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“Yes!” Reese claps her hands. “Oh, my God, that’s perfect! I can see the chuppah all decked out in lush florals.”
“It will be gorgeous.” I thread my pen through my fingers and hold up my hands, keeping my eyes trained on Reese’s. “The beautiful thing about British weddings is that they’re effortlessly romantic. I’m thinking we do taper candles on all the tables and lots of low but lush arrangements. Roses, lilies, peonies . . .”
“I think baby’s breath could be cool,” Thea adds. “Big bunches of it to really make an impact.”
I gasp, waving my hands. “I see huge bunches of it up on the tent poles. On the chairs too—the ones lining the aisles. Totally unfussy but still classic.” I nod to Reese, who’s smiling so hard she looks like she’s about to burst. “And maybe we keep your bouquet simple too. Like Kate Middleton’s. Or the one Rose Leslie carried when she married Jon Snow. Here—”
I lean over the table to reach for my laptop. But Nate, being Nate, sees my fingers falling an inch or two short of my goal and jumps into action, grabbing the computer in the paw of his hand and holding it out to me.
I don’t want to look at him, but oh, God, I do, I really do, and when our gazes meet, I feel a jolt. Those brown eyes. The crow’s feet, deeper than I remember. That glimpse of admiration in his expression.
Your mind, he said once. It’s the sexiest fucking thing about you.
I grab the laptop with a muffled thanks and whip it open.
Brushing my fingertips over the mouse pad, I pull up Google.
I hesitate, fingers poised over the keys.
“Rose Leslie bouquet,” Thea gently reminds me.
I blink, and bang out Rsooiejs Lesssle.
My fingers are shaking. I feel the heat of Nate’s gaze on me.
I’m shaking.
How did this happen again? Me agreeing to plan Nate Kingsley’s fucking wedding? I must’ve had rocks in my head.
Slow down. Deep breath. I’ve run a hundred meetings like this one. I love it. And I am fucking amazing at my job. I just need to deploy my usual arsenal of wedding weaponry: attention to detail, strong vendor relationships, and bold creativity. It’s a trifecta that charms even the most famous and jaded of clients, and I have no doubt it will charm Reese and Nate too. Because Nate is no one special. Just another client with another big budget.
“Like this.” I manage a smile and turn the screen around. “Small but pretty.”
Reese makes a squee sound at the image of Rose Leslie, otherwise known as Ygritte to Game of Thrones nerds like Nate, carrying a modest bouquet of white and ivory flowers interspersed with bright greenery. “That’s it! God, she looks so happy, doesn’t she?”
“Probably because she hired a great wedding planner to take the stress out of her day,” I tease.
“Well, also because she’s marrying Kit Harington,” Reese replies. “He’s such a cutie.”
“Hey,” Nate says, furrowing his brow in mock offense.
Reese grins up at him and pecks his jaw. “You’re cuter.”
My stomach sloshes. I look away, annoyed that I’m struggling so much to get a grip on my feelings.
I don’t do feelings. Sure, creating romance for other people is my bread and butter. But romance does nothing for me personally. I am my mother’s daughter: practical and hardworking. I’m here to get shit done, and feelings—romance—love—all that crap only gets in the way.
“That right there is my goal,” Chris is saying, pointing at the screen. “I want my daughter to smile like that on her wedding day.”
“Aw,” Thea replies. “How sweet. I think we can manage it.”
A task. I’m in. “We can definitely manage that. To get there, we’ll need to have our ducks in a row. Let’s run through a few things so I can get a better feel for the kind of party y’all are looking for. Do you have a different venue for the ceremony? Or will you be hosting that here on the Farm too?”
“We’d like to have the service here on the Farm,” Chris replies. “Our rabbi has agreed to the arrangement and will be here to perform the ceremony.”
I scribble a note. “Great. What about first dances? Would y’all like to do them?”
“I don’t dance,” Nate says.
“Oh, but I do,” Reese replies. “I really would love to do a dance together.”
“I can arrange some dancing lessons for y’all. There’s a great little spot right downtown that people love. The lead instructor, Holly, is a hoot.”
“Nope,” Nate says.
I look up just fast enough to see Reese elbow him. “Consider it?”
A pause. “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
Since I already discussed the budget with Reese on the phone—her dad will be picking up the entire bill—we move to the food and bar packages next. Guest count. Size of the wedding party. Save-the-dates. Bridesmaid gowns, bands with brass sections, cake tastings, and late-night bites. The more items I check off, the steadier I feel. This is familiar territory and one of my favorite parts of the process: getting a feel for the couple and their families and how they want their day to feel. It’s inspiring. If I block out the knowledge that Nate Kingsley is sitting three feet away from me, I can see the wedding start to take shape.
