24. Abigail
TWENTY-FOUR
ABIGAIL
Blair’s hair was a mess. White chemical powder clung to what had once been perfect curls, and dirt and leaves and dry grass decorated the matted mess. Her makeup was melting off her tear-streaked and soot-stained face. Things from the neck down weren’t any better. I would’ve felt sorry for her, but she spun around and glared at me like she suspected I was the one who’d set her wedding on fire.
I reared back. “What are you looking at me like that for?”
Her head tilted sharply. “I don’t know, Abigail. Why am I?”
“You think I set my own back fence on fire?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you! You’ve had it out for me since I got here!”
I scoffed. “Excuse me? That’s rich?—”
“Ladies,” Donny cut in. “Blair, come on. Abigail saved your life.”
“Abigail ruined my dress ! ”
“So I suppose I should’ve just let you burn?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips.
Blair glared at me, and Donny tried again. He reached for his fiancée. “Blair-bear?—”
She swatted his hand away. “You pushed me to the ground!” Blair yelled, turning her ire on him.
Donny threw his hands in the air. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. You weren’t stopping, dropping, or rolling, Blair!”
“Look at my dress, Donny! It’s ruined!” She grabbed at her gown, showing us the crispy edges of the white lace. Between the charring and the damage the extinguisher had done, she wasn’t wrong. The dress was toast.
Blair slapped her hands on her face. “This whole wedding is ruined. What are the sponsors going to say? And what about the live stream? How many people saw our wedding go up in flames today?”
“About two and a half million,” I said out of the side of my mouth.
Blair shot me a look. “Exactly. This is a disaster! What are we going to do now? Everyone we know is in New Elwood for a wedding, and there is no wedding!”
Her bottom lip wobbled, and something in my iron heart gave way. I sighed, glancing at Rex, then back at Donny and Blair. The air smelled like smoke, and the decorations were ruined messes of wet ash. The guests had mostly scattered, though some of them lingered around the edges of the area to watch the firefighters work.
Part of me felt vindicated by the karmic retribution Blair had just faced. It was pretty epic. But the other part of me, the part that had stars in my eyes and budding wedding dreams myself, wanted to be a cheerleader for happily-ever-afters. “You know, a wedding isn’t really about gowns and florals, it’s about love,” I said, taking Rex’s hand. We shared an adoring look, then I gestured to the charred and crumbled arbor. “The minister is still here. You and Donny could still get married.”
Blair scowled. “Like a JP wedding? Are you nuts? What would our followers think? What would they say about us at CreatorCon next year? No, I’ve worked way too hard planning this. We’re having this wedding. Right, Donny?”
“Um, yeah, Blair-bear,” Donny said, glancing around at the carnage. Well, that was good news. Now if only they could have it today so they could finally leave once and for all. Then Rex and I would have the house to ourselves.
I cleared my throat. “On the other hand, this is great content. People love disasters. Imagine the outpouring of sympathy! You’ll be able to milk this for months if you see it through. Think about the pictures of getting married around all this destruction!” I smiled and waved at the charred arbor.
The light in Blair’s eyes went from homicidal to contemplative. She clicked her fingers at Donny. “Phone.”
Donny sighed and did as he was told. While he navigated to his social media app, Blair squared her shoulders, then painted a pitiful expression on her face. When Donny gave her the nod, she gave her followers a rundown of the situation, overdramatizing what was already pretty dramatic.
“Now who in the hell started this fire?” she demanded again, this time taking off toward what used to be my fence. We followed behind, Donny holding the phone up to continue filming, as she called out to the firefighter ahead. “Hey, you there. Have the police made any arsonist arrests yet?”
The man in the yellow uniform wrinkled his brow. “Arsonists?”
“Yes, someone set this fire. And I want to know who it is.” She angled herself so Donny had a great view of her profile. The slanting sun shone on her cheekbones, and even the mess of hair and makeup looked artful instead of horrendous.
She was good .
The firefighter spread his arms. “We’re not seeing any evidence of that. Most likely it was the compost that caught fire. Happens all the time.”
I froze. Compost? Rex’s words rang in my head: When was the last time you turned the compost?
Rex’s gaze was like a laser beam to the side of my head. I stared straight ahead and painted a smile on my face. Nothing to see here. I didn’t just ruin his brother’s wedding. Nope. Not me. The town’s biggest screwup had not just screwed up again.
All the warm fuzzies I’d experienced after saving Blair suddenly seemed a lot less warm and a lot less fuzzy. It just felt like too big of a fall from grace for me to acknowledge.
Blair did this thing with her upper body so it was turned to the camera while her gaze stayed on the fireman. Donny kept filming, looking resigned. She flicked her hair and demanded, “A compost fire? Are you kidding me? How does that even happen?”
“Well, if there’s too much heat buildup due to several factors—” the firefighter started.
“Oh, never mind!” Blair yelled and covered her face with her hands. Well. Mostly covered it. I could still see one eye and the line of her cheekbone. Donny changed the angle of the camera, and I peeked at the phone to see that he’d framed Blair’s hunched-over body with the charred remains of the arbor (and my fence, mind you) behind.
Their life seemed exhausting—and it was my backyard that’d caught fire. Donny shifted the phone so he could move into the frame, holding it out with his outstretched arm. He softly patted her back as she cried harder.
Blair wailed. “Why did this happen to me? To my wedding?” She motioned to Donny, and he ended the recording.
“Our wedding,” Donny corrected, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
Blair straightened and looked around the park, a calculating look in her eyes. “Not now, Donny. This isn’t about you,” she snapped, then marched toward one of the videographers standing far back from the carnage with his gear.
Rex and I shared a look with his little brother. The one whose wedding apparently wasn’t about him. But he shrugged it off and said, “She’s just upset.”
Blair had been making me crazy all week. You’d think I’d want nothing more than to see her perfect little day ruined. There was a part of me that felt like she deserved it, because I was petty and mean and she’d been a bad houseguest, but there was another part of me that felt bad.
Maybe if I’d turned the compost like I was supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. Blair and Donny would be wed and off on their honeymoon, and I wouldn’t have to use part of my next commission check to rebuild my fence.
I realized I was a person who made mistakes—some bigger than others—but I didn’t want to be Abigail Stone, professional screwup. I didn’t want to be the woman everyone expected to fail. I wanted to be better than that. More like Rex. A stand-up kind of person. The kind of person others could rely on.
When you were responsible for a catastrophe, there was only one thing to do.
Make it right.
“Where are we going to get married now?” Blair sobbed some more, this time facing the videographer, who had a camera set up in front of her.
I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I was feeling a little freaked by the whole compost fire thing, and then I’d jumped into action and actually done something right, for once, and Rex had told me he was proud of me. Nobody was ever proud of me. They were tolerant, or annoyed, or resigned. But not proud.
Even when I was the top-selling realtor in town one year, my family had acted like it was some big joke that had happened despite my nature, not because of it. No one had congratulated me. When I kept the title for three years running—and was on track to remain on top for a fourth—I hadn’t even bothered mentioning it to them. What was the point, when no one seemed to think it was worth celebrating?
So although I could’ve let Blair clean up this disaster on her own, I was feeling generous and perhaps a smidge guilty. I turned to Donny and said, “Let me make a call.”
I stepped away from the Montgomerys and Montgomery-to-be and called my infamous client.
“Abigail, how’s my deal coming along?” Sinclair answered my call.
“No news there. I’m calling about something else.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” I could hear him smirk over the phone.
“You know how you were trying to butter me up with promises of untold riches before, including an open favor?”
“Is that what you took from our conversation?”
“Sinclair. Please.”
He laughed. “So what’s this call about?”
“Well, the situation has evolved. If you do that favor for me, I might be willing to approach Evelyn on your behalf.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Have you ever hosted a wedding at your winery?” I asked.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, you’re about to.”