Chapter 23
Gavin
“Yes, but we have the welcome dinner tonight. Then there’s the bridal shower, skiing, and the cocktail party.
Plus, there are bachelor and bachelorette events throughout the week,” she says, sliding her glasses up the thin bridge of her perfect nose as she scrolls through her phone. “Did you call the barbecue guys?”
“Yes, Brett and Madeline will be there this weekend,” I answer as I switch lanes.
“Not this weekend,” she blurts out. “They need to be there Friday!”
“Friday is part of the weekend,” I say, but Charlotte is just shaking her head. “Hey,” I say, reaching out to touch her knee. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Says the man who insisted on going to the gym this morning when we should have already been halfway to Idaho Springs,” she says.
“Listen, I never skip leg day. Not even for my son. Who, by the way, still hasn’t left yet. So we have plenty of time,” I insist.
“Of course they haven’t left yet,” she says exhaustedly. “They’re the bride and groom. They’re not supposed to worry about anything. It’s all supposed to be taken care of by the time they get there. By us. Which is why we need to step on it.”
“Are you like this before every wedding?” I ask, keeping a two-car length between me and the SUV in front of us like I always do.
“Like what?” she asks, pulling out her laptop.
“Frantic,” I say.
“I am not frantic. I am at the perfect level of concern. You forget that this is a paycheck for me, one that I really kind of need right now,” she says.
“And you forget that I am paying you a flat rate that is not dependent on whether things are perfect or not. Even if Brett burns the barbecue and the cake ends up being a two-tiered jalapeno and goat cheese flavored mess, or even if Josie drops her camera off the ski lift, you get paid.” I reassure her, but when I look over at Charlotte, she looks mortified.
“Don’t say things like that!” she wails, but I just snigger.
“Why? I didn’t say any of those things are going to happen.”
“No, but just putting it out into the universe is bad juju.”
I chuckle. “Since when do you believe in juju?”
“Listen. I’ve been in the wedding and event planning industry long enough to know there are some things that happen that cannot be explained. But that doesn’t make them any less real,” she tells me.
“You mean like chemistry?” I ask before biting back a smile.
“Just drive and step on it. I wanted to get there before noon,” she says.
“Stepping on it,” I say, switching lanes again.
Half an hour later, I can no longer step on it because we are at a literal standstill.
“Who knew it would be like this leaving the city on a Sunday?” I ask as we sit in a line of no less than three hundred cars, all stopped at the base of the mountains.
“I did. I knew. And I told you,” she says.
“Seriously, most people are coming back from the mountains at the end of the weekend,” I say.
“Your statistics don’t really matter right now,” she mumbles.
I know this is stressing her out really bad, and I don’t want to add to her mood.
I don’t think I can handle being stuck in my truck for the foreseeable future with someone who reminds me every thirty seconds that we are going to be late.
“Let’s listen to music,” I say, grabbing my phone. “What do you like?”
“I doubt we have the same taste in music,” she mumbles, staring hopelessly out the window.
“Try me,” I say, opening Spotify and handing her my phone.
She rolls her head on the headrest to look down at my hand and slowly takes the phone from me.
“No Bob Dylan,” she mutters.
“Fair enough. He’s not everyone’s jam. I mostly like him because he reminds me of Ben. Ben loves Bob Dylan,” I say.
“Oh, trust me, I know,” she says.
“Really? How did you know?” I ask, and her doomscrolling through my playlists comes to an abrupt halt.
“I…Holly mentioned it,” she says.
“He is a superfan for sure. See anything you like?” I ask.
“I mean, your playlists don’t really surprise me,” she says.
“How so?” I ask.
She clicks on the screen, and 1971 by The Smashing Pumpkins plays. Charlotte looks in my direction.
“What’s wrong with this?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says coyly.
“Damn right, nothing. This is a classic,” I say, turning it up.
“It just shows your age, that’s all,” she says, and I turn it back down.
“Shows my age?” I echo, and she bites back a smirk.
“Yes. And so does the phrase, it’s a classic,” she adds. I just stare at her, and she giggles before she goes back to scrolling.
“Well, let me ask you this: what other songs on there show my age?”
“Hmm,” she says, repositioning herself on the seat. She kicks her Uggs off and sits in the seat cross-legged. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, here’s one,” she says giddily. Then she plays One Week by The Bare Naked Ladies.
“Come on, this song is great!” I argue.
“My birthday is almost the same as when that song came out,” she says, and I grimace.
“You don’t have to put it like that,” I say, and she laughs.
“Oh, here’s a good one!” she says, switching the song to Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett and the Black Hearts.
“Now you can’t diss Joan. She’s my girl,” I tell her.
“I’m not,” Charlotte insists. “I really do love Joan Jett!”
“Really? Alright!” I nod, and as the song amps up, she sings along, dancing around in her seat. I’ve never seen her like this. She pulls her hair out of her ponytail and bangs her head to the music. I am both shocked and very turned on.
“What?” she asks over the music. “I thought you said you liked this song.”
“I do, I just…who are you and what have you done with Charlotte the Wedding Planner?” I ask.
“She’s stuck in the mountains trying not to think about how late she’s going to be to the wedding she’s fully in charge of,” she says, and the song ends.
“Okay, my turn,” she says, typing on my phone.
“Finally. Now I can make fun of your music, and you can see how it feels. Let me guess, you’re a Swiftie,” I say, and she snorts.
“Not so much,” she says. She smirks at me as a song pours through the speakers.
“Is this the Cars?” I ask.
Charlotte answers by singing along to Let the Good Times Roll.
“Alright, alright,” I nod, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
“My mom and I used to drive around town in the summers listening to these guys. Paula Abdul and Prince were always on when we went shopping. This was in Grand Junction, where I grew up. We’d go to K-Mart and the mall and get Chinese for lunch because my dad didn’t like Chinese so we never had it for dinner.
I’d get a blue Icee, and she’d get a giant Diet Dr. Pepper. It was the best!”
“I love that,” I say.
“Yeah, I was an only child, so I got spoiled a lot in that way,” she says with a drifting smile, like she’s back in that car with her mom.
I wait a second before going on. “I have a question. It’s about the other day at the bridal shop.”
“Okay,” she says.
“Why were you so upset about the dress?”
“Because it was perfect,” she says.
“Perfect for her or for you?” I ask.
Charlotte chews her lip.
“For me,” she says pensively. I turn the music down as it switches to Al Green. “I don’t know. It’s silly.”
“How did you get into the wedding planning industry?” I ask.
“I love weddings,” she says. “And planning. I love working with people and listening to their dreams, and making them come to life for them. I love pulling all the details together for this big reveal. When the bride walks down the aisle, I love watching the groom’s face.
Then the reception with the first dance and the cake and the music, and sparklers.
It’s just the best, you know? It must be the most wonderful thing. ”
“So I take it you’ve never been married before?” I ask.
“No,” she shakes her head. “I’ve only been in two relationships. One when I was in high school, and another one that ended not too long ago.”
“What happened with that one?” I ask. She shifts in her seat, her eyes distant.
“I wasn’t what he wanted,” she says after a moment.
“That means he wasn’t what you needed,” I say, and she swallows. She blinks a few times and clears her throat. She looks over at me, leaving that conversation behind.
“What about you? I know you were married and…” she trails off as people always do. No one wants to finish that sentence. But it’s been long enough that even though it still stings, it’s not a fully open wound.
“Allie died about seventeen years ago, when the kids were in middle school,” I tell her.
“Gosh, I can’t even imagine,” Charlotte says softly.
“You know, some days neither can I. Some mornings I wake up and I expect her to be lying there, her hair splayed out like a paintbrush over her pillow. The soft hum of her snores.”
“She snored?” Charlotte smiles.
“She snored,” I smile back. “She had a lot of quirks, and I loved every one of them.”
It’s quiet for a respectful moment before Charlotte clicks her tongue. “So how did you get into the ski resort business?” she asks, and I take a deep breath. “You know, I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.”
“Connection?” I ask, throwing the truck in park because we are literally going nowhere.
“Your business card at the hotel that night. It literally said Snowcap Summit. Proprietor. I guess my head was just a little flighty that day,” she says.
“In your defense, you did just have a life-altering night with me…” I say. She rolls her eyes and playfully smacks my arm. I laugh and she blushes. I don’t care if we ever make it to the resort. I am perfectly content sitting here in traffic, telling our life stories while Al Green serenades us.
“So my family had a lot of money. Like…a lot of money. I don’t have any cousins; both of my parents were only children.
So my parents split the money between my brother Elias and me.
Then we pooled it back together and invested in the resort.
I love business management and hospitality.
Allie loved skiing and Elias loves beer, hence the brewery.
We have other people managing a lot of it now, but it’s a dream that has really taken off. I can’t imagine anything better.”
“I love that,” she says.
“Yeah, I could never leave Colorado,” I say. “Even with the ski traffic.”
“I couldn’t leave either,” she says. “But my parents moved to Phoenix a while back.”
“What’s in Phoenix?” I ask, trying not to look disgusted.
“Beats me,” she says, and I smile.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t move,” I say. “If that’s not too bold.”
“It’s not. I’m glad too. All that heat would dry my skin out,” she smiles and I laugh.
“I’m also glad we ran into each other again,” I admit. “Even if you do have a lot of zany ideas when it comes to weddings.”
She gives me a look, and I laugh again. After that, I’m not sure which one of us leans in. All I know is that our mouths meet in a soft kiss. That seems to jinx everything because a split second into it, the car behind me honks and traffic starts to move again.