.

"I did not think this through," Casey said with a wet laugh.

"If either of us ever thought things through, we never would have got together." I set the burger carefully down on the hood of the car, transferred the milkshake to my right hand, and held out my left so that he could slide the ring down my finger.

It was a perfect fit, that sneaky asshole.

"I love it," I said, holding my hand up so I could admire the ring better. The diamonds sparkled in the sunlight, a match for the stones in my tennis bracelet. "And I love you."

"I love you too, babe," Casey said.

And then I set down the milkshake, took the ring off, put it back in the box, and snapped the lid shut.

Casey's jaw dropped. "Babe, what are you doing?"

"Well obviously we can't tell anyone about this until after the wedding."

"Seriously?"

"Casey, I will not spoil our friends' big day by upstaging them with our engagement. Quite apart from the fact this job could make or break my reputation, it would be a dick move, and I try not to make those anymore." I leaned in and kissed his cheek to soften the blow. "But I love you, and as soon as this wedding is done, I'll be shouting about our engagement from the rooftops and flashing this beautiful ring everywhere. People will unfollow my insta, they'll be so sick of me. I will be so obnoxious, baby."

He laughed. "You always are."

"Excuse you!" I was pretending to be offended. I couldn't pull it off though. I was smiling too much. "If Caroline is planning our wedding, I can still plan the engagement party, right?"

Casey was smiling brightly enough to light up the entire parking lot when he said. "Sure. You know I just want to make you happy."

"Getting to marry you is what makes me happy," I said, draping my arms around his neck, "but planning an offensively lavish engagement party is also right up there."

Casey laughed and tucked the ring box back in his pocket, and we kissed, and then we finished our lunch.

And between the food and the kisses and the sappy looks Casey kept giving me, I felt better than I had in weeks. Suddenly, the upcoming wedding I'd been freaking out over didn't seem so important anymore.

Not when I had my own to look forward to.