Chapter 9
CALVIN
The dining hall looks like a party supply catalog sneezed across the room.
Yellow tablecloths wait to be smoothed, oversized sunflowers lean from syrup bottles, and a bag of chocolate coins has already spilled across a tray.
Overhead, a crooked Riot & Maddie banner dangles with one letter upside down.
By mid-afternoon, the B&B has shifted fully into wedding mode.
Tomorrow is the ceremony.
Tonight is the rehearsal dinner. Mostly family, close friends, and whoever survived the chaos of getting this far without strangling Riot.
In my pocket, the apology note burns hot against my hip. A promise and a question I somehow have to deliver.
Cara commands the room like a general, clipboard flashing, red pen at the ready.
Every crooked chair looks like it insulted her personally.
She straightens a napkin, then corners a server.
“Dessert forks to the left, not the right. This isn’t a diner.
And no plastic pitchers on the head table. Ever.”
Riot seizes the mic for a sound check, his grin pure mischief.
“Ring alert!” he hollers, voice booming off bare walls. “Last seen near my gym bag, reward offered in nachos. Check your pockets, folks!”
Laughter ripples through the rehearsal crew. He flicks a glance my way, eyebrows lifted, daring me to play along.
He sweeps toward the buffet hutch, currently a staging zone draped in lace with Mrs. Dorsey’s heirloom china waiting for tomorrow. With a flourish worthy of Vegas, he theatrically pours a slug of rum into the punch bowl.
Amber liquid glints in the light as he stirs, then raises the ladle like a toast. “Last night single, boys! Let’s make it count, eh?”
His shoulder nudges the hutch with a sharp jingle. Across the room, I flinch as a coffee mug perched too close to the edge begins to wobble.
Time slows. My shoe scrapes the floor in reflex, but Maddie’s right there, bracing the mug before it can topple and crash.
She straightens, smooths a loose strand of hair, and meets Riot’s eyes. “Riot, breathe. If you break this, you’ll owe Mrs. Dorsey more than an apology. And if you lose my ring, I’ll ring your neck.”
He flushes, then salutes his drink with exaggerated flair.
Behind the laughter and chaos, between spiked punch and almost-broken china, I search for Jules. Her laugh. Her light.
Riot swings around, pint glass in hand. “You were just gonna let me crash and burn, weren’t you, Cal? Some friend.”
I force a laugh. “I thought we agreed you’re indestructible.”
Across the room, Mrs. Dorsey parades a tray of her “special cookies,” offering them out like communion. “Don’t be shy, plenty for everyone.”
A groomsman bites in and coughs. “What is this, gingerbread or soap?”
Mrs. Dorsey beams, oblivious. “Secret recipe!”
Laughter ripples, but mine snags in my throat. Movement on the stairs pulls my gaze. Jules steps into the hall, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
My nerves spark. I’m suddenly too stiff, too aware of myself. She hasn’t even looked my way yet.
I shift, turning slightly like that might hide the fact I noticed her.
And just like that, I know she’s in my head more than I want to admit. Great. Now I’m the guy who forgets how to breathe when she walks into a room.
Halfway through rehearsal, Maddie slips beside me at the punch bowl. Her voice is low, meant only for me.
“You know, Riot talks about you more than you think. Half the reason he’s been counting down to today is so he could brag about his best man. He really does look up to you, Cal.”
Guilt and gratitude knot in my chest. Riot may hog the mic and spike the punch, but he’s more than the class clown. I remember us as kids, him daring me off the creek bank, proving there was nothing to fear in standing out.
His recklessness taught me to trust myself, to live freer. Half my confidence came from his unshakable spirit.
Right on cue, his elbow skims a chair, nearly sending his drink sloshing. He spins it into theater, arms wide, grinning like a linebacker guarding the line, not at the near-miss, but at me, waiting to see if I caught it.
Still the same kid who looks my way when the spotlight dims.
I raise my glass in a quiet toast. “To Mr. Indestructible, the best groom in the room.”
“Hey, I’m the only groom in the room!” he fires back.
I wink, and we both laugh.
For a beat his grin softens, and I glimpse the friend who taught me to leap before I looked.
Music echos through the hall as the party swells: servers hustle trays, Cara’s fingerprints on every detail, Riot cues karaoke sign-ups, and Maddie keeps the room with quiet grace.
I swirl my drink, caught between the spectacle and the rare pull of genuine connection.
Across the room, Jules is laughing with Cara, head tipped back, reckless joy lighting her face.
My breath catches.
We still haven’t spoken since the flower shop.
She’s avoiding me.
I haven’t caught her looking once, but I can’t look away.
Mom’s words echo: show her the real you… really see her.
And I do.
Not just the way the sun makes her skin glow like it’s trying to compete. More than just the beauty.
It’s the way she leans in to listen. The quiet strength in how she carries herself. The way she fills a room without even trying.
I’ve spent years mastering crowds, but tonight, even surrounded by people who know my name, all I want is for her to see me. To know me.
In my pocket, the folded apology trembles.
I’ve watched others play their parts.
Now it’s my turn.
My throat goes dry at the irony. She’s the same girl I once reduced to a formula, the one I told men they could “win.” And here I am, undone, wishing for the courage to cross the room.
Nerves crash through me. My palms are slick. The way she looks at Cara, laughter sparking in her eyes.
That’s the ache I’ve carried for years without knowing its name. Only now, standing here, do I finally understand.
I lean back against the cool wall, glass tight in my grip.
Cal the golden boy. The coach. The winner. That’s what they all see.
Not this—the man who freezes in front of the very girl he once faced without fear.
The party carries on. The world I’ve built demands polish and certainty. But this moment demands something else: vulnerability.
My heart hammers. My fingers graze the letter’s worn creases. I want to cross the floor and speak the words I’ve carried for years. That without her, every cheer has been hollow.
But the weight of reality tugs at me.
I fold my shoulders inward and lift my glass in a silent toast, just for me.
To the courage I still need.