Chapter 7
Brooke
The rare weeknight wedding holds a special place in my heart.
I love the pomp and circumstance of an over-the-top three-hundred-person Saturday night wedding, with a twelve-piece band, three outfit changes for the bride, and a sparkler sendoff as much as the next wedding planner.
But these more relaxed, smaller weddings are something special—and a hell of a lot easier.
Plus, this one is keeping my mind off Caleb and our meeting with Hannah Quincy tomorrow. But mostly Caleb.
Tonight’s wedding is a small and intimate ceremony on the beach with a beautiful view of the Long Island Sound, followed by cocktails and dinner at a small beach club. Only fifty guests. I could do this in my sleep.
The ceremony was lovely, short and sweet, and the weather is everything you dream of for an early summer night.
Warm enough for a new summer dress with a gentle breeze coming in off the coast. Guests gather on the clubhouse porch for cocktails as a trio of musicians play pop covers on string instruments.
After assessing the scene and checking off Cocktail Hour Begins on my timeline, I move inside for one last check before the reception begins.
“Could you ask the waitstaff to begin lighting all of the votives?” I ask one of the servers.
Everything is in place, as it was an hour ago.
Four long farmhouse tables fill one side of the room.
There are sheer ivory table runners along each table, on top of them are mismatched vintage plates and glassware of various blues.
Bright but soft late-spring florals weave across the tables in a way that looks perfectly haphazard, meticulously arranged by the florist.
On the opposite side of the room, the five-person band finishes setting up before moving into a quiet sound check. Small weddings make for some of the best dancing. Families are closer and more comfortable with one another, happy to dance and let loose without copious amounts of alcohol.
Flipping through my clipboard for the seating chart, I check the place cards for the third time.
The grooms put so much care and consideration into the seating arrangements tonight.
It’s another thing I love about these smaller weddings.
They’ve put together old friends who haven’t seen each other in ages.
There are two single guests who they’ve been trying to set up for years.
Is it ridiculous that I’m checking these again, when I’m the one who arranged them originally and reviewed the chart with my clients half a dozen times?
Yes, it is. But I wouldn’t be this good at my job if I didn’t ensure every detail was perfect.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Unknown number: Nice fanny pack.
There’s only one person who would give me grief about my fanny pack.
Glancing around the room, I only see the waitstaff lighting votives and the band tuning their instruments. Guests are still out on the patio.
No sign of Caleb. Where the hell is he and what is he doing here?
Hands land on my shoulders from behind. “Hey!”
“Jesus Christ!” I jump, dropping both my clipboard and phone on the floor. I turn around and swat Caleb’s arm.
“Ow!” he fakes. I keep myself from actually saying ow. His arm is solid. Super solid. And now it’s scooping up my clipboard and phone from the floor.
“I have guests coming in here in fifteen minutes! What are you doing here, Caleb?”
“Nice to see you too, Brooke,” he says. “I’ve got a wedding here next weekend.
Thought I’d come see the space. Didn’t think it’d be occupied on a Wednesday night, but when Joey told me he was working and you were the planner, I had to come see you in action.
Make sure you’re up to my standards if I’m going to be working with you. ”
“If I’m up to your standards?” I blow out a breath. “You’ve got to be kidding. You know I’m good at my job, Caleb.”
Caleb, now standing back up, still has my clipboard and phone.
“Gimme those!” I grab for them, but he takes a step back.
“Let me look over this timeline.” He skims through the pages on my clipboard.
I don’t even let Maddie, my best friend and most trusted colleague, hold my clipboard, let alone other vendors.
They each receive their own final copy via email the night before and printouts the day.
He’ll be reacquainted with my planning style and timelines soon enough.
I cross my arms and start tapping my foot. “Caleb, I’m serious, I need that!”
He smiles and it looks genuine. “Not too bad.” He hands me my beloved clipboard.
I hold out my free hand to him. “And my phone?” I’d like to tear it from his hands, but I can’t do that in front of wedding guests.
“You promise not to block my new number?”
“I’ll wait until after the Quincy wedding, since unfortunately I’ll have to communicate with you regularly for the rest of the summer.”
“Works for me.” He hands me my phone, and I place it in my belt bag.
“Will you be on your way now?”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to bother you, Brooke,” he says. “As much as I enjoy it. I need to see the kitchen and what I’m dealing with. I won’t be long. No one will know I’m here.” He winks and walks away.
I’m behind on my timeline now, but the only behind I’m concerned about in this moment is Caleb’s as it walks away in snug dark wash jeans. It’s not fair that he’s somehow gotten more attractive over the last five years.
Get it together, Brooke.
Where was I? I shake my head, take a breath, and look down at the timeline. I’m not about to let Caleb or his behind let me get behind on this wedding. He cannot mess up any of my plans.