Chapter 14
Astrid
Rehearsals wrapped up by afternoon. Everything else clicked into place by evening, and now dinner was underway with guests arriving. Amy and Isaac invited me to join, but I declined. I still had a few last-minute checks to finish.
“Wow! This is breathtaking,” a voice drifted over, catching my attention.
A woman stood beneath the tiny umbrellas I’d suspended along the aisle, fingertips grazing one softly. Her curious eyes met mine. “You’re the one who turned this place into a fairytale?”
She was beautiful, undeniably so. The deep sapphire of her one-shoulder dress shimmered under the lights, diamond studs catching and sparkling like tiny stars. Her hair was swept neatly into a chignon, making her look like someone who could comfortably rule a small country.
“Fairytale might be overselling it, but I'll happily take the compliment,” I smiled.
She was here for dinner. A relative? Friend? Or a guest? Something about the way she carried herself, poised and regal, made me lean toward guest.
“I’m Astrid,” I offered, hoping she'd fill in the blanks and ease my curiosity.
Her smile brightened. “Astrid, such a lovely name. I’m Mabel.”
Yes! A proud little moment of victory for my detective skills. She'd taken the bait, and now I had my answer—Mabel Ashbourne, Eleanor’s nemesis.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Ashbourne.”
“Oh, please, call me Mabel. Ashbourne makes me sound far too grand.” She waved her hand. “You know, the entire town’s obsessed with this wedding. Your decorations are basically a local legend already.”
My eyes widened. “They knew already?”
She laughed. “Small-town gossip travel faster. And my son, he wouldn’t shut up about the decorations. Besides, my son couldn't stop raving about your decorations. He even drove me here himself for another look, which is practically unheard of given his severe allergy to socializing.”
Son? Her son was here? My gaze darted around, curiosity sparking to life thanks to Kelly and Aunt Dee’s colorful theories about this mystery man. But the only people I spotted were Eleanor and Steve.
“Astrid!” Eleanor’s smile lit up her face.
“You look stunning.” Her jade cocktail dress looked as if it had been designed specifically for tonight’s party.
“Thank you.” Eleanor turned to Mabel. “Mabel.”
Mabel tilted her head, matching Eleanor’s exact degree of forced politeness. “Eleanor.”
Steve glanced nervously between them. “Mabel, Eleanor, wonderful to see you two getting along.”
“Of course, Steve. We're friends.” Mabel beamed at Eleanor, sweetness dripping from her smile. “And thoughtful ones, too. Imagine my happiness when apple pies arrived at my doorstep?”
Eleanor matched her sugary tone. “Considering how long you’d stalled the project, I figured a little sugar might move things along.”
“Ah yes.” Mabel tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Nothing says friendship like apple pie bribery after running your mouth all over the town.”
“And yet you approved the project the second your plate was clean.” Eleanor's smile went sly. “Honestly, Mabel, talk about cheap taste.”
Mabel’s nostrils flared sharply. “Don’t start on my pie weakness. I’m sure Steve would love to hear about your steamy-duke-novels obsession from college. Has she ever called you ‘Your Grace’ in bed, Steve?”
I pressed my lips tightly, fighting the urge to laugh as Steve’s face turned a shade of cranberry.
“Don’t you dare bring them up now, Mabel,” Eleanor warned.
“Ladies, please. Behave yourselves. You're respected members of Orange Falls now,” Steve attempted diplomatically. But a matching set of icy glares drained his courage. Clearing his throat, he spoke again, softer this time. “Should we head inside? Dinner's starting soon.”
Both women huffed and marched away in opposite directions, leaving Steve standing there, looking exactly like a kid whose parents had just abandoned him at the grocery store. He gave me a helpless smile, shook his head, and hurried off after them.
I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud.
Mabel and Eleanor were college friends? How exactly had they ended up rivals, then? Kelly owed me their juicy backstory.
I made a final round of checks. The venue was quiet, except for a few helpers sweeping stray petals and tidying up the loose ends.
Entrance? Check. Reception? Check. Aisle?
I stopped short, eyes snagging on the flower arch.
Its fairy lights drooped unevenly on one side.
Not exactly a disaster, but now that I'd noticed, there was no unseeing it.
I dragged the stool into place and climbed onto it, only to have it wobble dangerously beneath me.
Chairs, stools, everything here was faulty.
That rental company was officially blacklisted.
I stuffed a piece of cardboard under the short leg and tested it with a cautious step.
Still shaky, but at least I wouldn't topple off.
Carefully, I stretched up to fix the sagging fairy lights and gave them a gentle tug. Instant regret. The other end popped loose, swinging freely. I reached out to steady the arch, but the stool beneath me wobbled again and tipped sideways, ending our friendship once and for all.
My stomach dropped.
I flailed helplessly, grasping at absolutely nothing, but gravity had already won sending me crashing backward, straight into the trash can. The fairy lights rained on me like confetti.
“Ow—my butt.”
I winced, wiggling helplessly, but my legs were jammed awkwardly inside.
Plastic wrappers crinkled beneath me, and the scent of withered flowers, potato chips crumbs, and oh god, was that a sandwich?
Something soft and squishy pressed against my hip, and I decided right then and there to live my whole life without ever knowing what it was.
I craned my neck, peeking cautiously over the rim of the trash can.
Please, let there be no witnesses.
Left. Right. Clear. Relief washed over me for approximately two glorious seconds until I looked straight ahead and locked eyes with someone watching me, brows lifted in amused curiosity.
Not just any someone . A waiter or random guest witnessing my humiliation would’ve been embarrassing, sure, but manageable.
But him?
I sank deeper into the trash can, heart thudding like I'd ran up a hill. Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, he'd convince himself I was some weird stress-induced hallucination and walk away. That desperate hope shattered when a shadow fell across me.
I looked up to see him biting back a smile. “Cute hiding spot. Should I bring you a blanket?”
Because watching me fall into a trash can wasn’t entertainment enough, he needed to mock me, too. I snatched the closest weapon available: A bundle of tangled fairy lights. I hurled them directly at his smug face.
“Easy, easy.” He laughed, catching them. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He had to have some kind of built-in radar, or maybe a sixth sense that went off whenever I was at peak humiliation. Orange Falls was small, sure, but did he have to magically appear every single time I made a fool of myself?
“Please tell me you only saw the last few seconds,” I mumbled.
He leaned in, elbows propped comfortably on the edge of my trash-can prison. His fingers grazed my hair, plucking something free—a piece of cardboard. My pulse jolted sharply at his touch.
“So,” his voice teased lightly, “how much of that little show are you hoping I missed?”
Wonderful. He’d seen everything.
“It wasn’t that bad… right?”
“You want a rating?” He smirked. “Three out of ten. Seven points deducted for execution. I had my hopes set on graceful squirrel, but you gave me potato sack instead.”
“Thanks for the detailed feedback.” I gathered myself, preparing to stand.
He extended a hand into the trash can to help, but I ignored it.
I wasn't that helpless. I pushed up, only to have the entire bin shift beneath me—boxes slid, cans rolled, and a rose stem jabbed spitefully into my ankle.
The bin wobbled, my foot slipped, and I landed right back in the same humiliating heap.
Fine, maybe I was a little helpless.
I reached out my hand, but it met only air. I frowned, glancing up to find him eyeing my outstretched palm like it was the least interesting thing he'd seen.
“Offer expired.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Betrayed by a man and a trash can, all in one day.
But then, just as quickly, he reached down again, hand extended.
“I’d rather not earn another colorful nickname,” he muttered, mostly to himself—but loud enough for me to catch.
Aww, so he did care. Cute .
Warmth spread through me as his fingers tightened around mine. One clumsy scramble later, I was standing upright, brushing stray bits of garbage from my dress.
“How many odors did you pick up there?” He wrinkled his nose.
I glared at him. “What did you expect from a bin—lavender and roses?”
“You owe me for a third time now.”
I smiled sheepishly, pointing toward the flower arch. “Want to make it four?”
He fixed me with a firm don't-even-think-about-it look.
“I really can't do this alone,” I complained, sounding about eighty years older than I was. “My butt already hurts. There’s a wedding tomorrow—if I fall again, you’ll be personally responsible for my—”
He held up a hand, cutting off my desperate plea, and climbed onto the stool himself. Behind his back, I did a silent fist-pump of victory. Just to ensure he didn't fall too, I held the stool firmly as he fixed the arch.
“So that’s four favors now,” I said as he hopped down, brushing off his hands. “I hate the number four—it's notoriously unlucky for me. So, I’ll clear one now.”
He studied me with narrowed eyes, questioning my logic, but decided to humor me anyway. “Maybe start with your name first. It'll help me keep track of all these debts you're piling up.”
Oh, he's curious? Might as well have some fun.
“Mallow,” I said, straight-faced and entirely serious. “Marsha Mallow.” Finally, these fluffy cubes were good for something besides fuelling my lifelong hatred.
His expression stayed perfectly neutral. Either he thought I'd completely lost my mind or he simply didn't buy it. Perfect. I pressed further. “What, you don't believe me? My mom really loved marshmallows. Who was I to crush her sugary drea—”
“Astrid!” A frantic voice carried across the venue, shattering the moment like a dropped wineglass. “The staff needs to know if the aisle lights stay on overnight!”
Perfect. Moment. Ruined.
I spun around, determined to track down the criminal responsible for murdering my marshmallow moment. One of the helpers stood there, clueless and expectant, waiting for instructions. When I turned back, I saw Iceberg's amused smile.
“Your marshmallow story just melted, Asstrid .”
“Astrid,” I corrected pointedly. “Not Ass-trid.”
He nodded slowly, pretending to understand. “Right, Dizzytrid.”
“Astrid,” I huffed. Seriously, how many creative ways could he butcher my name?
“Pack some marshmallows next time, Dizzytrid. Might save you from another dive into the bin.”
“It wasn’t because of sugar,” I insisted stubbornly.
“Sure.” He didn't even pretend to believe me as he turned to leave.
Curiosity got the best of me. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name, now that you’ve gotten mine?” Iceberg needs a name now.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Holmes.” Voice perfectly serious. “Sherlock Holmes.”
Now it was my turn to stare blankly, thoughts buffering in slow motion. Sherlock freaking Holmes? He'd matched my marshmallow nonsense with detective nonsense.
“Copycat,” I muttered under my breath, smiling to myself.