Chapter 18 Blair
BLAIR
Isense it immediately—something is wrong. Instead of the cheerful chaos I expected to find in the kitchen, there's an undercurrent of tension. Emma sits at the farmhouse table with her bridesmaids, still in her pajamas. Her face is streaked with tears as she glances at her phone.
Through the kitchen window, I see Bill in his work clothes, helping the catering staff unload their truck, but there are no stylists, and there's no champagne, no excited chatter about the big day.
Moira bustles around like a woman possessed. She's in her robe and her hair is disheveled. She's pulling items from cabinets seemingly at random—coffee filters, a spatula, then puts them back—as if staying in motion will solve whatever crisis has descended on the Barnes family.
"Oh good, you're up," she says when she spots me. "Where's Livvy?"
I glance between mother and daughter, trying to read the situation. "She's feeling a little rough around the edges," I admit. "I was wondering if I could take breakfast upstairs for her but..." I hesitate. "Is everything okay?"
"No, everything is not okay." Emma looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes.
"My wedding planner called an hour ago. She's having a nervous breakdown.
Apparently, this was her first wedding—her first real job—and she couldn't handle the pressure.
She admitted to having ordered the flowers for the wrong date so we have no centerpieces, no bridal and bridesmaids bouquets, and no archway for the ceremony.
She's not coming. She's just... not coming. "
“Oh no…” My stomach drops. "I'm so sorry, Emma."
Emma continues, her voice rising with each word as she gestures helplessly toward the window. "The catering company is here but they don't know where and how to set up and what to do and I have no hair and makeup artists as she booked those for the wrong date too."
One of the bridesmaids—a redhead whose name I never caught—speaks up. "I called three florists in Frederick. They're all booked for today, and even if they weren't, they don't have enough inventory to create what we need with only eight hours' notice."
Moira sinks into a chair beside her daughter, finally abandoning her frantic bustling. "Guests are starting to arrive at four," she says numbly. "The ceremony is supposed to be at five. And even I can't work miracles."
I glance at the clock on the wall. It's just past nine in the morning.
Eight hours to pull together a wedding from scratch.
Even with unlimited resources, that's a nearly impossible timeline.
My mind automatically starts scrolling through my contacts, but I come from a completely different background and some things can't be fixed with wealth alone.
Emma's phone buzzes against the wooden table, and David's name flashes on the screen.
She stares at the phone like it's a snake, her hand hovering over it before she deliberately turns it face down.
"I can't," she whispers, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"He has no idea what's going on. How do I tell him that there's no wedding?
That I hired an incompetent planner who's ruined everything?
" The phone stops buzzing, then immediately starts again.
Moira reaches over and takes her daughter's hand.
"We'll figure something out, sweetheart.
Even if we have to have the ceremony in the living room, we'll make it work.
The officiant has confirmed and the most important thing is that you and David are getting married.
You know, when I was planning my own wedding thirty-seven years ago, we didn't have wedding planners.
We just did everything ourselves. My mother made all the centerpieces from wildflowers we picked the morning of, and my sister did my hair with hot rollers in our bathroom. "
"Mom," Emma interrupts, her voice cracking with frustration.
"The wedding is today. It's impossible." She sniffs.
"David's family is flying in from Seattle, my college friends are driving down from Philadelphia.
There are seventy-five people expecting an actual wedding, not some thrown-together disaster. "
"What about the cake?" I ask. "I assume the catering company is taking care of the cake? So you'll have that, right?"
Emma's eyes widen in horror, and she gasps so sharply it's almost a scream.
"The cake!" Her voice rises to near hysteria.
"Oh my God, no. The cake is from the bakery and was supposed to be delivered by now.
She probably ordered it for the same date as the flowers and the make-up artists!
" She shakes her head frantically and covers her face with her hands.
"Next week! Everything apart from the catering is scheduled for next week!
The only reason the catering company is here is because I booked them myself. Thank God I booked the officiant too."
I puff out my cheeks and look at the four devastated women. Someone needs to take charge here. Moira looks shell-shocked, Emma is dissolving into hysteria, and the bridesmaids seem too bewildered to function, let alone tackle a crisis of this magnitude.
"Okay," I say, raising my voice with authority. "Plan. Emma, I need you to make a list of everything that needs to be done. Everything the wedding planner was supposed to handle. And write down what kind of cake you want—flavors, size, design, whatever details you can remember."
Moira frowns at me like I've lost my mind. "But that's impossible, Sailor. Bakeries can't just make a wedding cake on the same day. These things take days, sometimes weeks to—"
"Trust me with the cake," I interrupt, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. "I can arrange that."
Emma sniffs while a flicker of something that might be hope crosses her face. "You can?"
"Yes. But I need that list first." I look between Emma and her bridesmaids. "Do you have any friends who would be good at running errands and helping out today? Generally practical and capable people who can follow instructions and won't panic under pressure?"
They look at me like I'm completely deranged, but Emma slowly nods. "I think... yeah, I think we can find some people. My friend Beth is good in a crisis, and David's best man is super organized."
"Great. Call them and ask them to come over immediately." I move to the coffee pot and pour two large mugs, then start plating breakfast for Liv—scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits.
"What are you going to do with the list?" Emma asks, watching me with growing curiosity.
"Let's leave that to The Boss." I grab the two coffee mugs in one hand and the plate in the other. "Oh, and call David back. Tell him the truth. You can't ignore him; he might think you're having second thoughts about the wedding."