Chapter Five | Sam
Chapter Five
Sam
Thursday morning brought crystalline skies and temperatures hovering just above freezing—October in Montana delivered. I'd been awake since five, running through my master checklist, triple-checking vendor arrival times and confirming delivery schedules.
By seven, I was in the garden with the florists, directing the placement of arrangements that transformed the gazebo into something from a fairy tale.
Burgundy dahlias mixed with rust-colored roses, accented with those vibrant maple branches I'd collected from the orchard.
Corn stalks tied with orange ribbon framed the aisle, and white pumpkins lined the path leading to the ceremony space.
"A little more to the left," I instructed, gesturing to the arch arrangement. "We want it centered in the camera frame from the house."
The lead florist nodded patiently. "You've got a good eye for this."
"Morning."
Gus's voice behind me sent heat spreading through my chest. I turned to find him approaching with two mugs of coffee and a plate balanced in one hand, steam rising in the cold air. He'd remembered how I took mine—cream, no sugar.
"You're a lifesaver," I said, accepting the mug gratefully.
"Figured you'd need it." Fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. "Thought you might want breakfast out here instead of inside."
He held out the plate—a mini quiche along with a side of fresh fruit, artfully arranged.
"You didn't have to do this."
"I know." He shrugged. "But the kitchen's about to get crazy with the catering crew arriving, and I thought you'd appreciate the quiet before the chaos starts."
The quiche was still warm, flaky crust giving way to a creamy filling with herbs and cheese. I closed my eyes, savoring it.
"Good?" he asked.
"Amazing, as always." I opened my eyes to find him watching me with an expression that caught my breath. "Thank you for thinking of me."
"Someone's got to keep you fed." He watched me take another bite. "Your vendors start arriving at nine, right?"
"Nine-thirty. Then the rental company at ten with the extra chairs and tables." I consulted my tablet, though I had the schedule memorized. "Linens at eleven, lighting crew at noon."
"And the wedding party at two."
My shoulders tensed just thinking about it. "This is going to be exhausting."
"We'll get through it."
I believed him.
The morning flew by in organized frenzy. Vendors arrived on schedule, each one requiring direction. I was everywhere at once—approving table arrangements in the dining room, checking the ceremony setup, confirming the bar inventory, reviewing the timeline with the DJ.
Through it all, I caught glimpses of Gus working parallel to me.
Consulting with his kitchen assistants, tasting something and adjusting seasoning, his hands moving with that easy confidence I'd come to recognize.
Whenever our paths crossed, there was a moment—a shared look, his mouth quirking, his fingers brushing mine as he handed me water I hadn't realized I needed.
By one-thirty, everything was in place. The inn looked like something from a magazine spread—elegant autumn sophistication with just enough Halloween whimsy to be charming rather than tacky.
Jack-o'-lanterns lined the porch steps, their carved faces friendly rather than frightening.
Fairy lights had been strung through the trees, ready to twinkle once darkness fell.
The dining room tables were set with burgundy linens and centerpieces of miniature pumpkins surrounded by votives.
I stood in the garden, doing one final walkthrough, when Rory appeared at my elbow.
"It's beautiful, Sam. Truly."
"You think so?" I twisted my hands together, seeing a thousand small imperfections no one else would notice.
"I know so." She squeezed my shoulder. "Now take a breath. You've done everything you can. Time to let the show begin."
At exactly two o'clock, as scheduled, I heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. Multiple vehicles arriving at once.
My phone buzzed. Emma's text: Break a leg! You've got this!
I smoothed my hands over my burgundy wrap dress and headed toward the front of the inn. The performance was about to start.
FIRST CAME AN ENORMOUS black SUV that disgorged Raven and Stormi Monroe in a cloud of perfume—tuberose and chemical sweetness that made my eyes water.
Raven wore head-to-toe designer athleisure that probably cost more than my monthly rent, her long black extensions whipping in the mountain breeze.
Stormi, platinum blonde and matching her sister's aesthetic, had at least six Louis Vuitton bags, not counting the three garment bags a harried assistant was attempting to carry.
"Oh. My. GOD!" Raven shrieked, throwing her arms wide. "SAM! This is SO CUTE!"
She kissed the air beside both my cheeks. Behind her designer sunglasses, I couldn't read her expression, but her voice hit a shrill note that made me wince.
"It's so rustic! So authentic! Like, I can't even—Tony! TONY! Are you getting this?" She whirled toward the TV crew emerging from a second vehicle. "The inn is giving major cozy-core vibes!"
"Welcome to the Evergreen Inn," I said smoothly. "I hope your drive was—"
"The drive was SO LONG. Like, why is Montana so BIG?" Raven moved toward the entrance, phone out, already filming. "Stormi, get in frame. Look surprised and delighted. More delighted! This is your sister's WEDDING!"
Stormi managed a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Hi, Sam. The decorations look lovely."
At least one Monroe sister had manners.
Behind them came two more vehicles—a sleek sports car that had to be Blaze's, and another SUV for the TV crew and equipment.
I watched as Blaze Carrington unfolded himself from the driver's seat, all six-foot-three of chiseled jaw and impossibly white teeth.
He flexed immediately, as if cameras might be watching.
They were—Tony had his camera trained on the groom's arrival.
"BLAZE!" Raven squealed, launching herself at him despite the fact that she was supposedly marrying him in two days. "Babe, this place is EVERYTHING!"
"Hey, baby." His voice had that lazy Texas drawl that probably made his followers swoon. Then he spotted me. "You must be the wedding planner. Sam, right?"
"That's right. Welcome to—"
"Where's the bar?" He was already looking past me toward the inn. "Long drive, need a drink."
Diana Sharp—mid-forties, oversized blazer over a fitted turtleneck—was already scanning the inn's exterior with narrowed eyes.
She spotted me and strode over. "Samantha. Good, you're here." Her handshake was firm and brief. "We'll need full access to all wedding spaces for filming."
"Of course," I said. "Rory Lancaster, the inn's owner, will show you to your rooms." I gestured toward where Rory stood on the porch with Cass beside her.
"Wait, where's MY room?" Raven had apparently finished her video tour of the exterior and was back, hands on hips. "I need the biggest suite. With the best lighting, of course."
"We've prepared the Rose Suite for you, Raven," Rory said smoothly, stepping forward. "And Blaze, you'll be in the Oak Suite."
"Perfect!" Raven beamed. "And I want Stormi next to me. My sister and I need to be able to coordinate our looks."
Beside me, I heard a snort that might have been Cass suppressing laughter.
The next hour passed in a blur of luggage and barely controlled madness.
Raven needed help with her bags—seven trips up the stairs because she kept forgetting "essential items." The flowers in her suite were wrong, too autumnal when she'd specifically said she wanted more white roses mixed in.
The lighting was terrible for filming—could we move the mirror?
Where was the full-length mirror she'd specifically requested?
The mirror was there, of course. Raven just hadn't seen it yet because she was too busy filming herself complaining about its absence.
Blaze discovered there was no gym and demanded to know how he was supposed to maintain his physique. "I need weights. A bench press, at minimum." He flexed for emphasis, then caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror and paused to adjust his hair.
Stormi disappeared into her room and didn't emerge, despite Raven pounding on her door and demanding help choosing between outfits for dinner.
Jett Vegas claimed the best spot on the porch within minutes of arrival, set up speakers, and started DJing.
Through it all, Diana followed with Tony and his camera, documenting every moment. "Authentic dysfunction," she murmured to me at one point, her eyes gleaming. "This is exactly what we need."
By five o'clock, I'd handled a dozen different crises and seriously contemplated walking into the Montana wilderness and never coming back.
I escaped to the kitchen.
Gus stood at the center island, surrounded by cooling racks of cookies. Brown butter and chocolate hung thick in the air. His shoulders were hunched forward, but they eased along with his jaw when I entered. He set down the piping bag he'd been wielding like a weapon.
"Stress baking. Figured we'd need cookies for this mess."
"That bad from in here?"
"I've had the DJ ask me three times if I can 'whip up some jello shots,' the groom tried to come into my kitchen to 'see what smells so good,' and Raven sent her assistant down to demand I prepare a separate vegan, gluten-free, soy-free, nut-free, nightshade-free meal—but it absolutely must include parmesan because she saw it on my prep counter and decided she wants it. "
"But parmesan is dairy."
"Exactly." He picked up the piping bag again, squeezed out a perfect rosette of frosting on an autumn leaf cookie. "The assistant didn't seem to know that. Or care. Just kept insisting Raven specifically requested it."
I leaned against the counter beside him. The heat from the ovens seeped into my back, easing some of the knots from my shoulders.
"Can we murder them?" I asked.