There’s a solid breeze coming off the water. After the week I’ve had, the air feels good.
I got in late. Too late for the rehearsal dinner, too wired to sleep, and too tired to be good company for anyone with a pulse. So I found the nearest outdoor space, ordered something strong, and stood in the dark.
The balcony wraps around the side of the building. From here, I can see the warm, orange glow of the event space. Muffled noise from the party drifts over.
I’d almost tuned it out until I spotted the sign.
It’s massive. Floor-to-ceiling, flanked by floral arrangements that look more appropriate for a state funeral than a party. In the center, a photo of Piper and Ezra, enlarged to a size that feels less like a celebration and more like a memorial.
I stare at it. Then from somewhere inside, a string quartet starts a song that sounds like it belongs at an open-casket viewing.
Huh.
Here’s the thing about Piper: People who don’t know her think she’s quiet. They mistake her stillness for shyness, or her pauses for a lack of thought.
Those people have never been on the receiving end of a Piper Callahan opinion. If you’ve earned the version of her that exists under the composure, she’s got plenty to say. She just waits until the words actually mean something.
In my experience, that’s more than most people manage.
I’ve only been back home for a couple of months, and I’ve met Ezra twice. I didn’t like him either time. He has that kind of calculated charm that makes my internal alarm bells go off. He’s not good enough for her. Not even close.
But then again, I’ve been gone for five years. What do I really know? She’s marrying him. She looks at him and stays. She clearly loves him.
Maybe she’s changed that much. Maybe I don’t know her the way I thought I did.
I don’t get the chance to overthink it because my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Tell me something good,” I say when I answer.
“How about we got the Meridian contract?” Dominic Kane’s voice is thick with a grin.
I push off the railing. “You’re serious.”
“Signed, sealed, delivered. We’re in, brother.”
I press my free hand to the back of my neck. Something in my chest that’s been clenched for six months finally releases. Dom and I are pragmatists. Five years of bad coffee and driving each other crazy in whatever city we were in led to this—moving thewhole operation west, betting on ourselves in a city that doesn’t hand out favors.
Meridian is the win. It’s theyou-were-right-to-come-home card.
This contract means security. It means the risk wasn’t stupid.
“So,” Dom says, “you at the wedding now?”
“Arrived an hour ago.”
“Drink. Relax. Snag a bridesmaid.”
“The bridesmaids are like my sisters.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he laughs. “Just enjoy your vacation. You’re overdue some time off. Don’t screw it up.”
“Yeah, thanks, I guess.”
“See you in two weeks.”
And that’s it. The call ends. Dom has never seen the point in small talk. He gets to the point which I appreciate.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and lean against the railing again, the metal cool through my shirt. I don’t have anything planned after this. I took the time off because the wedding was coming up, and it made sense to stack things efficiently.
