Chapter Eight | Gus
Chapter Eight
Gus
Iwoke in darkness to the soft glow of Sam's phone charging on the nightstand, her hair spread across my chest like silk. Her breath was warm against my skin, one leg tangled with mine, her hand resting over my heart.
For a moment, I just lay there, memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against me like she'd been designed for this exact spot.
The clock read 5:23. Outside, late October darkness pressed against the windows—dawn was still over an hour away in Montana.
I needed to be in the kitchen by six for breakfast prep, but I couldn't bring myself to move.
The wedding was scheduled for four o'clock.
In less than eleven hours, she'd be orchestrating Raven and Blaze's Halloween extravaganza while I plated hundreds of appetizers and managed the reception dinner.
But right now, none of that mattered.
Sam stirred, pressing closer, and my arms tightened around her automatically. She made a soft sound of contentment that went straight through me, settling deep in my chest.
"Morning," she murmured against my skin, her voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the vanilla scent of her shampoo. "How are you feeling?"
She tilted her head up to look at me, eyes still heavy-lidded but bright. "Like I want to stay in this bed forever."
"That can be arranged."
"The wedding—"
"Will happen without us." I leaned forward to plant a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Raven probably won't even notice if we're missing in action."
She laughed, the vibration moving through both of us. "Tempting. So tempting."
I rolled us so she was beneath me, her hair fanning out on the pillow.
"Sam." I searched for the right words. "The past few days have been..."
Her expression shifted, wariness creeping in. "If you're about to say this was a mistake—"
"No." I kissed her, slow and thorough, until the tension left her body. "Never that. I was going to say—"
Her phone erupted.
Not a single buzz or ring, but a cacophony of notifications that lit up her screen like a casino jackpot. Text after text, calls coming through, the device practically vibrating off the nightstand.
"What the hell?" Sam grabbed it, her face draining of color as she read. "Oh my God."
"What is it?"
She held up the phone with shaking fingers. Stormi's name filled the screen—seven missed calls, a string of increasingly frantic texts.
SAM EMERGENCY PLEASE ANSWER RAVEN IS GONE SHE LEFT WITH JETT WHAT DO I DO??? I JUST FOUND THE NOTE THEY LEFT LAST NIGHT!!!
Before Sam could respond, the phone rang again. She answered on speaker.
"Stormi, what's happening?"
Stormi's voice came through high and hysterical. "She's gone! My sister is gone! She left a note saying she and Jett took a three AM flight to Vegas to get married! How could she not tell me? Her own sister! I had no idea she was having an affair with him!"
My stomach dropped. Sam had gone from pale to ghostly.
"Are you sure?" Sam's professional voice kicked in, though I could feel her trembling against me. "Maybe she just—"
"The note is right here! 'Stormi, I'm sorry but I can't marry Blaze. Jett and I are in love. We're eloping. Take care of everything for me. Love, Raven.' That's it! That's all she wrote after making me stand by her through all of this!"
More notifications flooded Sam's phone.
"I have to go," Stormi choked out. "Diana's here with cameras. Oh God, this is a nightmare."
The line went dead.
Sam stared at her phone as it continued to ping. She angled it so I could read the latest incoming text, from the producer in all caps: "THIS IS TELEVISION GOLD! GET EVERYONE READY FOR INTERVIEWS!"
"My reputation is ruined." Sam's voice came out as barely a whisper. "No one will ever hire me again. The Monroe-Carrington wedding was supposed to launch me to the next level, and now—"
She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her terrycloth robe, fumbling with the belt until she gave up trying to tie it. I reached for her but she pulled away, already dialing Raven's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she announced, trying again. And again. "She's not answering. Of course she's not answering. She's probably already married." A hysterical laugh bubbled up. "The bride ran off with the best man. It's like a bad movie."
Her phone rang—the producer again.
"Samantha! Have you heard? This is incredible!" Diana's voice rang with excitement through the speaker. "The drama, the heartbreak, the betrayal! We're going to get so much footage today. I need you to—"
Sam hung up on her.
Then she walked into the bathroom and locked the door.
"Sam?" I pulled on my joggers and went to the door. "Sam, let me in."
"I need a minute."
But I could hear her crying—not delicate tears but body-shaking sobs that tore through me. The sound of everything she'd worked for crumbling.
For five minutes, I stood outside that bathroom door, listening to her world fall apart. Each sob hit me like a physical blow. This woman who'd orchestrated every detail down to the crumbs, who'd fought me over plating angles—reduced to this. When the crying quieted to hiccups, I tried again.
"Baby, please. Open the door."
"I can't—I can't do this. Everything's ruined. The whole world is going to watch this disaster and know I couldn't even keep the bride from getting cold feet. My business—" Her voice broke completely.
I leaned my forehead against the door. "Sam, listen to me. This isn't your fault."
"I'm the planner! It's literally my job to make sure the wedding happens!"
"You can't control people's choices. Raven made this decision, not you."
"That's not how clients will see it. Diana's going to spin this for maximum drama, and I'll be the wedding planner who’s incompetence made everything go to hell on national television."
The doorknob turned. She stood there in her robe, face blotchy and tear-stained, looking smaller than I'd ever seen her. Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms. She resisted for a beat, then collapsed against me, fresh tears soaking my chest.
"It's over," she whispered. "Everything I built."
"No." I pulled back to look at her, holding her face in my hands. "Listen to me. We have fifty people arriving in a few hours expecting an event. So we're going to give them one."
"How? There's no wedding!"
"No, but it's Halloween." The idea formed as I spoke. "We'll turn this into the best Halloween party Wintervale's ever seen. A masquerade gala. Dancing, food, costumes—the works."
"Gus, that's insane. We can't just—"
"Why not? Most of the decorations already work—the pumpkins, the autumn flowers, the lights. We clear out the ceremony chairs, expand the dance floor, add some heat lamps. I'll adapt the menu to party food—heavy appetizers, stations instead of a sit-down dinner. More flexible, more fun."
She stared at me like I'd suggested we fly to Mars. "The vendors—"
"Will be thrilled to be part of salvaging this. Come on, Sam. You're the best event planner I've ever seen. If anyone can pivot a disaster into a triumph, it's you."
Something sparked in her expression—the fighter I'd come to know emerging from the ashes.
"A Halloween gala," she tested the words slowly. "A masquerade party instead of a wedding."
"Exactly. And we'll make it so spectacular that Diana gets her special, the guests have an amazing time, and everyone remembers you as the genius who saved the day instead of letting it implode."
She was quiet for a long stretch, processing. Then her shoulders straightened, that determination I admired blazing back to life.
"I need to call Rory."
The shift was immediate. Sam went from devastated to determined in the space of a breath, the gears in her mind already spinning. She grabbed her phone and started making calls while simultaneously pulling on clothes.
"Rory? It's Sam. We have a situation... Yes, Raven eloped... No, I'm not kidding... Listen, we need to transform this into a Halloween party instead. Can you help spread the word?"
I threw on my shirt and headed for the door. "I'll start on the kitchen pivot. Let’s get this show on the road.”
She caught my arm, pulled me back for a quick, fierce kiss. "Thank you. For believing we can do this."
"If anyone can," I grinned, “it’s definitely us.”
Jake and Molly were already in the kitchen when I arrived—they'd shown up at five-thirty as scheduled for breakfast prep, unaware that our bride had flown the coop. I filled them in while we got breakfast service going for the inn's regular guests.
'We're going to need more hands,' I told them as we finished setting up the buffet. 'Call everyone you know with catering experience. Your sister, Molly. Jake, that friend from culinary school who moved here last year. We need all the help we can get.'
By the time we'd handled the light lunch service—mostly untouched by the shell-shocked wedding party—we had a full crew. We deconstructed the elegant plated dinner into elaborate stations—a raw bar, carved meat station, autumn harvest display, dessert table that would make Instagram explode.
Through the kitchen window, I caught glimpses of Sam directing yet more chaos.
She had the rental company removing chairs and expanding the dance floor.
The DJ—one of Jett's backups who'd been hired for the afterparty—was now the main entertainment.
The florist rearranged centerpieces into dramatic displays that screamed Halloween elegance.
Rory became a one-woman phone tree, calling what seemed like half of Wintervale. "Pop-up Halloween bash at the inn tonight! Tell everyone! Costumes encouraged!"