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Ainsley and I have been by every day this week to help Melissa and Will decorate the yard, stringing lights around the perimeter of the backyard and setting up a dance floor with heat lamps scattered about to keep guests warm in the evening chill. We have a tent as a backup should it rain.
“Okay, wedding planner, what am I missing?” Melissa asks with a slightly frazzled look about her. “I have propane in all the heat lamps, the DJ is set up in the corner, the dance floor is on the ground. The bar is fully stocked. I’m regretting only hiring one bartender. Should I have gotten another? There’s nothing worse than standing in a long line for a cocktail when you really want to dance. Drink and food are huge deal-breakers for guests. Will’s mom wanted to do a clambake, but he’s a steak-and-potatoes kinda guy and—oh, the bourbon and whiskey. I think there’s another crate in the basement. Let me tell the—”
“Melissa”—I place my hand on her arm and smile at her—“everything is absolutely perfect. There’s no need to worry.”
She lets out a long, shaky breath. “Do I need more heat lamps? I didn’t want the tent because the lights look so pretty in the trees, but what if people freeze? It’s only fifty-five degrees tonight.”
“You have so many heat lamps; it’s practically a sauna out here.”
“I hate being the center of attention. It makes me nervous.”
“You don’t say,” I tease, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around. “Go. Have a glass of champagne. Only one. It’ll help dissipate the nerves, yet it won’t be enough to make you do something embarrassing at your party.”
“Is that your official advice as the wedding planner?”
“It’s my advice as your friend. I’ll make sure the final details are in check.”
Melissa gives me a hug and then walks over to her daughter, Isabella, who is standing by the favors table, lining it with the small bottles of Whispering Angel Rosé they’re giving out tonight as a parting gift.
I check on Ainsley, who is pretend fighting with Hunter. They have foam swords and knight helmets on.
“Hey, you. Don’t get that dress dirty,” I command as I walk by.
Knowing these two, they’ll be filthy before dinner is served.
My expectations of Ainsley when it comes to her manners are the same as how I grew up. Where I’ve chosen to lighten up are the moments where, sometimes, a kid just wants to be a kid. Tonight, I’m sure her dress will be wrinkled from dancing, and she’ll get icing from the cake on her dress.
I kiss her head and walk into the house. Guests have started to arrive and are walking into the foyer. It’s a small party of immediate friends and family of the happy couple. Because Will’s family is so big, there will easily be sixty people here. Melissa tried to make her wedding this small, but her future mother-in-law isn’t having it.
“I don’t understand why they wouldn’t let me invite the Lalaynes. They’re practically family,” I hear Will’s mother bellow to one of her sons as I pass by.
“Probably because Will broke up with their daughter after he met Melissa in a jail cell and decided to marry her instead,” the son explains.
I hide my chortle as I move toward the basement door. I’m almost there when I’m tapped on the back of the shoulder. I turn around and see Eric.
“You’re here,” I state the obvious. “Did you text? My phone is in my bag.”
“I did, but only because I was a little nervous about walking in alone. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t overdressed. Plus, I brought a gift.”
He’s wearing a black suit and a black-and-white tie, paired with Ferragamo shoes with a sliver of argyle socks peeking from the hem of his pants. He looks as handsome and put together as he did for our two dates. The model gentleman that would pass my mother’s Emily Post–style rules of etiquette.
“That was very sweet of you.”
He takes an envelope from his breast pocket and holds it up. “It’s a certificate for dinner. Figured you can’t go wrong with gifting a couple a night out.” Eric exudes poise as he slides the envelope back into his pocket. “Were you on your way somewhere?”
I motion toward the basement door. “Going to check on a crate of liquor. You can take the walk with me if you’d like.”
“Lead the way.”
We head downstairs into the unfinished basement of the house. There are boxes stacked along one wall, mostly some of Melissa’s father’s things he has yet to move into his new home. On the far side of the room are bicycles, old lamps, and a pool table that’s covered with a tarp. I look around the floor for where Melissa could have left the box of bourbon and whiskey.
“This house is well lived in,” Eric comments. “Reminds me of my parents’ house.”
“Your parents kept your classwork and all the paintings you did when you were a kid, like Melissa’s?”
Eric laughs. “My mother keeps those in a box in the attic, along with bins of my old clothes. She has most of my childhood trinkets. My room still looks as it did when I moved out after college.”
I smile at the notion that his mother kept his memories.
