Chapter 26
PIPER
Piper's boots scuffed against the worn wooden floor as she slid onto the barstool, her shoulders tense, fingers wrapped loosely around her chilled glass of Cherry Coke.
She hadn't meant to be there. Hadn't meant to be spilling the latest chapter of her failures to Brek Montgomery, of all people.
And, yet, this is where she found herself.
Her fingers traced the condensation down her glass as she stared past it, voice low and unsteady. "Every time I get close to something resembling a relationship—mine or anyone else's? —it crumbles. Like clockwork."
She told him all about the weddings she’d planned and how they always ended badly. She told him about her parents. About Zach.
Across the polished bar, Brek leaned in, thick forearms sinking into the edge. Tattoos curled beneath the sleeves of his worn black tee. A crooked smile played at the corner of his mouth.
"Should I worry?" he joked, backing up an inch with mock-urgency. "I might catch your bad relationship cooties."
A laugh escaped her, but it dissolved before it reached her eyes. She tapped the edge of her glass, not looking up.
Brek didn't push. Just nodded slowly.
"I'm not an expert, but I do know that if love isn't messy," he said, voice quieter now, "you're not doing it right."
"I shouldn't be doing it at all." Piper stared into the fading fizz of her soda. "That's the point."
Something in her chest tugged at the edges, stretching too wide to ignore. Maybe love was supposed to be messy. Maybe that was the point. But her brand of messy felt less like fireworks and more like the aftermath of a bad storm with scattered debris, flooding, and sirens.
The bar door creaked open twenty minutes later. Aspen strode in, her lipstick intact and concern flickering in her expression.
She scanned the bar once, eyes locking on Piper, then Brek.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she approached, her presence abrupt and inevitable, as if drawn in by Piper's bad luck. Or, more likely, a cryptic text from her bartending brother.
"I've had time to think today and while I appreciate your thoughts," Aspen said, sliding onto the stool beside her. "Only I get to choose who gets promotions at my company."
"Aspen…"
"That promotion is yours," she continued. "And if you can't do weddings, then we'll figure it out. Hopefully, things will change. But if tomorrow and next week you feel the same, I'll accept it."
Brek slid some kind of fizzy beverage in front of Aspen without even asking what she wanted.
"I'm sorry," Piper said, eyes fixed on the corner of the bartop. "I shouldn't have left like that. I'm sorry."
For walking out. For probably giving the junior planners nightmares about their own career trajectories.
But Aspen smiled that kind, steady smile of hers. "We all spiral sometimes, Piper. Only difference is whether we spiral alone or with people who'll catch us."
"Is that why you're here?" Piper asked. "To catch me?"
"I'm here as your boss because I want to know what happened that made you try to give up your well-earned promotion. I'm here as your friend, because I'm worried," Aspen said.
Piper explained it all. Everything. Just threw it all up like it wasn't messy and gross.
Like shame didn't cling to every sentence.
Aspen listened, never flinching, not even when Piper's voice cracked on Zach's name, or when she admitted she left her phone at home because she didn't want to hear that Anna and Drake were truly done.
Her throat burned by the end, lips trembling from too many unspoken things finally said aloud.
Aspen took it all in with grace she'd never admit to possessing.
"That is a lot for one person to carry," Aspen said, finally.
The bell above Brek's door hadn't even finished its jingle before Babushka swept in. She descended like an Eastern European snowstorm dressed for brunch at the opera. People instinctively leaned out of her orbit, either from respect or mild fear.
She wore a teal trench coat bedazzled with rhinestone roses and carried a reusable grocery bag that smelled aggressively of dill and lavender tea. Her lipstick was a violent shade of coral that worked for her, and her earrings swung like miniature chandeliers with each determined step.
"Piper," she announced, loud enough that one man across the bar dropped his peanuts. "You are not cursed. You are dramatic."
Piper blinked. "I—what?"
"I have spoken to Anna. I have spoken to Zachary. They explain everything. So, I come find you." Babushka marched behind the bar with purpose, barely acknowledging Brek, who wisely stepped aside.
"You think your life is some terrible soap opera because a couple people yelled by pool?
" She plopped her bag down on the bar, then pulled out a tarnished silver flask, a handful of wrapped candies, and what looked alarmingly like laminated flashcards scrawled in hand-written Russian.
"Drake and Anna, they fight, then they make up.
Now they are sorry for you. Do not vorry though, there is no curse. "
"I thought you believed in curses and luck and all of that," Piper managed, sitting up straighter.
"I believe in tradition." Babushka barked, as if that were the same thing. She used the bottle to fill her flask and Brek said nothing. But he did try not to smile.
He failed.
Piper frowned. "But, at the venue walkthrough, you said the wedding would be cursed if we didn't include certain traditions. Your exact words were 'do this, or the love will suffer the eternal bad luck.'"
Babushka waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, I said that. It is how I get vhat I vant."
"You... weaponize superstition?" Piper asked.
"I am Russian grandmother. That is literally my job." She arched a perfectly drawn-on brow as if daring Piper to argue. "Also, fear is more effective than inspirational quotes. Write that down."
Piper stared, speechless. Somewhere between confusion and awe.
Babushka leaned in close, tapping her ring-heavy fingers against the counter. "There is no curse. There is only the story you tell yourself to explain vhy things fall apart. You vant to believe you break things because then you don't have to build anything new. You get to keep control. Hmm?"
Piper felt her stomach dip, the words slicing through her practiced self-deprecation like buttercream. Sharp, but with enough sweetness to hit deep.
"But you say happy tears before the ceremony mean sad tears after," she said, reaching for anything that could still be real.
At that, Babushka leaned back with a snort and dramatic hand to her chest. "Oh, no—that one's real. Always has been. Never tempt fate, Piper."
Piper licked her lips. Glanced to Aspen then Brek.
Both shrugged.
"Don't look at me like that," Babushka said, sipping from her flask. "Even a curse has its rules. Now, you tell Aspen you vant your job and big promotion." Babushka pointed to Aspen. "You give it back, yes?"
Aspen nodded. "Yes."
Babushka grabbed a napkin and spit on the edge, then she sprinkled some salt there and reached over the bar to press the result against Piper's forehead.
Piper was entirely too shocked to say anything.
"The curse is now gone," Babushka announced. "I have lifted any that remains."
"You said it wasn't real to begin with?" Piper asked.
"And now you believe it, yes?" Babushka nodded. "You go to your office and you vait for Zachary. He vill be there soon."
Piper frowned. "How do you—"
"I know things because I know them." Babushka waved Piper's almost-question away.
"She does, actually," Aspen agreed. "Right, Brek?"
"I know better than to argue about anything," he said with a smirk.
Then he gave Piper a coffee to-go for the road.
"Can't have my sister's best employee wandering the streets caffeine-deprived," he said.
And then she was at Montgomery Events. Outside on the steps, anyway.
The concrete seeped cold through her slacks as Piper sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair whipped across her face in the breeze, tangling around her collar, but she couldn't be bothered to tuck it back.
She stared at the flowers in the decorative urns flanking the building entrance. They weren't blooming now—past their season, brown-edged and drooping.
Totally apt.
Piper wasn't really spiraling anymore. She didn't know what she believed, but it was good to know Drake and Anna were fine.
But now that her emotional tornado had passed, it left behind that eerie stillness that comes after destruction.
She was numb now. Numb and unsure what she was going to do next. The curse theory had felt so logical hours ago. Now it felt like a convenient excuse for avoidance.
The wind bit harder, tugging at the hem of her coat, nosing under her collar. Her hands were tucked beneath her thighs for warmth. This moment, this limbo between emotional collapse and supposed resolution, gnawed at her.
That was the cruel thing about survival. It didn't promise clarity. You made it through the wave, sure, but then you had to live in the after. With the silence. With yourself.
Was this how her love story ended? Alone, on a step, waiting.
The sound of footsteps made her tense. She didn't look up. Didn't want to hope it was him.
"Everyone's looking for you."
That voice. She'd know it anywhere, even flattened by exhaustion. Piper lifted her gaze slowly, reluctantly.
"Literally, everyone. Heather and Jase, Sadie and Roman, Mom and Dad.
Babushka. Even Tess and Noah. Shelby. They're all out ready to find you.
" Zach stood at the bottom of the steps, hair disheveled, his blue hoodie wrinkled like he'd balled it up and shoved it in a gym bag.
He held two coffees and a brown pastry bag with grease stains blooming at the bottom.
"Babushka told you where to find me?" she asked.
"No." He drew his eyebrows together. "Did you talk to her?"
"Yes."
"How did she find you?"
Piper shrugged. "How does she do anything?"
"One of life's mysteries." He didn't hesitate, just climbed the steps and lowered himself beside her like he'd done it a thousand times. Like this was their spot. Like of course he'd find her here.
"I'm not ready to be found, yet," she said, her voice small and raw.
"That's cool." He held out a coffee and the bag. "You've already got your coffee. But here's a spare."
Piper glanced at her untouched cup. "Mine's cold."
"Mine's not."
The silence between them hummed with everything unsaid. She didn't take the coffee right away. Then she did, and the bag, too. She peeked inside.
"It's a croissant but not almond. I asked twice," he said. "I figured you are still on the outs with that particular nut."
That bought him a grin. She reached in and pulled out not just the promised pastry, but a small package of bubble gum. Pink like what she'd stepped in that first day. She held it up, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."
"I can't believe you came," she said quietly, the words scraping her throat.
Zach's eyes met hers, clear and steady. "I don't give up on the people I love, even if they want me to."
Her heart stuttered. She looked away, unwrapping the croissant with fingers that suddenly felt clumsy. "I went to Brek's."
"Yeah?"
"He had thoughts."
"He always does." Zach's mouth curved into a small smile.
She bit into the croissant, letting the buttery flakes dissolve on her tongue.
"For what it's worth, Tess's intern arranged for a photographer to catch the honeymooners for PR. Hoping for something romantic, but the guy caught them mid-squabble about a pillow."
"A pillow," Piper repeated flatly.
"Drake stole the good pillow. Apparently, this is a thing."
Despite herself, a small laugh bubbled up. "You're making that up."
"I swear on Babushka's pirozhki." He placed his hand over his heart. "They're totally fine."
That made her look up. "That's good."
She continued eating, letting the silence settle between them like a third presence on the steps.
Finally, she said, "Why are you here?"
He shrugged. "Because you are."
She closed her eyes against the wind and let it in—his words, the quiet, the truth of being seen. The healing.
Zach didn't push. He sat, drinking his own coffee, letting his shoulder rest a whisper away from hers. The non-answer was somehow the truest answer he could have given.
"You know, I've been thinking about it. You don't break things." Zach shook his head, his voice gentle but firm. "Maybe you feel the cracks before anyone else does. But that's not a flaw. That's being brilliant."
She snorted, unconvinced.
Piper took a shaky breath, absorbing this. "Still. I just... I can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong."
"Sometimes the other shoe never drops. There's no way to know if you'll be walking around with one shoe or two."
"Well, I prefer to know," she shrugged. "Sue me."
"That's what I thought. No surprises. No..." He gestured between them. "...unexpected chemistry with strangers on sidewalks."
His words from their first meeting, thrown back at her now with such gentle precision that her eyes stung.
She closed her eyes. Held the new coffee against her chest, letting its warmth seep through her sweater. She didn't say anything else, couldn't trust her voice not to crack.
"You know," Zach added after a moment, "you aren't the only one who worries about screwing things up. I worry, too. Everyone does. That means we're people."
A breeze rustled the dying flowers in their urns.
The evening light cast long shadows across the steps where they sat side by side. No kiss. Just quiet. Real.
Piper finally leaned her shoulder into his, a silent surrender.
Zach didn't move. He stayed, solid and steady beside her.
"I love you," she whispered, the words barely audible above the city sounds.
"And I love you." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. "It's enough."
And for the first time in forever, Piper believed it might be.
Maybe she didn't quite know what "enough" meant.
But if it looked like this? Quiet, present, solid? It was plenty.