Chapter 36 Clara
THIRTY-SIX
CLARA
The wind knifed straight through my coat the second I stepped out of the car, breath puffing white in front of me.
My arms were full—a camera bag digging into one shoulder, garment bags piled over the other, a clipboard wedged against my ribs—and I just stood there in the packed snow of Star Harbor Family Farm’s parking lot, heart thudding for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.
It had been a week since I walked out of Wes’s house with a duffel and a shaking voice.
Seven days of pretending the lumpy couch at Kit’s was a fun sister sleepover and not an emotional evacuation point.
Seven days of trying not to think about the jewelry store envelope folded into the back pocket of my camera bag with an appraisal and an obscene number attached to the ring I had every intention of selling.
Seven days of smiling in town while feeling the weight of small-town stares slide over me—curious, sympathetic, nosy in that way Star Harbor had perfected.
“Clara!” Cal called. “You’re here—good. We’re running about fifteen minutes behind on florals.”
Right. Work. I had work.
I smiled at Cal as he helped me off-load the wedding dresses. “I’ve got you all set up in the cottage. Plenty of room to get ready.”
I was so grateful for him. I’d promised him and Elodie that I would make the farm shine, and I had every intention of delivering. “Thanks. I’m going to pop over and make sure no one needs anything, and then I’ll start getting myself together.”
He nodded, and I squared my shoulders against the wind before starting toward the big blue barn.
The place looked like the inside of a snow globe someone had shaken a little too hard.
The white trim peeked out behind the trees, and the dull gray-blue water of an icy Lake Michigan made the blue pop against the Western Michigan sky.
The barn doors were propped open, strings of twinkle lights already glowing against dark wood even though it was barely early afternoon.
Elodie’s touch was everywhere—vintage lanterns on barrels, crates stacked with folded blankets, a chalkboard sign that read WINTER WEDDING SHOOT in her feminine looping script.
Inside, it was controlled chaos. Buckets of flowers on a folding table. The photographer’s light stands, gear cases, and the faint hiss of a space heater working overtime.
“Florals over here, please,” I called automatically, weaving through bodies to the center of the barn. “No, a little closer to the doors so we get the light through them. Twinkle lights higher—we’ll start at the oak, then move to the barn doors.”
Hands moved. People adjusted. Someone shoved a clipboard into my free hand.
“I think this is yours,” they said, already hurrying away.
I took a breath and let the rhythm of it steady me. Shot list. Timeline. Problem-solving. It was easier to focus on logistics than on the hollow ache under my breastbone.
“Big day.” Elodie’s voice came from behind me, warm and familiar.
I turned as she wrapped me in a quick, tight hug that smelled like cinnamon and cold air. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, hair tucked up under a knit hat, clipboard of her own half-tucked against her chest.
“You holding up okay?” she asked, leaning back to search my face.
“Great.” I pasted on a smile that didn’t feel entirely fake. “Busy is good.” I exhaled and leaned in to tell her the truth. “I’ll be okay.”
Her mouth flattened a little, revealing exactly how much worried big-sister energy she’d been expending. “Well,” she said, patting my arm, “if it turns out you’re not, you know where the good whiskey is. In the meantime, this place has never looked better.”
Pride flickered under my ribs, bumping against the hurt. “Thanks. I think the florist is having a meltdown about the temperature, but it really did all come together.”
Elodie laughed and moved off to wrangle vendors. I stepped toward the open doors, fingers tightening on my clipboard as a gentle gust of wind cut through the barn and made the lights sway.
A low murmur of voices floated from near the entrance. I caught just enough as I walked past to set my teeth on edge.
“That’s the Darling girl, right? The one from the almost-wedding?”
“Can you imagine? I’d never look at a bouquet again.”
Their voices dropped when they realized I was within earshot. I kept walking, spine straight, cheeks burning under the winter air. Clipboard, camera, shot list. Nothing else was their business. Not today.
“Clara?” Mara, my photographer, waved me over from where she was adjusting a lens. Her dark hair was stuffed under a beanie, breath fogging the air. “Question. Do you want me to grab some groom shots before things get crazy, or . . .”
My brain stuttered. “Groom shots?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, like she was checking to make sure she hadn’t hallucinated something. “I thought I saw a guy in a tux heading toward the back path a minute ago. Maybe I’m losing it. Anyway, do you have a model lined up? I can start with details and landscape if not.”
The words slid over me but didn’t stick. Some stand-in Elodie had wrangled at the last second, probably. Maybe Cal or Hayes, conscripted against their will. The thought made me chuckle.
I shook my head. “No groom on this one. We’ll start with solo bridal shots. The dresses and the farm are the stars today.”
“Cool.” Mara gave me a look I couldn’t quite read—confusion, maybe, or curiosity—but she just nodded. “Works for me. I’ll get some establishing shots around the property and meet you by the inn when you’re ready?”
“Perfect. I’ll text you.” I checked my watch, then the light spilling in through the barn doors. We were on schedule. On paper, everything was exactly where it needed to be. “Text me first, if you need anything.”
She headed out into the snow, camera already lifted, her assistant trailing behind with a bag of lenses. People swirled around me—florist, caterer, Elodie’s staff, Cal hauling something heavy—but I felt weirdly separate from all of it, like I was directing a play from just offstage.
I took one more steadying breath, tucked the clipboard under my arm, and turned toward the cottage nestled next to the inn.
Time to make myself look like the kind of bride who didn’t have a heart that felt like a bruise.
I crossed the packed path between the barn and house, snow squeaking under my boots, cold biting at my bare fingers where they clutched my camera bag strap. From the outside, it probably looked perfect—the barn, the wreaths, the lights, the woman in charge of making it all look like magic.
If I kept moving, maybe I could almost believe it.
I stood in the renovated cottage, mostly put together, while winter light poured in through the big front window and turned everything soft around the edges.
My hair fell in loose waves, one side pinned back with a comb of pearls and tiny crystal sprigs.
My makeup was the kind I only ever gave other people—fierce and soft at the same time, liner sharp enough to cut and blush warm enough to make me look like I hadn’t spent the last week crying into Kit’s couch cushions.
The dress was a work of art. Winter-white lace sleeves hugged my arms, sheer and delicate, the pattern crawling over my skin like frost on glass.
The bodice dipped low in the back, a clean, elegant swoop that met a skirt that spilled out from my hips like fog over snow—layers of tulle and satin floating around my legs when I shifted.
“Hold still,” Elodie murmured behind me.
I caught her eye in the mirror as she tugged the zipper up, fingers sure and gentle. The satin hugged my ribs and settled into place with a quiet, final little whisper.
For a heartbeat another dress hovered over this one. Stiff bodice. Too-tight lace. A chapel full of people holding their breath while I ran through two equally mortifying options: stay and be humiliated or run.
My stomach flipped, and I breathed through it.
I could barely remember that woman anymore.
I met my own gaze in the glass. There were nerves there, sure, but there was something else too—something steadier. I’d put a wedding dress on again. I’d stepped into it on purpose, knowing exactly what it meant and what it didn’t.
One day it would be real. One day I would marry someone who actually wanted to stand beside me. For a half second I saw it too clearly—Wes at the end of an aisle, grumpy and gorgeous, eyes soft just for me.
The ache that followed was so sharp I had to swallow around it.
“Hey.” Elodie’s reflection leaned in, fingers fussing with a curl near my temple. “If anyone pisses you off today, just remember you’re wearing enough skirt to hide a body.”
A startled laugh punched out of me. “Good to know.”
She smiled at me in the mirror, wise and kind. “You look beautiful, Clara. And not just in the good for my marketing kind of way. You’re a vision.”
I blinked hard and turned the emotion into a smirk. “It’s just work,” I said. “We’re selling the dream, remember? No actual grooms were harmed in the making of this content.”
“If you say so.” Her tone suggested she didn’t entirely buy it, but she squeezed my shoulders anyway. “Cal’s waiting.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Ready, ladies?” Cal’s voice floated in, followed by his head. He gave a low whistle when he saw me. “Damn, Clara. You’re going to break the internet.”
“Please don’t let me fall on my face,” I said, gathering the skirt. “That’s all I ask.”
“Not on my watch.” He tipped an invisible cap and disappeared again.
Elodie helped to gather up the layers of skirt so I could shuffle forward without tripping.
We made it outside in a rustle of fabric and nervous laughter.
At the side door, the cold hit my bare back in a shocking rush, stealing my breath.
Elodie grabbed a wool blanket, tugging it over my shoulders to fight the frigid temperatures.
The side-by-side idled just off the path, engine rumbling, a little plume of exhaust curling into the air. Cal sat in the driver’s seat, gloved hands on the wheel, his expression a mix of professional calm and boyish excitement.
“Your chariot awaits,” he called.
I scooped the skirt up with both hands, bunched it against my thighs, and carefully climbed into the passenger seat. Layers of tulle puffed everywhere. Elodie did a last-minute tuck-and-fluff so I wasn’t sitting entirely on a small mountain of dress.
“Text me if you need anything,” she said, stepping back. There was something in her eyes I couldn’t name. Hope, maybe. Or just the kind of faith that made you build a whole business on other people’s vows.
I nodded, throat tight. “We’re going to make the farm look incredible. I promise.”
Cal shifted into gear and eased us forward, tires crunching over the packed snow.
The wind found every gap in the blanket, sneaking under lace and tulle, raising goose bumps along my arms. I wrapped one hand around the roll bar, the other still clutching the front of the wool, and I tried to let the focus settle over me.
We’d start with wide shots at the oak—long lines of branches overhead, my skirt spread over the snow, a bouquet of winter greens in my hands. Then closer—hands on bark, veil catching peeks of golden light. I ran through the sequence in my head like a checklist.
The anticipation made my stomach lurch, like I’d gone over a too-fast hill in a car.
Today was about work. About proving—to myself, to everyone—that I could build something beautiful out of all the poor decisions I’d made in my life.
The inn fell away behind us. Dunes rolled out on one side, water crashing below, snow lying in uneven drifts where the wind had pushed it. The old oak rose at the far edge of the property, a dark silhouette against the pale-pink sky, its bare branches reaching wide like arms waiting for an embrace.
Cal eased off the gas as we crested the little rise in the terrain leading up to it.
“Okay,” he said, voice a little different. “Don’t freak out.”
My pulse stumbled. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. The side-by-side rolled the last few feet, engine rumbling low.
I looked up.
The oak came into full view.
Bare branches were laced with fresh strands of twinkle lights, with snow packed into a rough aisle leading up to the trunk. My brain automatically cataloged the details: gorgeous soft lighting, a decent path, a slightly crooked lantern on the left that I’d fix before we shot.
Then my eyes found the man standing under the branches, and everything else went fuzzy.