Chapter 21
CALVIN
The clock hasn’t moved, but the air feels different now. The frenzy has broken.
I slip onto the garden terrace where late-afternoon light filters through the leaves. The air smells of wildflowers and cut stems, of tea someone finally remembered to brew.
The panic has thinned into laughter, shaky but real. Maddie sits near the window, bouquet in her lap while a stylist pins the last of her curls into place. Riot is in the corner wrestling with his tie, grumbling loud enough for Cara to bark corrections between breaths of relief.
Normalcy returns.
Riot waves his arms like a war hero, retelling his “killer honeybee battle” to anyone who will listen.
Cara rolls her eyes. “Calvin, can you vouch for this nonsense?”
I shrug. “If Riot’s telling it, then it must be true.”
I linger in the doorway, hands in pockets, watching gratitude ripple through the chaos. Riot catches my eye, finally victorious with the tie, and flashes a triumphant thumbs-up. I lift my glass in a quiet salute to the team that refused to let one mistake define the day.
Chaos, forgiven and shared, has its own kind of grace. And standing here, part of something messy and unplanned, I feel it more than I have in years… what it’s like to belong.
Jules lingers at the counter, sliding glass vases back into order. Her smile is a little less guarded now, her shoulders dropped an inch. She looks like she belongs here, real, rooted, not just passing through someone else’s story.
“You did good, Jules,” I say.
She glances up from the vases, a strand of hair falling loose near her cheek. “We all did.” Then, softer, almost like she’s admitting more than she means to, “Thanks. You have more patience than I remember.”
I smirk. “Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you don’t always get what you want.”
Her eyes flick up, searching mine. “The world works in mysterious ways.”
Something in her voice softens the air between us.
“That’s the old adage,” I agree.
We linger a beat longer than we should, the room softening at the edges but never breaking in.
She raises her glass to mine.
Clink.
The sun catches the rim, a tiny spark flaring between us. For a heartbeat, her eyes hold mine. Warm but careful. No pressure. No history to fight over. Just the quiet miracle of standing side by side, for once on the same page.
Then Cara barrels in, arms full of wildflowers. “Alright, lovebirds, go get ready. If you’re late, you’re eating your cake with your hands!”
We both laugh, the spell broken, and Cara beams like she planned it that way.
Suddenly the doors open, and the first guests spill in with bright voices and echoing footsteps.
The beautiful chaos is back in motion.