Chapter 14
Caleb
I can’t get Brooke out of my head. Her voice saying yes, chef has been on repeat in my head, and that’s dangerous.
I’ve been thinking about those two words coming out of her mouth (among other things involving her mouth) ever since.
The way her cheeks turned pink when she realized what she said, it was fucking adorable.
This is going to get me and my feelings in trouble.
My parents aren’t upset about the burger and fries surprise.
It didn’t bother Dad that it was for Spencer Soirees, making me wonder if he’s softened since his heart attack.
He liked the idea. Foley’s has offered late-night bites at weddings ever since the trend took off years ago, but to-go bags at the end of the night is a new twist.
It’s been over a week since that wedding, and I’ll never forget the sound of all those happy drunk guests. It felt like a small something I created on my own. With a little help from Brooke.
We’ve only been in touch via email about the Quincy wedding. She shared the event design with Hannah and Preston after a few minor tweaks, and they happily approved. Brooke’s pretty fucking good at her job. Not that I’m surprised.
The last wedding we did together at the country club before I moved was a near-disaster.
The Spencer Soirees lead planner showed up two hours late with no explanation.
The bride had one too many mimosas getting ready and stumbled through photos before the ceremony.
Brooke, an assistant planner at the time, turned the whole thing around.
She led setup flawlessly and, with the help of coffee and french fries, helped the bride sober up.
The lead planner, probably knowing her time at Spencer Soirees was up, left early without telling anyone.
Brooke was on her own for breakdown until I realized and helped her.
After, we sat in my car for hours eating our Duchess grilled cheeses and talking about everything except for the one thing I wanted to.
I need to forget all that. I need to get through this summer, through the Quincy wedding, and move on for good.
With the design plan officially approved, our to-do list grows by the day.
Brooke already scheduled meetings with all of the vendors, and I was able to convince her it was essential that I attend the meeting with Warehouse Rentals.
We’re catering three meals in one weekend and I’ll be serving the food on these rentals, so it’s not a huge stretch.
Even the most Type-A, micromanaging wedding planner can see that.
Her ears must be burning.
Brooke: 5:30 p.m. tomorrow at the Warehouse Rentals downtown showroom.
Brooke: Don’t be late!
Caleb: I’d never keep you waiting, babe!
Brooke is late.
It’s shocking.
I stand outside the showroom obsessively checking my watch, looking up and down the street for the polished brunette who drives me crazy.
The meeting starts in ten minutes. She should be here by now.
I’ve been taking the Brooke Spencer approach recently, arriving at least fifteen minutes early to meetings.
I dig into my back pocket for my phone. No texts or calls from Babe, the name I’ve given her in my phone. She’s going be so annoyed when she realizes.
“Caleb!” My heart skips and I look up.
It’s Hannah.
I force a smile and give her a hug. Jennifer is by her side, and I hug her too, quickly. I’m not getting stuck in that death grip again.
“Where’s Brooke?” Jennifer asks.
“She’ll be here any minute. Probably hit some traffic,” I say, looking up and down the street one more time. Normal rush hour congestion, nothing more. “Why don’t we head inside? We can start with the catering rentals.”
I usher them inside and glance at my watch. 5:30.
She’s officially very late. I call her cell. No answer.
Baxter talks Hannah and Jennifer through several options for the table settings, walking around the oversized table in the showroom with half a dozen combinations of chargers, plates, napkins, glasses, and silverware.
Under normal circumstances, I can hold my own when it comes to table settings. I worked closely with our wedding coordinators in San Francisco, helping bring a couple’s vision to life while also serving the food they wanted. I’ve already had meetings like this one with other Foley’s clients.
But these are not normal circumstances. This is a wedding with an elaborate design plan expertly curated by Brooke. As much as it aggravates me that I need to rely on someone else, she needs to be here for these final decisions.
It’s getting closer and closer to six o’clock and there’s still no sign of Brooke.
No call, no text, nothing. This is not like her at all.
Hannah’s glancing towards the door just as much as I am.
Tension builds in my chest. Caleb Foley, if you fuck up this wedding because you forget to show up at a meeting, so help me god.
She gave me so much shit before I even messed anything up, and now she’s half an hour late.
“Caleb?” Baxter looks at me like it’s not his first attempt at getting my attention.
I need to focus. Hannah is flustered and needs guidance.
I may not have Brooke’s experience working directly with brides, but I’m not about to fuck this up for her—for us.
I’m livid with her right now, but also growing concerned about why she’s not here.
“Hannah was asking what you thought of this one.” He points to a place setting on the table.
It’s a classic setting with a clear light blue charger that has a ruffled rim and gold edges.
On top is a simple white plate for the entree and a patterned salad plate.
What had Brooke called it in the design plan? Relaxed elegance.
I brush my sweaty palms against my jeans.
“It’s beautiful but…what do you think about swapping out the patterned salad plate for white and using this one for the entree?
” I swap the plate with one from another setting a few places down.
“The design on this plate will get lost under the salad course, but the entree plate has the design on the rim and will work nicely with your menu.”
“I love that,” Hannah says. “Do you think Brooke will be okay with it?”
“You still haven’t heard from her?” Jennifer asks, clearly annoyed. I’m seething that Brooke’s left me on my own here, but I can’t let them see that.
“Brooke will love it,” Baxter says, buying me time to get my frustration in check.
“We could use that salad plate for the farewell brunch,” I say. “It’ll bring the overall design through to the end of the weekend.”
“We definitely need Brooke’s input before we confirm. She totally gets my whole vision,” Hannah says, looking at Jennifer. Hannah may be anxious at Brooke’s absence, but Jennifer is mad.
“Where is she anyway?” Jennifer asks.
“I’m sorry she’s not here,” I say, pulling out my phone in the hopes of a message from Brooke. “This isn’t like her.”
“She’s never missed a meeting here,” Baxter says. “I’m sure she has a good reason.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Hannah says.
Jennifer scoffs like maybe she doesn’t have a similar hope. It makes me wonder what I was thinking when we dated. And why she acted so cheerful at our initial meeting.
I’ve worked with plenty of clients who’d be in a complete panic if their planner didn’t show.
I would have assumed Hannah would be one of them.
She’s not in a panic, but she is unsettled.
I can’t believe Brooke’s completely ghosted us without so much as a call.
She better have a good excuse. If there’s something wrong, I don’t want it to mess anything up for either of us. I dig my phone out.
“Oh, she just texted me,” I lie. “Her car broke down across town and she didn’t have service. She apologizes for not being in touch sooner.”
“Service does suck over there,” Jennifer says, reluctantly. Baxter nods.
“I’m glad she’s okay,” Hannah says. “Can we send her pictures of what we’re thinking?”
“Sure,” I say and start snapping.
We finalize the place settings for the reception and move on to the rehearsal dinner and farewell brunch. After an hour, we’re finally done.
Baxter walks Hannah out. Jennifer and I following.
“Funny that Brooke hasn’t gotten back to you since you sent her those pictures,” Jennifer says.
“I’m sure she’s dealing with getting a tow,” I say. “I’ll check in with her tonight.”
For the last hour, I’ve been willing the meeting to end so I can drive to Spencer Soirees and find out what was so important that Brooke missed this meeting. The second it’s over, I head across town.
It’s a miracle I’m not pulled over for speeding as I fly down Post Road, and another miracle that I don’t hit any red lights.
It’s after rush hour, but you never know what kind of traffic you’ll run into in this part of town.
The only car in the small lot behind Spencer Soirees is Brooke’s. She is here.
Heat rises through me and my chest pounds. I wish I had the doors on the Jeep so I could slam one shut and release some of this pent-up frustration as I exit my car.
Instead, I take deep breaths as I walk, hands clenched into fists at my sides. I climb the front steps and knock on the door. I wait a minute before grabbing the doorknob and turning it. It’s locked. I knock again and something shifts in me, but I can’t pinpoint the emotion.
I pace the front porch, glancing up and down the street.
Where the hell is she? Maybe she stepped out to grab dinner nearby.
There are enough restaurants in this town that you could dine out once a week all year and never eat at the same place.
But Brooke wouldn’t do that when she was supposed to be meeting with a client.
From the corner of my eye, I see something inside the office through the bay window. I put my head and hands to the glass to get a better look. My anger evaporates so quickly, I shiver. It’s been replaced with fear.
Shit.