Chapter 10 Sabrina
SAbrINA
After four sleepless nights of replaying every terrible moment with Trace, I dragged my hollow, guilt-ridden shell to the Hard Timber Inn at five-thirty in the morning, hoping work might numb the ache in my chest for a few hours.
Instead, I walked straight into absolute chaos.
For a moment, the noise didn’t register.
My body was still carrying the weight of Trace’s silence, my mind raw from replaying every awful word between us.
It took a full heartbeat before the panic of the room cut through.
Haven Hart, the highest-paid actress in Hollywood and the celebrity bride whose identity Mimi had finally revealed the moment the stretch limo pulled up in front of the Inn yesterday afternoon, was nowhere to be found.
Her maid of honor paced the lobby in tears, her phone pressed to her ear as she tried reaching Haven for the fifteenth time.
Mimi looked like she was one crisis away from a complete breakdown, her perfectly styled hair already showing signs of stress as she barked orders at confused vendors.
"She just disappeared," Mimi said, grabbing my arm the moment I walked through the door. "Left a note saying she needed to think. How can an internationally renowned Academy Award winning superstar sneak off without someone noticing? The ceremony is in six hours!"
I set my purse down on a side table and tried to project a calm I didn't feel. "Okay, let's—"
"The photographer is threatening to leave if we can't guarantee the ceremony will happen.
The florist wants to know if she should finish the arrangements.
And the caterer..." Mimi gestured wildly at a man in chef's whites who stood by the kitchen door looking like he wanted to stab someone with a paring knife.
"He's talking about packing up and heading back to Billings. "
My phone buzzed with a text from Paige who was opening the coffee shop since I was helping with the wedding.
Paige: Hey, the podcaster is at the shop asking questions about you and Trace and Haven Hart. What do I say? And also, how could you not tell me she’s the one getting married?!?!
Perfect. As if this day couldn't get any worse.
"Where's Marla?" I asked.
"Out looking for the bride. She took the groom and half the wedding party with her." Mimi’s laugh balanced on the edge of hysterical. "Do you know how much money is tied up in this event? How many people are expecting a show?"
I looked around the lobby… at the half-assembled floral arrangements, the sound equipment being tested by increasingly frustrated technicians, the elaborate tiered cake that had been delivered before dawn and now sat like an expensive monument to potential failure.
"We'll figure it out," I said, though I had no idea how.
The next few hours passed in a blurry haze of careful damage control.
I contacted every vendor, explained the situation and begged them to stay.
I coordinated with the photographer to get shots of the Inn and the surrounding area while we waited.
I even helped the florist rearrange centerpieces to buy time.
But by ten, with still no word from the missing bride, people started abandoning ship.
The call finally came at twelve-thirty. Haven’s assistant, her voice tight with embarrassment, confirmed what we all suspected…
we had a runaway bride on our hands and she wasn't coming back.
Cold feet had turned to panic, and panic morphed into overwhelming anxiety about the media circus she'd created. She was already on a plane back to Los Angeles, leaving behind a trail of contracts and non-refundable deposits she’d never get back.
Mimi sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. "Twenty years in this business, and I've never had a bride just... vanish."
Nico showed up around one, his camera crew in tow, looking like Christmas had come early. "This is even better than I hoped," I heard him tell his producer. “A celebrity wedding disaster in small-town Montana? My listeners are going to eat this up."
I was standing behind the registration desk, trying to coordinate with the few remaining vendors, when I saw Trace's truck pull into the parking lot. My heart stopped.
He climbed out slowly, his gaze landing on me through the lobby windows.
Even from a distance, I could see something different in his posture.
Not the wariness I expected, but a kind of determined resolve.
He hadn't spoken to me since the night I'd confessed about the Ex-List. Four days of silence that felt like a lifetime.
The front door opened, and he walked in, taking in the chaos with those observant brown eyes. Several people looked up like they were hoping he’d know exactly what to do next. Trace Quade had a reputation for fixing things, for making problems disappear with quiet competence and skilled hands.
"I came to find you," he said, his gaze locking onto mine as he crossed the crowded lobby. "To apologize. To tell you that I've been an idiot and I'm sorry I walked out." He paused, taking in the frantic activity around us. "We need to talk. But first, what can I do to help?"
Mimi rushed over to him like he was her personal savior. “Trace, thank god you’re here. We need to know if we can salvage anything from this disaster. The bride isn't coming back, but we have all this setup and—"
"Where do you want me to start?" he asked, but he was looking at me, not her.
Tears blurred my vision. After everything I'd done, after the way I'd lied to him and broken his trust, he'd come here to apologize to me. And now he was offering to help save a day that was spiraling out of control.
"The outdoor site," I managed. "Maybe we can help them figure out what can be salvaged."
He nodded and headed outside, Mimi trailing after him with increasingly frantic questions about what could be repurposed or returned.
I watched through the window as he surveyed the pergola, the rows of chairs still edged with morning frost, and the mountain vista that should have been the perfect backdrop for a fairy-tale wedding that would never happen.
Within an hour, he'd transformed the chaos into something organized. He helped vendors pack efficiently, coordinated with the photographer to get final shots of the setup, and somehow managed to make everyone feel like their work hadn't been completely wasted.
"He's good," the photographer murmured, appearing at my side as I watched Trace work. "You're lucky to have him."
I did have him once, but he wasn’t mine anymore. I’d ruined that all by myself.
By three, most of the vendors had cleared out, taking their supplies and cutting their losses. The elaborate cake sat in Marla's walk-in cooler, flowers filled every available vase in the Inn, and the string quartet was packing up their instruments with resigned professionalism.
I found myself with a moment of quiet, standing in the kitchen as I helped pack up the groom’s cake. My hands were shaking from exhaustion, from stress, and from the knowledge that Trace was only a few hundred yards away and we still hadn't really talked.
"How are you holding up?" His voice made me jump.
I turned to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, sawdust in his hair from helping dismantle equipment. He looked tired but solid, like the kind of man who could anchor anyone in a storm.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, then shook my head. "No, I'm not. I'm a mess. This whole day has been a disaster."
He stepped closer, his gaze searching my face. "Has it?"
I looked at him in confusion. "Trace, a celebrity wedding just imploded. The town lost out on national publicity. The Inn is going to take a financial hit, and—"
"And I found my way back to you," he said, his voice low and soft. "So from where I'm standing, today's been pretty perfect."
My throat went tight. "I'm so sorry. About the list, about lying to you, about—"
"I know." His voice was gentle. "I know you are. And I'm sorry too. Sorry I walked out instead of listening. Sorry I let my hurt feelings matter more than over two decades of knowing who you really are."
"Do you?" The words came out raw. "Because I keep expecting you to walk away. To decide I'm not worth the trouble."
Something shifted in his expression. "Sabrina, you want to know what I realized these past few days?"
I nodded, afraid to speak.
"I realized I've been wasting time being scared.
Scared of ruining our friendship, scared of not being good enough, scared of wanting something I didn't think I deserved.
" He took another step closer. "But you know what scared me most?
The thought of losing you completely because I was too much of a coward to fight for what we could have. "
My heart pounded against my ribs. "Trace—"
"I love you," he said. "I've loved you for years, and I was too blind or too stubborn or too afraid to say it. You writing my name on that list? It hurt. But it also woke me up. Made me realize that you were hurting too, had been hurting, and I'd been too wrapped up in my own fear to see it."
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. "I love you too. I've loved you since we were kids, and I was so tired of waiting for you to see me. Really see me."
"I see you now," he said, reaching up to cup my cheek. "I see all of you. The good, the complicated, the perfectly imperfect. And I love what I see."
He kissed me then, soft and sure and full of promise. It tasted like forgiveness and second chances and coming home. When we broke apart, I could hear the distant sound of vendors loading trucks, the last remnants of a wedding that never was.
"We should probably help clean up," I said, though I didn't want to move from the circle of his arms.
"In a minute." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression serious. "I have something to say first."