Ifsomeone believed in such things as weddings.
A giant waste of money—says the man who spends his days drafting prenups or strategizing nasty divorces.
Still, my jaw tightens. The slope isn’t terrible, but it’s not ideal. The tree roots could trip someone if they’re not careful. And I don’t love the idea of guests trampling over this part of the grounds.
But would it really be that hard to level the chairs? Move the arch over a few feet?
I exhale slowly and rake a hand through my hair.
“Am I insane?” I mutter.
Muffin huffs once and sits at my feet.
I look down at her.
“You get that this isn’t about the lawn, right?” I murmur. “It’s about boundaries. Structure. Not letting people walk all over me because they smile pretty and carry clipboards.”
She tilts her head.
“She shows up late, tracks mud into the house, rearranges the porch chairs, and now she wants the lawn too.”
I crouch next to the dog and rub behind her ears.
“She’s chaos in lipstick. You know that, right?”
Muffin blinks and leans her whole weight against my side.
“And she brought four bags,” I add. “Who packsfourbags?”
Muffin’s got nothing.
“She said you fell asleep under her bed, you little traitor.”
“You really can’t blame her for that.”
The voice behind me makes me go still.
I stand slowly, turn, and find Poppy halfway down the path, arms crossed and expression unreadable. She’s wearing a soft blue dress—nothing flashy. It’s simple and casual, but it moves with her, swaying just enough to distract me. It’s paired with floral-printed designer tennis shoes. Her hair is down today, and I realize how long it is—nearly reaching her elbows and golden when it catches the light.
“She packs four bags,” she continues, “because she’s running a 300-person event on her own, with backup supplies for every possible disaster scenario. Including, apparently, one grumpy man.”
I lift a brow.
She steps forward, then kneels to scratch Muffin’s chin.
“Hi again,” she says softly.
Muffin lets out a contented groan, as if she’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “You spying on me now?”
“You were muttering to a dog about my luggage. Kind of hard to miss.”
I glance away, my jaw ticking.
“I wasn’t—”
She stands. “Look, I know you’re just trying to protect the property, and that this week is probably the last thing you want. But I’m not here to ruin your house. I’m here to give Mason and Ivy the wedding they’ve dreamed about.”
