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Raelynn lays several purple flower stems across the table. I lean back slightly, letting Lucy take the lead. She’s clearly in her element, discussing hues and combinations with an eye for detail that impresses even the seasoned florist.

Lucy picks up a pale purple rose, then hesitates and glances over at me. “What do you think about this sterling rose with some sage-green accents? It feels romantic yet not too over-the-top,” she asks, her eyes searching mine for a reaction.

I nod, playing my part with a smile. “I like it. Classic but unique. And elegant, like you.” I lay it on thick for the benefit of any eavesdroppers but mean every word as my hand reaches to pat her arm.

“You two are adorable. Those colors will complement the season perfectly. How about we add some creamy whites to the mix? Give it a bit of an airy touch?” Raelynn asks, and Lucy beams at the suggestion.

“Absolutely,” I affirm with a mock-serious nod.

“I love that idea. Something that gives the illusion of dripping and whimsical but keeping it modern,” Lucy adds.

“You’ve got it. Sophistication with a touch of whimsy. I can already picture it,” Raelynn says.

They add more flowers into the mix, and I’m completely lost as they talk about irises, hydrangeas, lilies, and the pros and cons of using more pops of darker purple.

When they finally settle on a striking combination of light and dark purples with whites and green, they discuss numbers.

“Can we get enough for a bridal bouquet, three bridesmaids’ bouquets, and…” Lucy checks her notebook, “… six boutonnieres?”

“Six?” I interject, surprised. “Who for?”

“You, my father, three groomsmen, and your grandfather.” Lucy smiles at me.

I hadn’t thought much about my grandfather lately, or at least I’m trying not to since avoiding his messages.

“Oh yeah,” I mutter in response, guilt tugging at me. As they move on to discuss ushers and flower girls, my mind drifts, lost in thoughts of my grandfather. The weight of his message weighs me down like a boulder. He still doesn’t know that I’m the groom.

Last night, with Lucy, was the first time I truly relaxed in weeks. Just being in her presence felt natural, a welcome reprieve from the pressures of my usual dating scene—it’s a jungle in the Upper East Side dating world. Which is another reason why I don’t date. I wine, dine, and send them home from whatever hotel we ended up in after whatever black-tie event I was guilted into attending.

But my grandfather’s text lingers in the back of my mind, a reminder of unresolved issues.

How long do you plan to stay in Alabama?

I didn’t have an answer.

Lucy’s voice breaks through my reverie, bringing me back to the present. “What do you think about this?” she asks, holding up a piece of lavender.

“Sunny?” I slip up, using her nickname for the first time in public. Her eyes widen briefly before she regains her composure.

“Do you like the fresh sprigs of lavender?” she repeats, brushing off my slip. “Or do you think it’s too much for the guys’ flowers?”

“It’s beautiful,” I reply, my hand finding its way to her back. “Whatever you want.” Lucy turns to Raelynn, discussing the possibility of incorporating lavender into the arrangements.

“Is it going to be hard to find some this late in the season?” Lucy asks her, concern lacing her tone.

“Not at all. I have a contact over in Lavender Falls, Georgia, I can reach out to.”

“Perfect! I can also ask my cousin Magnolia if her hot house will have any then.”

“I’d say we are covered, then.”

As they finalize the details, I rub Lucy’s back reassuringly, zoning out a bit. Picking flowers isn’t as simple as I assumed it would be. Nothing about wedding planning is, as I’m finding out.

Also, my girl makes it look easy as pie.

My girl.

She’s not my girl, but fuck if she isn’t going to be my wife in less than a month.