Chapter 2 Gracie
Gracie!” Calvin’s handsome face fills the screen, and ten thousand memories I’ve tried to keep buried claw their way to the surface.
He’s smiling, his dark blond hair slightly damp, like he’s just showered.
I inhale and swear I can almost smell his scent of sandalwood and mint. “It’s been forever, how are you?”
Speaking. Words. Conversation. The last three decades of experience in these fields are suddenly insufficient. “Cal, hi,” I say eventually. “This is unexpected.”
He pulls an apologetic face, eyebrows pinching above deep-set blue eyes. “I know, I’m sorry—I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”
I glance toward the wedding ceremony I’ve been hired to ensure goes perfectly, and then to where Agatha is blatantly eavesdropping, looking every inch like a bad-tempered flamingo.
“Um, it’s fine! Great, I mean. I’m coordinating a wedding right now, but I have a minute. Is everything okay?” And by that, I clearly mean, Are you calling to reveal the unwavering torch you’ve carried for me all this time?
His grin is back, this time wider than before. I’d forgotten the way it gives him those smile lines around his eyes and—
“Everything’s good, good! I’m calling about a wedding, actually. I know we fell out of touch—totally my fault, you know how bad I am at that stuff—but I pop onto your socials once in a while and know you’re planning weddings these days. You look fantastic, by the way.”
At his completely unembarrassed admission to some light social media stalking, sparkling possibilities spring into my mind like foregone conclusions.
I imagine him telling me his sister is getting married, and would I be interested in planning it?
Maybe discussing it over dinner and a bottle of red?
“Thanks, Cal, you look really great, too,” I say a little too earnestly. “Whose wedding are you calling about?”
His grin slides into something sheepish, and he rubs the back of his damp hair in a gesture I remember all too well. “The thing is… well, believe it or not, it’s mine.” He looses a nervous laugh, as though he can hardly believe it himself.
For a long moment, all I can do is stare, hoping I’ve misheard him or that this is some kind of punishment nightmare for finding finance bro vests remotely attractive.
Absently, I realize my jaw has dropped, right along with what feels like a bowling ball, into my stomach. I’m pretty sure it’s my heart.
“I know.” He chuckles, oblivious. “I’m the last person anyone expected to get engaged, but I guess when you find the right person…” He lets out a sigh, and I swear his eyes go heart-shaped. “You’re done for.”
“Right person,” I repeat through numb lips.
All this time, I told myself I was letting go and moving on.
But now, all I can think of is the single sentence I’ve been grasping onto since he ended things.
Maybe when we’re older… who knows? Six words.
Six words that have fueled my most pathetic fantasies.
I’ve never felt so fucking embarrassed. I begin to shake, and suddenly, getting off this call is more important than my next breath.
“Congratulations, Cal. I… I’m happy for you,” I manage.
Barely. “But listen, I have to go. The ceremony is finishing up and—”
Calvin sits up, his relaxed posture disappearing. “Gracie, wait. I haven’t even gotten to why I’m calling. The thing is, Brooke and I are in a pickle.”
Brooke. Suddenly, my worst nightmare has a name. Why couldn’t it be Mildred?
“The thing is,” he goes on, “we’re looking to get married in early August. Maybe even at the end of July, if possible.”
My wedding planner brain auto-calculates how long he’d have to plan. “That seems doable,” I say. “Fifteen months is more than enough time.”
“No, not next August,” he corrects me. “This August. As in, a little over two months from now.”
I blink. “Cal, that’s…”
“Aggressive?” He chuckles. “I know. But the venue you work at is stunning, and I swear we’d be the easiest clients. Brooke and I don’t have time to plan this anyway, so you’d have complete creative control.”
“Me?” I ask, tempted to look around in case there’s another wedding planner hiding in the rosebushes. Until now, it was plausible that he was calling for advice or a recommendation. But at the revelation that he thinks I’m the woman for the job, my body temperature quickly begins to climb.
“Look. I wouldn’t have asked you, but we have to get married in August, and I don’t know anyone else who can, or would, help us.”
For one unthinking millisecond, my traitorous heart has the urge to swoop in and save the day, just to have him back in my life. Just to get the approval I’ve always craved from him. But the indignity of this task quickly smothers the feeling and then whacks it with a hammer.
“But why the rush?” I ask, redirecting the conversation away from me and the outrageous suggestion that I’m going to help him with this.
If he were to set a reasonable date, then he could have his pick of venues and planners—specifically, anyone but me.
His ex-girlfriend. “Surely you both want to enjoy your—” I pause, getting control of the sudden urge to vomit.
Or rev a chainsaw. “Engagement,” I finish.
This time, I’m not the only one who looks a little queasy. “Ah, well, the thing is…” He pauses, looking down at his knees before meeting my gaze again. “I’m going to be a dad.” He lets out that disbelieving laugh again, his face turning pink with wonder and nervous joy.
A rogue tear escapes down my face. “Oh my god,” I say faintly. I blink down at myself, trying to clear my eyes and half expecting to see a well-aimed spear sticking out of my chest. “A baby. C-congratulations.”
The words are automated. A knee-jerk nicety, as all my thoughts are shot down midflight.
“Aw, Gracie! Look at you getting all choked up. That means a lot,” he says, like he has no recollection of my own dreams of having kids with him someday.
To create the stable, affectionate family I never had myself.
He smiles, and the first spark of anger in my chest feels like a flame trying to catch in a drizzle.
“Brookey is only a few weeks along,” he goes on, “but she wants to tie the knot before she pops. She’s got a really conservative family.
” He grimaces, and I consider ending the call in protest to that nauseating nickname alone.
“A big wedding is important to her, so…” His voice softens. “It’s important to me, too.
It’s too much. His audacity is beyond the pale, and before I can stop myself, the words slip past my defenses in a quiet tremor of hurt and disbelief. “Is this some kind of cruel joke?”
He looks aghast. “Gracie, no. God, of course not. I didn’t mean to—” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“You didn’t mean to what?” I demand as anger begins to burn through my shock. “Ask the ex you completely ghosted to plan your wedding?”
To his credit, he looks appropriately ashamed.
“Gracie, please,” he implores. “I’m sorry. I know you’re the last person I should be asking, but I’ve never met anyone as organized or creative as you. You’re the only person I know who could pull this off, and I’m desperate.”
At his flattery, the old, familiar urge to please him rears its head again like a Whac-A-Mole dummy I’m too slow for.
This time, it takes more effort to remember that he knows I’ve never been able to say no to him.
But even I can recognize that what he’s asking is ridiculous to the point of absurd.
There isn’t a wedding planner in the universe who’d be willing to take on a two-month timeline.
Patience finally snapping, I say, “Why don’t you just elope? I’m sure there’s an Elvis out there more than happy to do the job.”
Calvin shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Brooke’s parents would never forgive us, and I won’t have them shaming my wife.”
My wife. It’s another spear to the chest, but at this point, I’m basically an Edible Arrangement sans the fruit. What’s one more barren skewer to the heart?
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, half to Calvin, half to myself.
He shakes his head and leans forward. “Listen,” he says desperately.
“I know I fucked things up between you and me. I ran away when I shouldn’t have, and you didn’t deserve it.
But neither does Brooke, and neither… neither does my kid.
” He stares deep into my eyes, vulnerable in a way he’s never been with me before, and my heart turns over like an engine failing to start.
“I love her, Gracie. I love them both, and I want to do this right. Please, help me get it right this time. You’re my only hope. ”
I swallow around the softball lodged at the back of my throat as misguided sympathy renders me speechless. He’s asking too much. I have enough on my plate as it is without the added trauma of helping him marry the woman I’d hoped to be one day. Of course I’ll say no. I have to.
But at his desperate face, careful compliments, and the first hint of an apology I’ve ever gotten from him, I’m somehow not mashing the End Call button when I know I should.
Instead, I’m biting my lip, losing a desperate fight against the ingrained urge to avoid disappointing anyone—including Calvin and his pregnant fiancée, who only want the same things I’ve always wanted. Safety. Security. Happily Ever After.
Already, justifications for my bad decision are swirling in my mind.
Haven’t romance novels taught me that everyone deserves a happy ending, even if they’ve made mistakes?
Calvin and Brooke are never going to find another wedding planner or venue willing to work with this timeline.
I honestly don’t even know if I’d be able to pull it off.
I let out a caged breath. I need to say no, and yet—
“Can you give me a few days to think about it?”
His blond head pops up like a meerkat’s. “Yes! Of course! Gracie, you have no idea what this—”
“I haven’t said yes,” I tell him. “I need to check my calendar and… things.” And by things, I mean my sanity.
“That’s fine, take all the time you need. I mean, don’t take too long.” He laughs nervously. “But thank you, Gracie. From Brookey, too.”
I repress the urge to gag. “Goodbye, Calvin.”
I end the call and promptly collapse against the cold stone wall.
I close my eyes and hear a cheer go up, like 150 people are applauding my idiocy.
The ceremony is over. From pure muscle memory, I press my earpiece and check in with Mark and Phoebe.
When they give me confirmation that they’re ready, I know I’ve got approximately two minutes to pull myself together before I need to make a thousand carefully timed details flow seamlessly together.
I crack open my tear-stung eyes, telling myself to stand up straight, only to find Agatha striding toward me in a fury of pink.
I expect a reprimand. Maybe a small slap to the face.
But instead, she pulls me from the wall herself and hugs me.
The scent of Chanel No. 5 engulfs me, and I let out a small sob.
When she whispers into my hair, her voice is soft. “That man deserves castration.”
I gulp down a small laugh. “Agatha, don’t—”
She pulls back to hold me at arm’s length. Her dark eyes scan my face as she purses her bright red lips together. “But you’re still going to help him, aren’t you?”
When I don’t confirm or deny it, her face softens. “Well, he was right about one thing. You are kind. A little too kind for your own good sometimes.”
“I could tell him no if you’re against it. I could tell him we’re completely booked,” I say, even as the guilt I know I shouldn’t feel begins slinking through me.
“The decision is yours, Gracie. Larkwood is open to them, but only because I think this might give you the closure you need. If you do this, you have to promise me you’ll try to move on.”
Closure. The elusive word that’s been outrunning me for the last three years. Maybe this is the way I find it at last. “I promise,” I tell her.
She smiles and pats my cheek. “That’s my girl. Now dry your tears and go after that bride and groom before they trample my rosebushes. I’m going up to drink champagne in my bathtub.”
I can’t help my smile. “Of course you are.”
The look she gives me is long and tender. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. You took it on the chin today, but getting back up is what’s going to make you stronger.”
“Do you think I’ll find it, Agatha?” I ask in a quiet voice. “My own Happily Ever After?”
She smiles. “You’ll find your great love, Gracie. Something tells me he’ll be the last person you suspect. But remember what I said earlier. Your Happily Ever After is up to you. Not me, not the future love of your life, and certainly not Kevin.”
I nod shakily, feeling an almost irrepressible urge to tell this woman, who has been more nurturing to me than my own family, that I love her. But then she’s gone, striding off in a twinkle of jewels before disappearing behind the heavy wooden door.
I’m… not okay. I’m whatever the opposite of okay is to the power of infinite Brookies.
But I wasn’t okay the night Calvin left me either, and I managed, didn’t I?
I built a new life for myself, and right now, Jasmine and her family are depending on me.
I wipe my tear-streaked face and straighten my back with the confidence of someone who knows that—at the very, very least—her day couldn’t possibly get worse.
And that’s when one of the beautiful white doves released at the ceremony flies beneath the portico, becomes confused, and shits directly on my black blazer.