Chapter 104 Laney
Laney
Ishould have known telling the Magnolia ladies was a mistake.
A beautiful mistake.
But still.
A mistake.
By ten in the morning, the kitchen looks like a command center.
There are notebooks.
There are color swatches.
There is a three-ring binder that appeared out of nowhere and may be alive.
Saint stands in the doorway holding Emmy, watching the invasion like he’s trying to decide if this qualifies as a hostile takeover.
“They brought… charts,” he says quietly.
Mildred beams at him. “Of course we did.”
Mabel nods. “We’re not animals.”
Saint looks at me. “Blink twice if you need extraction.”
I laugh. “You’re not leaving me.”
He sighs. “I knew this was a trap.”
They sit me down.
Like, sit me down.
Pen in hand.
Notepad in front of me.
“First question,” Mildred says. “Big wedding or small wedding?”
I open my mouth.
Saint says, “Small.”
Everyone turns to look at him.
He clears his throat. “I meant… whatever she wants.”
I smile at him. “Small,” I say. “Definitely small.”
Mabel makes a note. “Good. Easier to control.”
“Control?” Saint repeats.
She pats his arm. “You’ll be fine, dear.”
He does not look convinced.
They start asking about dates.
Venues.
Flowers.
I start to feel a little dizzy.
Saint notices immediately.
He steps in, sets Emmy in her bouncer, and puts a hand on my back.
“We can slow this down,” he says.
Mildred gasps like he just suggested canceling Christmas.
“Oh no, you can’t. But you can breathe.”
I laugh. “I want simple,” I say. “Nothing fancy. Just… us. And the people we love.”
Saint nods. “That’s the only part that matters.”
Later, when the Magnolia ladies finally leave (after assigning themselves several unofficial committees), Saint and I sit on the couch in the wreckage.
There are sticky notes everywhere.
He looks at them.
Then at me.
“Is it too late to elope?”
I grin. “Probably.”
He considers this. “I would have done it in a courthouse. With you. And the baby. And then bought you a very good burger.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “That actually sounds perfect.”
He kisses my hair. “We can still make it ours. No matter what they try to turn it into.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I said yes.”
That night, after Emmy is asleep, we sit in bed with one of the notebooks.
Saint flips through it like it might explode.
“So,” he says carefully. “What do I need to do?”
I smile. “Show up.”
He nods. “I’m very good at that.”
“I know.”
He looks at me for a long moment.
“You sure about me?” he asks quietly.
I close the notebook and take his face in my hands.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He leans into my touch like he still can’t quite believe he’s allowed to be held.