Chapter 4 #2
Cindy grabbed her own notebook, scribbling as Dominique rattled through details. Instagram lives, bridal interviews, drone shots.
By the time the influencer wound down, Cindy felt both exhilarated and utterly out of her depth.
“So happy to talk to you, Cindy,” Dominique said, blowing a kiss to the camera. “Second chances never looked so intimate, intentional, or incredible. This could blow up.”
As long as it didn’t blow up…in her face. “Okay. Great.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The screen went dark.
Cindy lowered the phone and walked slowly toward the trellis. The old, curved wood seemed to sag under Dominique’s verdict, though Cindy knew it was as strong as the day Owen built it. She brushed her hand over the carved initials, tracing the grooves of O + I, the year 1939 etched forever.
Her throat tightened. It wasn’t perfect, no—but it was theirs. It carried love, history, family. Every vow spoken here would be stronger for it.
And yet Dominique was right: to outsiders, it wasn’t beautiful. To a bride scrolling Instagram, it might even look shabby.
Cindy’s heart twisted and she dialed her daughter’s number. She needed someone to talk to, and something told her Jack wasn’t the one for this conversation. He’d tell Dominique “Your Arch Is Shabby” Parrish to take a hike right over a cliff.
And Cindy still wanted Aisle Files to happen. Only just a tiny bit less now.
Cindy paced a slow figure eight up and down an imaginary aisle, pausing at the raised platform to stare at the trellis. With every step, she replayed Dominique’s comments all bright and sure, telling her all the things to do and one thing to undo.
“Here I am!” The door opened with a quick whoosh and Nicole bounced in, cheeks pink from the chill, a knit cap shoved into her jacket pocket so her midnight locks fell over her shoulder. “Ski Shed just closed up, so I’m all yours. Didn’t you have your call with Dominique?”
“Yes.” Cindy dropped back on the same chair she’d been on before. “It went well. She’s…wow. Quite a force.”
“I know,” Nicole said, moving around the room like a producer scouting a set. “I deep-dive stalked her while you were on the phone. We knew she was a big influencer, but this lady basically owns the wedding internet. Mom, this is a big deal.”
“I know,” Cindy said softly. “And she loved the Starling Room and loved my story with Dad even more.”
“I knew it!” Nicole gave a clap and sat in one of the other chairs, shouldering out of her coat. “It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”
Cindy laughed lightly. “She also loved the one-stop shop concept. Ceremony here, then cocktail hour while we flip the room, then reception and dance floor with the band tucked over there.” She pointed, and Nicole followed her finger with a satisfied nod.
“She said it’s all the rage. Her followers want pretty and practical. ”
“Well, I certainly do,” Nicole agreed, no doubt thinking of her own wedding taking place on New Year’s Eve in this very room. “Okay, what else? What trends? What shots? Tell me everything she wants to do.”
Cindy launched into it, the ideas spilling as she remembered them all.
“She talked about TikTok transitions—like a before-and-after flip of the room. A slow walk down the aisle with trending audio. Behind-the-scenes reels: me with the florist, you with the lighting guy, Jack checking out the sleigh rides outside. Maybe a quick interview about second chances.”
Nicole’s grin got huge. “This is perfect. This is exactly the kind of kickstart Snowberry Weddings needs. What a coup!”
Cindy pressed her fingertips to her lips as if she could keep in the bad part. “There was just…one weird thing.”
Nicole’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Cindy hesitated, then stood and walked to the platform, climbing up to where the trellis stood. She put a hand on it, trying to forget how Dominique had viciously described it. She wouldn’t share that with Nicole—then she and Cameron wouldn’t want to get married under it.
“She said this has to go. She said it’s, um, not…Instagram worthy.”
Nicole’s mouth rounded. “Oof.”
“She was pretty insistent,” Cindy said, hearing the disappointment in her own voice.
“In fact, it wasn’t really up for discussion.
She said sentimental things don’t make for good social media.
People want picture-perfect Instagram, not some old family wooden thing that means nothing to anyone who isn’t a Starling. ”
Nicole winced in sympathy. “Well, I want it at my wedding, but then, I’m from Starling blood.
I guess I get it. The vibe in here is so ethereal—those drapes, the light, the beams—and the trellis is…
well, it’s rustic in a way that doesn’t photograph as high-end unless you style the heck out of it.
” She shrugged and stood, walking to the platform. “So we move it.”
Cindy bit her lip. “I don’t…” She sighed. “I think your dad is going to be disappointed. He really has so much respect for Starling family history.”
She considered that, nodding and squinting at the trellis. “What about a compromise?”
“Such as?”
“We soften it,” Nicole said, stepping closer to the platform.
“We keep the structure—don’t move it, don’t hide it—but we dress it in a way that fits the Starling Room’s look.
Beautiful white drapery, maybe asymmetrical, with winter greens and a little sparkle.
You still see the shape and feel the history, but your eye reads ‘romantic arch,’ not ‘backyard arbor.’”
“A veil for the trellis,” Cindy murmured, and the idea clicked into place. “I have extra fabric from these curtains in storage. The same cream silk. Would that work?”
“Yes,” Nicole said, narrowing her eyes as if imagining the final result. “And we can pin it so it’s removable. For photos, you can have different versions—some with more drape, some less. Dominique gets her chic, we keep our legacy.”
Cindy smiled. “Let’s try it.”
An hour later, with open bins of fabric, a stepladder, and giant clips, they worked until the wood wore a wedding dress—soft folds cascading from the top, edges pooling slightly on the floor, the trellis’s sturdy bones peeking through just enough to feel like they wanted it that way.
“Pretty,” Nicole breathed, stepping aside to survey their work. “It’s still itself, but it’s styled.”
The door creaked. “Whoa—what are you doing?”
Jack stood just inside, snow-scattered jacket half unzipped, a blue beanie jammed on his head at a crooked angle. He took in the white drape swathing the arch, his expression falling from curiosity to alarm.
Cindy lifted a hand in a peaceable wave. “Hey. We’re just trying something.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because it beats taking it back to Grandma Irene’s dormant garden,” Cindy said, coming down the platform toward him. “I’m afraid the Aisle Files lady wasn’t a fan.”
He gave a scoffing laugh. “So?”
“So, we covered it,” Cindy said.
“You can’t…cover that.” Jack’s gaze flicked from the silk to Cindy, sharp with feeling. “It’s meant to show.”
Cindy moved toward him, palms out. “We’re not hiding it. It’s just…softened.”
He shook his head, jaw working. “Your grandparents’ initials are carved into that post.”
“They still are,” she said quickly. “Just…behind this fabric.” She gave a small, hopeful smile. “We can pin it back for certain shots. We can even take it off entirely if you—”
Jack stepped onto the platform and placed his hand where hers had been a minute earlier, pressing the silk as if he could feel the letters through it. “I don’t like this at all, Cin. We can’t do this.”
“Jack?” Cindy blinked at him. “Is it that important?”
“Don’t you think it is?” he countered.
She threw a look at Nicole, who wore a classic “I don’t want to be in the middle of this” expression.
“I’ll let you guys talk,” she said quickly, hopping down from the platform stage.
Cindy wanted to call her back, the business owner in her needing the support from her one-person marketing team. But the mother in her didn’t want to put her precious daughter in the middle, so she just nodded and waited to talk until she and Jack were alone.
For a moment, they just looked at each other, standing long enough for Cindy to realize they were in the very same positions on that platform that they would be in on the day they remarried.
And for some reason, this felt like their first test.
“I’m not really sure what to say,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it was that important to you.”
His dark eyes softened. “Well, it is.” He swallowed and stabbed his fingers into his mostly silver hair, letting out a sigh. “We were the only couple in the whole Starling history since Irene and Owen not to get married under that trellis.”
She nodded, remembering how and why they’d made that decision thirty years ago. They’d married at a local hotel, and the trellis was in the garden—it hadn’t been a big deal at the time.
“Do you think…” She let out a laugh of disbelief. “That’s why we got divorced?”
“Not why, no,” he said. “But I’m superstitious about it.
No one else got divorced, and everyone else married under the trellis arch.
Owen and Irene, Red’s sister, your Aunt Barbara and Uncle Jacob, Red and Cora, MJ and George—everyone got married under it and had really happy marriages. I believe they were…blessed.”
Cindy’s heart pinched at the unexpected reverence in his voice.
“That’s why I really pushed for this.” He glanced at the wood, making her remember his determination the day he and Cameron muscled this thing out of the old garden and into the back of the UTV.
He looked at her, voice roughened. “I need to marry you under this, Cin. Not a version of it. Not covered. This trellis, this arch. As it is.”
Tenderness flooded her, quick and fierce. She crossed the few steps to him and rose onto her toes, cupping his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”
“I never want to go through…” He shook his head. “I know this is forever. I know we’re not going to get divorced again. But I want our marriage to be blessed and…I believe in this thing.”
He exhaled, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. Cindy slid her arms around his waist, and he folded her in, the familiar hold she’d missed for so long settling everything inside her.
“Let me just tell Dominique right now and put this whole issue to bed.” Inching back, she pulled out her phone and tapped the keys quickly, barely thinking about the composition of the note, letting raw honesty speak for itself.
The trellis was part of the Starling Room, end of story.
The response came back instantly and stole Cindy’s breath.
Then we can cancel the whole thing.
“What?” Cindy blinked at the phone, then angled it to show Jack, who instantly looked as gut punched as she felt.
“For real?” he scoffed. “Then…then…” He looked from the phone to Cindy and back to the phone. After a minute, he closed his eyes. “Tell her we can move it.”
“Jack! You just told me why it matters.”
“It’s superstitious and silly,” he said, studying her. “I don’t want to steal this from you. It is an amazing opportunity that’s going to make your life—our lives—better. We’ll just…toast under the trellis after the ceremony.”
She thought about it for a long time, holding the phone, eyes welling. Who should she make happy? Dominique or Jack?
Honestly, there was no question.
“I’m not going to do that,” she said.
He gave her a “get real” look and slid the phone out of her hand. “Yes, you are. I told you, we’ll incorporate the trellis somehow after the ceremony. We’ll get it in pictures. We’ll kiss and be blessed and laugh about this. Okay?”
She just stared at him as he looked at the phone, thumbing a response.
“Okay,” he answered for her.
“Jack…”
He turned and faced her, taking her hand. “I can’t wait to stand here and marry you,” he said.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, a little unsettled and uncertain…of the whole Dominique thing. With Jack, it was settled and certain.
And this battle wasn’t over. When Dominique got here, Cindy would do whatever it took to persuade her to keep the trellis. She had to.