Page 39 of Wedding or Not

That’s what it feels like now.

I don’t have to sort out any feelings or worry about how Wes feels back. I don’t have to do any of that emotional work.

So yes, it’s a crushing disappointment.

But it’s also a relief.

I’m not quite as jitteringly happy for the next week, but I’m also not so stressed and scared and confused.

So it’s easier.

And it helps that there’s a new surge of online interest in my relationship with Wes and Blossom Park as a whole after our kiss was posted.

The daily visitors start increasing again. Not quite as exponentially as the first go-around, but we’re close to reaching capacity on the weekend. There’s an influx of new event inquiries and requests for tours and event-space viewings. And according to Natalie, our brewing romance is once again a trending topic on every social media platform.

This time we don’t try to take it slow or make the progression realistic.

We need to fast-track The Plan to give Blossom Park as much as exposure as we can before people stop caring again.

So nine days after the kiss, Wes, Natalie, and I are choreographing a proposal scene with a giggling audience of Tessa, Parker, and Iris.

We’re doing the proposal in the rose garden tomorrow. Because it will be Saturday, we’ll have the greatest chance of people “accidentally” witnessing it.

Obviously a lot of people will suspect the whole thing is fake, but that no longer matters.

It’s been proven we have a limited window for attention, and we need to get to some of the yummy wedding stuff to showcase Blossom Park before we lose the world’s interest.

“It needs to look spontaneous, so it’s important you look like you’re working,” Natalie says. She’s dressed in a cute pink tracksuit, sneakers, and a retro hair clip, and she looks ready to tackle any job.

“But I wouldn’t be doing an inventory of the roses with Ella,” Wes says, sounding dry and rather detached. More like he used to be than the way he’s been with me for the past month. “Dad would be doing it.”

“That doesn’t matter. Jake can be busy with something else, so you’re stepping in. Some of our roses are valuable assets, so maybe it’s some sort of financial inventory.”

Wes chuckles. “Right. A financial inventory of our roses. Makes perfect sense.”

“Stop being obnoxious,” I tell him. “Natalie is right. We want this to be in the rose garden, and there aren’t many business reasons we’d be there. It doesn’t really matter. No one is going to come out and ask. We just need to look like we’re doing something other than waiting for the impromptu proposal.”

“Fine. I’ll carry around my iPad and try to look financial.” Wes is looking particularly cute today in brown trousers, a button-up shirt, and one of Aunt Grace’s sweater-vests (a rust-and-orange one). I used to think the vests made him look nerdy, but now I can’t imagine anything more attractive.

But I’m not supposed to be thinking about our chemistry.

“You are financial.” Natalie sounds a bit peeved, as she always is when someone questions The Plan. “So it shouldn’t be a stretch. Just follow Ella around and act like you’re noting things on your iPad. Ella, you can just act like you’re counting out plants and checking their condition.”

“Got it.”

“So go ahead and try it.” Natalie waves toward a row of shrubs in the back of the cottages, which is as protected a spot as we could find for our rehearsal. “Nothing flirty or romantic. Just business.”

I lead the way, walking slowly and pretending the shrubs are the roses as I count and comment quietly. Wes dutifully makes notations on his iPad for each of my comments.

His eyes are amused, but his expression is sober.

We both have to ignore the loud hilarity coming from our audience of my three youngest sisters.

“Okay, good. That looks fine. Now you should get into an argument. Nothing loud or dramatic, just a little snippy thing. We want to evoke a similar feeling as you had before the loan appointment when you were first photographed. So quietly impatient with each other.”

I turn toward Wes, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh,” I murmur.

“How am I making you laugh?”