Facts. “That’s because you’re a genius.”
“True.” She links her arm through mine. “But also because you knew exactly what you wanted. Even when you didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does.” She nods toward Dean. “Like him.”
“We’re not talking about—”
“You’ve been not talking about him all night.” She steals my champagne. “While he’s been not looking at you from across every room.”
My stomach bottoms out. “He’s looking at me right now.”
“Mhmm. Like you’re dessert and he’s been on a diet.”
“Gloria.”
“What? I have eyes. That man wants to eat you alive.”
I choke on air. “Can we not—”
My phone buzzes.
It’s Miranda.
Shit.
I’m standing at the edge of the tent, watching everything sparkle—candles flickering, music drifting, the bride glowinglike a fairy tale—and Miranda freaking Coleman who fired me is calling.
I let it go to voicemail.
She calls again.
I roll my eyes and answer. “Let me guess—you saw the social media posts?”
A tight laugh. “I always knew you had it in you, Poppy. Truly. The vision, the execution—it’s impressive.”
“That’s funny,” I say. “Because last I checked, you fired me for letting a Pomeranian eat a cake. But now you want to talk because there are a million people gushing online about this wedding?”
She powers through it. “You’ve made quite the splash. If you’re open to it, I’d love to talk about bringing you back. Under the Coleman Events umbrella, of course. Think of the exposure—”
“Oh, Miranda.” I sigh like I’m bored. “You taught me so much. Like how to smile while being undermined. And how not to seat the mistress at the family table.”
She’s quiet.
I smile, slow and sharp. “But I think I’m good. I’m building something of my own now. It’s called freedom. You should try it sometime.”
Then I hang up, rename her contact to: Miranda – Do Not Resurrect, and toss my phone back in my bag just in time to hear Gloria chuckling.
“Oh look, the goat’s being photogenic.”
I glance over to where she’s pointing. And she’s right. George—who has spent the entire week being a terrorist—has chosen this exact moment to become a Disney character. He’s grazing on the hill behind the tent, silhouetted against the sunset like he’s posing for a wedding blog.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter.
“Even chaos behaves when it matters,” Gloria says. “Speaking of which…”
Dean’s walking over. Of course he is. Because my body language probably screams ‘please come make this more complicated.’
