Page 21 of Sparks Fly

By Thursday afternoon I was running mostly on coffee and momentum. That day I met up with Natalie, my co-maid of honor, for coffee.

We sat outside with color-coded Google Docs and spiraling to-do lists spread across the table.

“I’ve got Lilly’s itinerary locked for the bachelorette weekend,” Natalie said while tapping her screen, turning the tablet slightly so I could see the “Arrival Friday, champagne at the house, then Saturday brunch before the boat reservation. Dinner downtown that night. Recovery brunch and pool day Sunday.”

“Perfect,” I said, leaning forward to scan the page. “Did the boat company confirm the cooler situation?”

“Yep,” Natalie replied while scrolling. “Two coolers, ice included, and they said we can bring our own drinks.”

“Good,” I said. “Because Ashley already texted asking if tequila counts as hydration.”

Natalie laughed softly. “For her? Probably.”

“Lilly’s going to lose her mind when she sees the house,” I added. “I triple-checked the decorations order. Everything should already be set up when we get there.”

Natalie glanced up at me with a small smile. “You really thought of everything.”

“That’s my job,” I said lightly.

“Think she’ll cry when we give her the scrapbook?” Natalie asked.

“Oh, definitely,” I replied with a laugh. “Especially with that quote from her grandma.”

Natalie’s smile softened. “You’re so good at all of this.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Natalie studied me for a moment like she wanted to ask what that meant, but instead she looked back down at the tablet.

“Okay,” she said while brightening again. “Next on the agenda. Lingerie shopping.”

The afternoon disappeared quickly. We bounced between two boutiques on Newbury Street, holding up lace and satin like we were conducting serious research while Natalie built a running list on her phone and I vetoed anything that looked like it belonged in a costume shop.

By the time we finally settled on a few options for Lilly’s bridal gifts, my arms were full of delicate shopping bags and my brain felt pleasantly numb from decision making.

We hugged goodbye on the sidewalk a little after five, promising to text about the Charleston grocery list later, and I headed back toward the office.

The building had mostly emptied out by then, but I still had emails to answer and a contract to finalize before the end of the week.

The quiet was almost peaceful compared to the rest of the day. I kicked off my heels under the desk, worked through the last few things on my list, and told myself I would leave in fifteen minutes at least four separate times before actually closing my laptop at 7:15. I didn’t want to but I had to because I had a working at 7:30 that I had reluctantly agreed to.

The restaurant was loud and warm and far too generous with the wine, and the relocating couple from California had a thousand questions about neighborhoods, school districts, and whether Boston winters were really as bad as people said.

I didn’t get home until after nine-thirty. My heels came off at the door and my shoulders ached from the long day. I poured myself a glass of white wine, changed into a hoodie and leggings, and sank onto the couch just as my phone buzzed.

Sawyer: Hope your day ended better than it started.

I shifted deeper into the corner of the couch, tucking one foot beneath me as I balanced the wine glass on the armrest and typed back.

Me: It did. Exhausting, but good. Yours?

The three little typing dots appeared almost immediately.

Sawyer: Productive. Your brother only almost electrocuted himself once. High score.

I laughed quietly into the empty apartment, shaking my head as I took another sip of wine.

Me: Impressive. Okay, important question. Favorite food?