Chapter 2
Silas
Guests filed into the Prince barn, which was sparkling with fairy lights and softened with lavender silks draped skillfully from the rafters to match the wedding colors.
I guided a wandering groomsman into position next to the bride and groom. “Stand here. Smile and shake hands, but don’t talk too much. We want the line to keep moving, so we can get everyone seated.”
“Who appointed you boss?”
“I did,” Jenn said from down the line. “Behave, Jeremy! Silas has made my wedding perfect so far. Do anything he says.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow at me. “Anything?”
I smirked. “Well, not anything. You’re too young for that.”
He started the spluttering of a young, straight—but possibly curious—man, and I laughed and moved on to check in with the caterers.
The reception hall looked perfect. Maverick had arrived before the bridal party to set up floral arrangements.
The bakery from Riverton had delivered a stunning three-tier cake that looked more like art than food.
Everything was poised to go off without a hitch, but there was always some small glitch to work out.
Today, that glitch was my great-aunt Lula and her favorite partner in crime, Iola Fletcher, making a beeline for me.
“Silas!” Lula said, beaming at me. “Everything looks beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said. “The bride has good taste.”
Iola clucked. “You have good taste, you mean.”
I chuckled. I wasn’t one to brag, but well, was it bragging if it was true?
“I do.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Interesting choice of words on a wedding day. Might you be wishing it was your turn to exchange vows?”
“I’m happy running the show behind the scenes, thanks.”
“You’re much too handsome to never take the spotlight,” Iola said coyly.
I pointed a finger at her. “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not interested in matchmaking services. I’m not the marrying kind.”
She huffed. “You’re so stubborn, Silas! We just want to make you happy.”
Marissa came toward me, a stressed expression on her face that didn’t bode well.
“I have to go talk to the caterer. Take your seats and enjoy, okay?”
Iola sidestepped in front of me. “The bartender is awfully cute. He’s been looking at you longingly all night. We could match you up.”
I glanced over and cringed. “Ugh, no. Not Paxton. Been there, done that, don’t want the T-shirt.”
Lula twittered. “Goodness, Silas! He seems like a sweet man.”
Marissa reached us just then. “Silas, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the ice-maker is not working and—”
“Say no more. I’ll run out for bags of ice. How many do we need?”
“Five?”
I surveyed the room. “Better make it ten to be safe. Everything else is on track?”
“Yes! We’re ready to start serving as soon as the toasts are made.”
“Lovely. I’ll instruct the DJ to keep folks entertained a few extra minutes while I grab the ice and then we’ll be ready to roll.”
I started in that direction when I registered that I had two shadows trying to keep up with me.
“Silas, we just want you to be happy,” Iola said. “You deserve that, even if things didn’t work out before.”
I whirled, narrowing my eyes. “You know what happened?”
“For ages,” Iola said. “You stayed with Lula when you came to town. Of course she confided in me.”
Lula winced. “I’m sorry, dear. I was only worried about you. You were hardly eating when you arrived. You were so pale and lethargic. I needed advice.”
“I told her to put you to work, and look at you now,” Iola said proudly. “You’re the best dang wedding planner in Granville.”
“In the whole state!” Lula added, stroking my ego.
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
“I needed a push back then, so…thanks. But I’m good now.”
“Are you?” Lula said tentatively. “Because it looks to me like you’re still afraid of meeting someone special again.”
I scoffed. “I’m not afraid. I’m just happy with how things are.”
“Are you?” Lula pushed. “Or are you still just nursing old wounds?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I needed to talk to the DJ and get that ice. I didn’t have time to convince my aunt I was no longer grieving over a man not worth my time.
Sure, it had hurt when Michael jilted me at the altar in front of all our friends and family in Pasadena.
He had destroyed my life plan in two little words. Instead of I do, he’d stuttered out “I can’t,” and fled the premises, leaving me with the mess.
My spectacular wedding—planned meticulously for months—became a scandal.
Not only had I lost my fiancé, but my position at the most elite wedding planning service. Brides tended to get superstitious, and no one wanted to work with a guy who couldn’t even pull off his own ceremony.
Lula was here, in the middle of bumfuck Nebraska, and it had seemed like the perfect escape when I needed to run.
I’d landed on her couch, wallowed for three weeks, and then finally gotten my ass back in the game when she introduced me to the owner of Veils & Vows.
I almost gave up wedding planning, but I was damn good at it, and after everything Michael took that day, I wasn’t about to give him my career, too.
But I wasn’t the idealistic, romantic, na?ve wedding planner who’d had his trust shattered five years ago.
I’d realized I’d dodged a bullet. Had we married, Michael would have divorced me later. I saw it with far too many of my couples. They were glowing and happy—just like Jenn and Wendall—and two or five or ten years later, they wanted to tear out each other’s throats.
Oh, not all of them. Some couples stuck it out for good. But that was like playing the lottery. The odds were not stacked in anyone’s favor.
I chose not to buy a ticket. If I didn’t play, I couldn’t lose.
But I couldn’t explain that to Iola and Lula, two women so committed to love that they were trying to match up the whole dang town.
“I’m really fine,” I told Lula. “But I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Prove it,” Iola said. “One match. What could it hurt?”
I hesitated, but I could see Marissa watching me anxiously. Time was of the essence and I couldn’t spoil Jenn’s special day because I let two old ladies waylay me for too long.
I didn’t have time to argue.
“Please, Silas,” Lula chimed in. “We just want to see you giving happiness a chance again.”
I groaned. “I’m happy when you let me do my job!”
“Your job can’t keep you warm at night,” Iola said tartly.
“I’ve got plenty of men for that,” I shot back. “I’m single, not celibate.”
Lula swatted my arm. “Be civil, young man.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“If you’re really not afraid, what’s the harm in a little matchmaking?” Iola persisted.
I threw up my arms. “Fine! One match.”
She clapped her hands. “Finally! I knew you’d crack!”
I narrowed my eyes. “Only because I’m too busy to keep arguing. One match, ladies, and then you back off for good and leave me the heck alone. If I rot in loneliness, it’s my business!”
“Deal!” Iola said, “But you have to actually try—”
I ducked around them, already refocusing on my next plan of action. “Sure, fine. But only one match! Make it a good one, because after that, we’re done!”