Chapter Eight
Morgan was a tornado in human form.
She had always been this way, ever since the first day I met her — which just so happened to be my first day at Bridgechester Prep High School.
It was Tyler who’d approached me first, who’d watched me from afar in the halls all morning and then made his way over to me, asking if I wanted to sit with him at lunch, asking who I was, where I’d come from.
Seeing me.
Sometimes, I dreamed about that day, and in such vivid detail that I woke up with a sheen of sweat on my chest. In the dream, I’d see Tyler exactly as he was that day — young, boyishly shy, charming in a way I hadn’t ever been exposed to.
I could see the first smile he flashed me, hear the first time I made him laugh, see the curiosity in his eyes — curiosity that made heat bloom deep in my stomach, a fire that never did die.
We were only alone at that lunch table a few minutes before his sister swept in, taking a seat next to me at the cafeteria table and inspecting me so closely that I’d laughed nervously and tried to back away.
But she wasn’t shy — not at all. She looked me over, smiled, and said, “Hi! I’m Morgan Wagner.
This is my brother, Tyler.” I hadn’t even been able to tell her that we’d already introduced ourselves. “And we’re going to be best friends.”
She literally said those words — we’re going to be best friends.
And just like that, it was so.
I learned over the years that that was how Morgan worked.
She didn’t make decisions based off logic or research or science.
She believed, wholeheartedly and unfailingly, in feelings.
She trusted her gut when it said not to do something, and trusted it even more when it said to do something.
She decided who she was friends with and who she was not in a matter of minutes, and once her mind was made up, there was no changing it.
Which was why it was no surprise to me that the morning after my day of rest, with just ten days to go to the wedding, we had a completely packed schedule that was mostly comprised of planning the seating chart.
Because for Morgan, it wasn’t as simple as seat this family together , and seat that group of friends there, and make sure the grandparents can see the dance floor .
For Morgan, there was a synergy that would be created with that seating chart, a mood — one that would last all night and be the difference between a perfect wedding and a complete disaster.
Thankfully, I’d woken up with a voice that was still a little croaky, but much better than the day before. Therefore, I was prepped and ready to talk through all the reasons why someone should or shouldn’t sit somewhere.
Or rather, I was prepared to pose questions to Morgan, who would answer them and make up her own mind without input from me.
“What about Laurie and Chuck,” I suggested. “They’re so sweet, and not as rowdy as the others. They could carry conversation easy with people they don’t know without scaring them off.”
Morgan tapped her pencil to her lips, thinking.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” She penciled them into the table with Oliver’s cousins, and then sighed.
“Now, what about the Brad and Olivia situation? They’re both such a huge part of the high school friend group, but since their break-up… I can’t put them together.”
“Separate the group in half. Give Brad half and Olivia half, and then fill the table with other odds and ends.”
“But Olivia will throw a fit that she’s not sitting with everyone.”
I grabbed Morgan’s arm in earnest. “Babe, everyone will be dancing. Aunt Laura and I will make sure of it. So, it’s only for dinner. She’ll survive.”
Morgan pouted, unsure.
“It’s your wedding day, remember?”
At that, she smiled and nodded, penciling in the new suggestions. “God, I’ve missed you. I swear, no one knows how to calm me and make me see reason the way you do.”
“Except Oliver.”
She smiled at that. “Yes. Except him.”
“You are one smitten kitten.”
“I really am. I disgust myself sometimes,” she admitted on a laugh. Then, her eyes were curious, and she bit her lip watching me. “How was hanging with my brother yesterday?”
I hadn’t expected the question, and I hoped like hell my face didn’t give anything away — like the fact that I’d spent half the night wondering what the hell had transpired between us.
Here we hadn’t talked in seven years, we’d bickered nonstop for my first few days here, and then we’d somehow spent a day being…
civil. I’d enjoyed talking to him, hearing a little about who he was now , the man instead of the boy.
But then he’d touched me, and he’d held me, and he’d whispered those same words he’d said all those years ago…
And I had no idea how I felt about it.
I shrugged. “It was alright. We didn’t really hang out , more like just existed in the same room. Watched some movies. Worked. You know,” I said, waving it off. “Just whatever.”
Morgan frowned, nodding. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I just… oh, never mind. Anyway , I can’t wait to meet Jacob! Is he as dreamy to look at in person as he is on Instagram and video chat?”
I chuckled, though I couldn’t help but be a little suspicious at the subject change. Had Tyler said something to her?
“Even more dreamy.”
She sighed, balancing her chin on her palm. “His abs should have their own Instagram. I mean, really. I’d follow.”
I shoved her playfully. “I bet you would, perv.”
We giggled, getting back to the pressing matter at hand of the seating chart as we continued catching up, talking about a little of this and that between making decisions.
Around lunch time, I skipped out to record my podcast, which went off without a hitch and had me grinning from ear to ear when I rejoined Morgan and her mom at the dining room table where we had the seating chart spread out like it was the architectural design for a mansion.
Perhaps the best part about my job was that I loved it — truly enjoyed it with every fiber of my being.
And wasn’t that the goal, to do something you loved so much for a living that it didn’t feel like work at all?
Morgan still didn’t feel great about the seating chart, though, not even when her mother and I forced her to set it aside and let it breathe for a day before she revisited it.
She was a little pouty when we moved on to our next task, which was finalizing the design for the ceremony programs and making sure each guest had a room at the three beach houses, and I say houses lightly because they were more like mansions, on the Cape where the wedding would take place.
Then, there was the hair and makeup trial, which Morgan insisted I join her for.
She wanted to get an idea of not only her look for the day, but mine, too.
I didn’t mind, of course, because my aunt was the one doing our hair and one of Oliver’s cousin’s was doing our makeup.
I was all jazzed after my podcast, anyway, so we all laughed and talked and carried on throughout the entire thing.
But by the time I was freed for the evening and Morgan headed upstairs to shower before dinner, I was completely exhausted, and completely amazed by the Energizer Bunny that was my best friend.
I hadn’t had time to check my phone, had barely even plopped down onto the beautiful, plush, white sofa in the Wagner’s sitting room and leaned my head back to close my eyes on a sigh when I heard a distant chuckle.
My eyes fluttered open, finding Tyler leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.
He looked different from last night — his hair styled, jaw freshly-shaven, arms clad in the white button-up that I imagined had a tie fastened at the top of it for most of the day. He’d gone into the office with Robert to meet with a new client.
And we hadn’t spoken since last night.
My stomach wriggled uncomfortably, but for some reason his smile soothed me, and I crooked a grin in return. “What’s so funny, Wagner?”
“Just the aftermath of my sister,” he observed. “I thought her energy would run out as she got older, that she’d slow down. You know, the way cats or dogs do as they age.”
“I guess she proved you wrong.”
“She does that often,” he agreed. His eyes watched me, something heavy in the air between us now.
A flash of last night hit me — my face in his hands, his forehead touching mine.
His phone ringing.
Azra’s beautiful face.
“How did the podcast recording go?”
I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter on the sofa.
“It was amazing, actually,” I said, beaming.
“I’m really excited to hear the full episode once Marni edits it, and even more excited to see if we get some crossover listeners.
We’re both in the lifestyle realm, but she’s got her shit together way more than I do,” I admitted on a laugh.
“I could see my listeners flocking to her, but not entirely sure if her listeners would find benefit in listening to me — a twenty-something trying to figure shit out.”
Tyler’s mouth hitched up in a way that told me he thought differently.
“Hey, at least they’ll be able to hear you,” he pointed out. “All thanks to a certain someone who somehow managed to get you to shut up for a full day.”
I flicked him off, and he laughed, pushing off the wall to stand straight.
“Did you run this morning?”
“No, I wanted to rest a little while longer, make sure I was good to go for Morgan and for the podcast.”
“Do you want to run now?”
I frowned, not understanding. “Uh… I mean, I do, but it’s six o’clock. Dinner will be soon.”
“Not for another couple hours. Mom is picking up from her favorite Thai food place, and they always take forever to get our order ready.” He paused. “Mostly because mom orders one of practically everything on the menu.”
I chuckled.
“If you want to go for a run, I was thinking I would join you.”