That makes my eyebrows fly up.
Look, I’d love to tell you what Monica says next.I really would.But she just hit me with the confidentiality card, and I’m already in enough trouble with Hunter.
What I can tell you is this: it’s going to complicate the hell out of everything.
Silas
Normally,the Buffed & Polished gigs are a challenge because I’m thinking about Bailey.But this time, all I can think about is the call from Monica Schaefer.
“Dude,” Morgan says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.“You’re supposed to be using the broom, not staring at it like it insulted your mother.”
I blink and realize I’ve been standing frozen in the middle of the living room of the Taylor house, holding the broom, while eight women in tiaras and sashes watch me with varying degrees of amusement.
“Sorry,” I say, flashing them my best smile and doing an exaggerated hip swivel that makes them cheer.Crisis averted.
Kit catches my eye from across the room where he’s wiping down the kitchen counter with far too much enthusiasm.He raises an eyebrow.You okay?
I nod and get back to work, trying to focus on the job.
We’re doing the Cosmopolitan package tonight—bow ties, black slacks, and pink martinis that Kit premixed before we arrived.The bride-to-be is wearing a sash that says “Last Fling Before the Ring” and a tiara that’s slightly crooked.They skied all day yesterday, and we’re their last hurrah—a brunch show—before they board a private charter van back to the city.
They keep squealing every time one of us does literally anything.
“Can you flex again?”one of them asks Morgan, who’s loading their dishwasher.
“Which muscles?”Morgan grins, because of course he does.“I’ve got a lot of them.”
They dissolve into giggles and Morgan flexes everything—arms, chest, even his jaw somehow.The man’s a professional.
I finish sweeping and start dusting the bookshelf, trying to channel even half of Morgan’s natural showmanship.But my heart’s not in it tonight.My heart’s in New York City, wishing I was with Bailey.
“Speech!Speech!”the bride-to-be’s friends start chanting, and Morgan immediately hops up on a chair like he was born for this moment.
“Ladies,” he begins, hand over his heart.“On this sacred night, as we celebrate the beautiful Amanda’s last days of freedom?—”
“I’m getting married, not going to prison!”Amanda protests, laughing.
“—we must remember the important things in life.Like making sure your spouse knows how to load a dishwasher correctly.”He gestures dramatically at the machine.“He should vacuum once a week.He needs to do his share of the chores, take initiative, and most importantly...”Morgan pauses to flex.“He better look damn good doing it.”
The women are cracking up now, and even I have to admit it’s pretty funny.
“But seriously,” Morgan continues, his voice softening.“Marry someone who makes you laugh.Who cleans when you’re tired.Who looks at you the way your fiancé looked at you in those photos.”He points to where several engagement photos decorate the kitchen table that’s holding the buffet.“Because that’s the real thing right there.”
There’s a collective “awww” and Amanda’s actually tearing up.
Morgan hops down from the chair and takes a bow.Kit and I applaud along with everyone else.
That’s the thing about Morgan—he can turn anything into a moment.Make anyone feel special.It’s his superpower.
I wish I had even a fraction of that confidence right now.
We finish up the job, take photos with the bachelorette, and collect our tips.By the time we’re loading up Kit’s van, it’s almost three.
“Good gig,” Kit says, dividing up the money.“Though, Silas, you were kind of off tonight.Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”I pull on my hoodie, the March evening cold.“Just tired.”
“If you say so,” Kit says while starting up the van.
