Practically Perfect (Unexpected Love #1)

Chapter 1

one

“More wine, Kate?” Chelsi asks.

“Always,” I reply from the couch, a blanket covering my legs and my trusty computer perched on my lap. Moments like this are why I’m grateful to have a roommate and best friend who enjoys wine, carbs, and cheese.

Chelsi makes her way into the living room, carrying a cheeseboard with a half-empty bottle of Riesling sitting precariously on it. “How long until dinner?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Between the two of us, I’m the cook. Chelsi’s great at making a charcuterie board and reheating leftovers, but that’s where her culinary skills end. Thankfully for me, she doesn’t mind doing the dishes. Regrettably, she loves watching awards shows.

“Perfect. The celebrities will have all walked the red carpet, and we’ll have our plates ready before the show starts.

Can’t wait to see who Chase Elliott brings.

He’s pretty much the Leo DiCaprio of country music with a string of twenty-something models on his arm.

” She takes a sip of her white wine and pops a piece of Parmesan into her mouth.

“Can’t wait to see what everyone is wearing. I live for the fashion fails.”

Chelsi is unfiltered, the polar opposite of me.

She blurts out whatever pops into her head, whereas I’m strategic with every word.

Always have been. Maybe it’s because our upbringings were so different.

Her hipster parents encouraged her to speak her mind.

Didn’t blink an eye when she quit her job as a CPA to pivot to work in PR for a tech startup.

She had no experience but convinced the CEO to hire her on the spot.

She’s a fucking force of nature in every aspect of her life, minus dating.

She has absolutely the worst luck when it comes to men.

“Any chance I can convince you to watch literally anything else?” I’m not above bribing Chelsi to switch the channel. I’d much rather watch an obscure sporting event than spend my evening watching musicians fawn all over themselves like they’re God’s gift to the world.

“Why do you hate awards shows so much? You seem to have a visceral reaction when we watch them.”

“Awards shows and fashion aren’t my thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Chelsi stares at me, peering into my soul like she knows there’s more to the story and isn’t going to let it go. “Are you going to tell me the real reason, or should I guess? I’m already concocting multiple lewd potential scenarios.”

Yep. This is exactly what I thought would happen.

Either I tell Chelsi what’s going on, or she spends the rest of the night critiquing the fashion and performances while she also throws out ridiculous reasons why I could hate awards shows.

It’s not that I hate all awards shows. Just ones with musicians. Country musicians, specifically.

“It’s a long story,” I reply, hoping she’ll agree to pick up this conversation at a later point in time. Like never.

“Good thing I’m here all night. Spill the tea,” Chelsi says excitedly, turning all of her attention to me.

I groan and rest my head back against the couch.

“My problem isn’t with awards shows. It’s more of a dislike of the entire country music industry.

” I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together to prepare myself to talk about him.

“My childhood best friend was a huge fan of country music and made me watch stuff like this all the time. Nonstop country on the radio. We were inseparable until he cut me out of his life fifteen years ago without warning. That’s why I prefer to avoid anything related to country music.

It reminds me of him and brings up some not-so-great memories. ”

“Did not expect that answer. Why haven’t I heard this story before?”

“Never been a reason to talk about it. It’s in the past,” I reply, attempting to shift the conversation so I don’t have to discuss Jake any longer. “Forget I mentioned it. We’ll watch the show, and you can provide an ongoing commentary on their fashion choices.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely. I’m going to focus on wedding planning, so it’ll be background noise.

Probably won’t even pay attention to it.

” I force myself to smile softly, attempting to show I’m fine and unaffected by the whole situation.

But I haven’t really been fine since he ghosted me, like our friendship of eighteen years meant absolutely nothing.

I shake my head, thinking back to the countless nights I waited up for him to call, only to be disappointed.

The longer he was gone, the more our friendship deteriorated until it was nothing more than a pile of ash.

Remnants of the past that need to stay buried forever.

“Let me guess, you’re working on a spreadsheet for the wedding.

I’m beginning to think your true love is spreadsheets,” she jokes, tousling her chin-length curly dark brown hair with her fingers.

“Does your fiancé know he’ll always come in second to them?

Or are you waiting until after the wedding to confess? ”

“Very funny. Don’t hate on spreadsheets. Detailed project plans keep this world running smoothly.”

Chelsi shudders. “If you say so. My dream is never to create one again. Too many nightmares from my time as an accountant. The monotony drove me insane. I don’t know how Brian can handle it. Probably why the two of you are perfect for each other.”

“You’re not wrong. I can’t believe we’re getting married next year.

There’s so much to do.” I stare blankly at the massive wedding plan on my laptop.

Who knew wedding planning could be this complex and cumbersome?

Not me. Every time I finalize my to-do list, I’m surprised by another dozen items that never crossed my mind.

Planning a wedding is almost a full-time job, and I already have a demanding full-time job.

Chelsi continues to drink wine and snack while providing real-time fashion commentary.

She’s full of hilarious opinions. There is no one like her.

I’m halfheartedly listening, focusing on finalizing the draft of our guest list. The small wedding I originally envisioned has taken a turn.

Brian’s dad owns a prominent accounting firm in Chicago, making our wedding a personal and business event—the way every bride wants to hear her wedding described by her future in-laws.

The initial guest list from Brian’s mom was four hundred people and labeled “first draft.” What does that even mean?

How do they know so many people? My invite list is fewer than fifty.

I thought it was absurd when Brian insisted we reserve an enormous ballroom for the reception.

Now I’m questioning if we’ll have enough space.

Thoughts of eloping have crossed my mind lately. It’s cheaper than feeding hundreds of people. But our moms would lose their shit. Our wedding is as much about them as it is us.

I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, forcing myself to focus.

It’s hard to make progress on wedding planning when it feels like I don’t have full control.

It also doesn’t help that my mom keeps reminding me how behind I am on the save-the-date cards.

God only knows what else she believes I’m allegedly behind on.

The woman acts like I’m planning a royal wedding.

My phone vibrates, and the sight of “Mom” flashing on the screen makes me tense. Can she read my freaking mind now?

Mom

We should hire a calligrapher to address the save-the-date and formal wedding invitations. It will help set the tone for the event.

Judy

Completely agree!

For the love.

I regret teaching my mom how to create group chats.

She’s become a menace, spinning up one for everything, and using them to gang up on me from almost three hundred miles away.

I didn’t even have a chance to read her message before her best friend, Judy, agreed with her.

The two of them are probably sitting at the kitchen table together, coordinating their responses.

Judy’s been a second mother to me since her family moved in next door when I was two years old.

I spent as much of my childhood at her house as I did mine.

The only downside is that Jake is her son.

The man who cut me out of his life, not thinking twice about destroying our friendship.

Even Judy can’t explain why he did it. I’ve come to accept I’ll never know the reason.

He’s an ass and doesn’t deserve any of my time, but I refuse to hold his shitty behavior against Judy.

My mom would be lost without her, and so would I, even if Judy contributes to the obsession with wedding planning.

I fire back a quick text, telling them I’ll think about it and breathe deeply, reminding myself that my life is practically perfect.

Chelsi is the yin to my yang. We live in a gorgeous condo, with a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline, and it’s a short walk to my office.

I’m on the path to achieving every one of my career goals as a marketing director for the city’s largest advertising agency, where I spend my days leading a creative team that works with the most well-known global consumer brands.

To top it off, I’m a year away from marrying the love of my life.

My other half. My soulmate. I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect life.

Planning the wedding and dealing with my mom’s overinvolvement in my life are merely speed bumps on my journey to happily ever after.

“Hey, beautiful. It smells great in here,” Brian calls out, walking in the front door. He doesn’t technically live here, but he stays over almost every night. “How long until dinner?”

“Fifteen minutes,” I respond.

“Perfect. Just enough time for a shower. Want to join?” he asks, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. He’s dripping in sweat from spending the past hour at the gym.