Chapter Ten

“I just… Where am I going to find anyone able to cater for us at short notice?”

She groans and clicks at her laptop. “No, no, no!” She drops her head to the bar. “Why is this so hard for them to get right? Champagne and ivory are not the same color. The seat sashes are supposed to be champagne, not fucking ivory!”

She is not having a good day. I pat her shoulder. “There, there, Wifey. You have three months still to chew their asses out until they get it right.”

“Brenda, with the amount Aaron is paying them to get it right, I shouldn’t have to be gnawing their asses” She sits up, sighing heavily. “This is crazy. Why can’t we just teleport in some exotic country and get married without all this fancy shit?”

I laugh at the thought. Yes, Dayton would resist her dream wedding for a small party on a beach somewhere. Sure.

I close her laptop down and stand up.

“Okay, babe. Let’s get you a drink. You and I both know you wouldn’t want to have this any other way.”

“I know. I just… It’s three months away and already I’m being dragged down by shit. Why can’t these people just get things right?”

I filled two glasses of wine and put them on the table between us. “Listen to me, Dayton. You will get this fixed. Has Aaron chosen his best man yet?”

Distraction is the best policy. In this case, it’s my wine and a rare instance of Aaron’s incompetence. Here’s hoping she says he has…

“Yes. He had him picked three months ago. He just got his ass in gear and asked him.”

“Who is it? Anyone hot and rich from his company?”

Hey, distraction is the best policy. I could use a good distraction.

I grab her laptop and open her email.

Day snorts. “His cousin. Although, Ivan is hot and rich. And kind of from the company. I mean, he’s a photographer. He’s the guy training me. I don’t know how you two haven’t met yet. Hmm.”

Wait. Did she just say?

Fvck no. This is an awful coincidence that my best friend’s fiancé happens to have a cousin named Ivan who’s a photographer, right? Seattle is a big place. It’s plausible.

Still, I feel my cheeks flush, and Dayton frowns.

“Uh, Brenda?”

“Um.” Cue nervous giggle. “Did you say, Ivan? A photographer?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Does he happen to be British?”

A beat of silence passes before I answered, “Yes.”

"Oh, fvcking crap", do you know him Dayton gazed at me.