“I would really lose my head if it wasn’t for you, Charlotte,” Ursula said, erupting into giggles. “Pardon me. My mother’s just given me a huge glass of champagne. How am I meant to...?”
With that, Ursula hung up the phone. Apparently, she had lost interest.
Charlotte exhaled, pushing air into her cheeks. She dropped her phone against the little wardrobe beside her and furrowed her brow at the stranger.
“Are you a spy sent over from Ursula’s team?” she asked.
He laughed. Gosh, his laugh was deep and delicious, really, when compared to Ursula’s voice.
“Yes. Ursula Pennington herself sent me all the way to this overly quaint Thanksgiving dinner, just to torment you over pie,” the man said with a grin.
“I knew it,” Charlotte offered. She tilted her head against the doorframe. Although she had only had a half-glass of wine, her brain felt all foggy. “I should have known she wouldn’t let me get away with ruining her wedding. I had it all plotted out.”
What was she doing, joking about something she cared so deeply about?
“Oh yeah? Tell me more,” the man said.
“Well, first, there’s the threat of the apocalypse,” Charlotte said. “I thought that would go really well with the pre-wedding drinks.”
“It’s nice to put the fear of God in everyone just as the first cocktails are poured,” the man agreed.
“And then, as Ursula walks down the aisle, I thought it would be pretty cool to have a meteorite strike through the roof of the mansion and crash into the altar. Nobody’s hurt, of course—”
“Again, just reminded that they’re not safe. Not even on Martha’s Vineyard,” the man continued.
“But the worst of it is that some of the crab cakes at the reception will give you food poisoning, and some of them won’t,” Charlotte said, bubbling over with laughter, now. “So it’s kind of like playing Russian Roulette, you know? If you want to eat a crab cake...”
“Then you had better be ready for the consequences,” the man said.
It had been years since Charlotte had bantered with a stranger like this. They held one another’s gaze for a moment longer, until the man turned toward the kitchen counter, grabbed one of Christine’s croissants, and passed it toward her—like a peace offering.
“I’m sorry for spying on you,” he said. “I promise, I won’t reveal any of your secrets.”
Charlotte laughed and spun back toward the bed. She sat on the edge and swung her feet out in front of her, like a much younger girl.
“Actually, it’s this snow. It’s what she wanted, you know? But now, the string quintet I hired is having a difficult time getting here, and Ursula is ready to blame me for all of it. I’m like—I don’t have control over the weather! No matter how many weddings I’ve planned, or how many post-it notes I’ve stuck to my office door, I can’t demand that God make it snow, but only a specific amount,” she said. She then took an overly-large bite of her croissant and studied her toes. One of her socks had a massive hole near the big toe. She hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t like her not to notice something like that.
“I’m going nuts,” she muttered.
The man remained in the doorway, looking at her with that same half-smile.
“You should really give yourself a few hours off,” he said suddenly. “Your whole family is out there waiting for you.”
“Ha. I don’t think any of you understand all the work I still have to do,” Charlotte said. “I don’t mean it in a negative way. Just that... if I don’t stay on top of myself, Ursula herself will bury me six feet under.”
“Think of that headline,” the man said. “World-famous actress murders wedding planner on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“It would give the wedding a lot of press, for sure,” Charlotte said. “Maybe I should schedule it in for after the wedding, before the photography session.”
The man seemed to think every single thing she said was gold. After his laughter calmed down, he said, “If wedding planning doesn’t go through, maybe you should think about comedy.”
“Great. So I can look like a fool in front of even more people?”
“Something like that.” He cleared his throat, and then added, “I’ve photographed tons of weddings like this. Big, multi-million dollar, everything-on-the-line weddings, and, even though it always looks like everything is about to crumble just before, I have to assure you: everything always clicks into place. Sometimes, it happens at the last minute. Sometimes, the wedding planner really does end up on the floor in pain. But you seem more organized than those fainting wedding planners.”
“Ha. Well, I have already bragged about my post-it notes,” Charlotte said. She gripped the stem of her wine glass and sipped it delicately. “You must be the photographer. The one working for Wedding Today.”
“My reputation precedes me,” the man said.
“But not your name. What is it?”
“Everett,” the entirely too-handsome man called Everett said.
“Charlotte.”
They shared another secret smile. From the other room, Charlotte’s father, Trevor, burst into applause and commanded one of the basketball players too, “Get the ball!”
“I never really got sports,” Charlotte said to Everett. “But that’s my dad out there, howling at them like the players can hear him.”
“I was always a little too arty for all that,” Everett confessed.
Charlotte dropped her head back and sipped the rest of her wine. By the time she opened her eyes again, Everett was there before her with a full bottle of merlot. He poured her a second glass and then filled his own. As there wasn’t anywhere else to sit in the bedroom, and the living room and kitchen were blurry with activity, Everett sat at the edge of the bed, next to her. Although he was more than six inches away, the heat of his body emanated across her arm.
“You work for Wedding Today,” Charlotte breathed.
“They just interviewed you,” Everett said.
“True. Very true. And in
