Chapter 2
Nothing ruins a perfectly good luau faster than two women screaming at each other over a redhead who looks ready to bolt for the nearest coconut tree.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned as the owner of the Country Cottage Inn, it’s this—never turn your back on a wedding party, especially when two women in designer sandals are preparing to launch handbags at each other.
The steel drums have switched to something that sounds vaguely like elevator music played through a blender, and the smoky scent of charcoal and pineapple mingles with enough hairspray to punch a hole in the ozone.
The sun is starting its dramatic descent toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and pink that would make anyone want to sit on the sand and watch the display in a trance—anyone but these two.
“Ladies,” I say, sliding in between Charlotte Van Buren and Camila Ryder with the confidence of an innkeeper who’s broken up fistfights before. “Let’s not spill anything this evening that we can’t mop up with a cocktail napkin.”
Charlotte is seething with her mascara already threatening to evacuate, and Camila looks like she just got caught sneaking the last brownie out of a bake sale and dared you to say something about it.
Charlotte Van Buren is exactly what you’d expect from a socialite who treats every moment like a photo opportunity—blonde hair that defies both humidity and gravity, a tan that screams professional spray booth, and the kind of effortless beach waves that probably took three hours and a small village to achieve.
She’s wearing a white sundress that is no doubt couture and is accessorized with enough gold jewelry to fund a small country.
Everything about her screams Insta Pictures influencer, from her perfectly manicured nails to the way she angles herself toward any camera within a fifty-foot radius.
She’s the bride who hired a wedding planner three weeks before her big day after her original venue mysteriously fell through, and judging by the way she’s glaring at said wedding planner right now, things aren’t going according to her hashtag-worthy vision.
“Stay out of this, Bizzy,” Camila is quick to snip my way.
Camila Ryder has been a thorn in my side for far too long, with her chestnut hair, champagne problems, and a face that belongs on a wine label warning you about heartbreak.
She’s still hot to trot after Jasper—my husband—despite the minor inconvenience that he’s, you know, married.
To me. But she has finagled her way into the sheriff’s department as his department secretary because nothing says I’m over you quite like becoming your ex’s employee.
Jasper is the head homicide detective down in Seaview County, and Emmie’s husband Leo just so happens to be a deputy there, too.
Oddly enough, Camila left Jasper for Leo once upon a time and nearly cost Jasper and Leo their friendship, but now Leo is married to my bestie Emmie, and we’re all living happily ever after—despite the fact this wicked witch keeps trying to trip us up.
“Camila Ryder,” she says smoothly, extending her hand to the redhead while shooting me a look that could freeze margaritas.
“I work with the sheriff’s department. Please excuse our beautiful bride-to-be.
She’s under a lot of pressure right now, as you can imagine.
” She takes a moment to slice a glance my way.
“And this lovely lady is Bizzy Baker,” Camila purrs, like we’re old friends instead of longtime mental sparring partners.
And don’t think I didn’t notice that she left out the surname my husband gifted me.
“I was just accompanying Charlotte to chat with our charming wedding planner. You’ve met Tessa Greene, haven’t you? ”
“I’m Tessa Greene,” the redhead says my way, looking grateful for the rescue. Her sleek bob is slightly mussed, and she’s clutching a clipboard as if it’s a life preserver.
“I met Charlotte this morning,” I say, offering the bride a smile that I hope reads I come in peace. “But I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you until now. It’s so nice to finally get a chance to speak with you, Tessa.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Emmie chimes in, bouncing Elliot on her hip. “Tessa, I think we met by way of text messages. I’m the one who helped get the food together for the luau.”
“Oh, you are my lifesaver! Thank you for putting up with all of my madness.”
“And I’m Georgie!” Georgie waves enthusiastically, her coconut bra clapping together as if offering up a spontaneous applause. “Honey, if my coconuts pop off before the buffet gets replenished, we’re going to have a full-blown crisis on our hands.”
She’s not wrong.
Emmie elbows her. “Georgie, let the woman breathe. Tessa, if you need any help with any of the culinary needs, I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you,” Tessa is quick to tell her. “I so appreciate that. I will definitely be meeting up with you. And thank you and your team for catering the luau. I know it was last minute.” She looks my way and smiles. “I hear your husband is good friends with the groom.”
“Both of our husbands, actually,” I tell her while hitching a thumb to Emmie. “In fact, they’re in the wedding.”
“Speaking of the wedding,” Camila says with that syrupy smile she reserves for maximum damage, “I used to date the groom-to-be way back when myself. Piers and I had quite the connection.” Oh, I remember that connection, all right.
The way he used to make me scream his name— In fact, he’s still hot.
And ambitious. And flexible, if memory serves correct.
I gasp before I can help it.
Camila’s eyes narrow as she looks my way. I know darn well you’re prying into my mind, Bizzy Baker. You keep to yourself, or I’ll deny everything and make your life miserable.
The thing is, Camila found out I can read minds because Leo confessed to her while they were dating that he has the same quirk.
She put one and one mind readers together and figured it out, but I’ve never admitted as much to her.
Smart money says I never will, but I shoot her a look despite the fact.
“Anyway,” Charlotte says, her voice pitched high enough to summon dolphins. “We were just discussing the proper protocol for uninvited guests at pre-wedding events.”
“I was invited,” Camila says coolly. “By the groom himself.”
“To document the wedding for your little YouTube show,” Charlotte snaps. “Not to parade around like—”
“Ladies!” a male voice interrupts with the type of charm that probably got him out of speeding tickets. “What seems to be the trouble?”
I turn to see a man with sandy hair and a smile that could sell snow to Santa. This would be the groom. Piers Pemberton saunters toward us, all sandy hair and charming grin, looking like a boy-band member turned real estate mogul with a closet full of pastel polos.
And at his side is a man who could make mannequins feel insecure. Dark hair. Tall. Sculpted jaw. Shoulders that suggest protein powder and minor miracles.
Georgie clutches her chest. “Hubba hubba! I think my prince just showed up. And I’d happily let him rescue me—no horse required.”
“Piers Pemberton,” the sandy-haired charmer says, extending his hand her way. “And this is my best man, Conrad Carrington.”
Conrad nods politely, but his eyes are fixed on Tessa with an expression I can’t quite read. He offers a tight smile. “Best man. Emotional support adult. Occasionally used as a human ladder at parties.”
We all share a quick laugh with him.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Bizzy, and this is my inn you’re about to turn into wedding central.”
“We can’t thank you enough,” Piers says, then nods at Charlotte. Something passes between them—the sort of look that suggests private arguments and public smiles. “Everything okay here?”
“Just a small misunderstanding,” Charlotte says, grabbing Piers by the arm. “We need to discuss the seating arrangements. Now.”
Charlotte hisses something in his ear. He scowls. She grabs his hand and yanks him down the sand, with both of them bickering all the way.
Conrad watches them go, then turns back to us. “Well. Here’s to true love, questionable choices, and open bars.” He looks directly at Tessa. “Try not to let any surprises ruin your plans. You might want to be careful around this crowd. Not everyone here has your best interests at heart.”
He says it with a smile, but there’s something underneath that makes my spine tingle as if he just issued a threat. He nods our way before walking off into the orange sunset, leaving behind the scent of mystery and really expensive cologne.
“Well,” Tessa says, smoothing down her hair, “let’s start over, shall we? I’m Tessa Greene of Something Borrowed, Knot Your Average Wedding.” She giggles as she says it. “I thought that was clever.”
“It is,” I agree. “Very punny. And I mean it. I’m always a sucker for a good pun.
In fact, my mother and Georgie own a shop called Two Old Broads.
” I wince a little because that’s less of a pun and more of a chronological fact, as my sister Macy likes to point out.
She’s the one who helped them come up with the twisted moniker in the first place.
“And I run a YouTube channel called Gossip Gal,” Camila interjects, because she can’t go three seconds without having the spotlight on her. “I specialize in all the local gossip and then some. I’ll be doing a special feature on the wedding, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
She looks toward where Piers disappeared and puckers her lips as if gunning for a kiss, and Emmie’s expression turns sour.
Oh great, cue the chaos gremlin, Emmie muses to herself, and I couldn’t agree more. Once Camila sets her sights on someone, she doesn’t let go—not even if he’s the groom in an upcoming wedding.