Page 13 of Playing It Forward

“What’s a disaster?”

“The ice cubes for my signature drink.”

“Nothing’s a disaster. We have hundreds of heart-shaped ice cubes ready to go.”

“Which is the problem!” she shrieks and I pull the phone away from my ear before I end up with permanent damage to my ear.

“I’m not understanding the problem. Your ‘Love You to the Moonshine’ signature drinks are ready. They are adorable with the cotton candy and edible glitter garnish. And they’re yummy.”

“You’re not listening to me.” I can practically hear her stomp her foot.

I tighten my grip on my phone until I’m crushing it, but my voice is perfectly pleasant as I speak. This is not my first bridezilla and it won’t be my last. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”

“It’s ninety degrees outside already, and it’s barely noon. By the time the reception rolls around, it’ll be one-hundred.”

Is this supposed to explain why she’s panicking? I warned her how hot it was going to be. June isn’t usually this warm, but we’re in the middle of a heatwave.

“Don’t you get it? The heart-shaped ice cubes are going to melt and RUIN EVERYTHING!” Her voice increases until she’s screaming.

“We don’t have to use the ice cubes.”

“But the aesthetic!”

I could kill the person who invented the whole aesthetic vibe. Between Pinterest and Instagram, brides now insist their weddings are picture perfect. Literally.

When I get married, I don’t want any fuss. Just me, my family, and the groom on the beach.

“We can use plastic heart-shaped ice cubes.”

Unfortunately, Tiffany is not the first bride to have a meltdown over heart-shaped ice cubes melting.

“Plastic? Ugh! No plastic. I want heart-shaped watermelon instead.”

I stare at the ceiling and pray to the mermaids for patience. “You want me to come up with five-hundred heart-shaped watermelons within a few hours?”

“Exactly. Thanks for understanding.” She hangs up before I can explain sarcasm to her.

“Great.”

“What’s great?” Nolan asks, and I startle so hard I stumble. He steadies me with a hand on my elbow. “Careful there.”

I wrench my elbow away from him. “Excuse me.”

I hurry away but he easily keeps pace with me. Stupid football players and their long legs. Stupid short legs. Stupid everything.

“We need to talk.”

I screech to a halt to properly glare at him. “Does it look like I have time to talk?”

“You’ve been running away with me since…um…”

“Since I made the stupidest decision in my life,” I fill in for him.

He growls. “Stupid decision? Do you regret being with me?”

With him? A quickie in a closet is hardly with him! I open my mouth to tell him as much, but his blue eyes are full of hurt. Hang a smuggler! I can’t be mean. Dad always says if you can’t say anything nice, shut your pie hole!

“No, I don’t regret it.” He smiles and steps closer. I hold up a hand. “But it can’t happen again.”