Page 19 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Chapter eight
LIAM
If Maya’s the general, I’m the guy quietly building barricades and calculating worst-case scenarios like I’m prepping for a siege.
The conference room at the event center is empty when I get there the day after she’s taken over as coordinator—cool, sterile, and humming faintly with the overhead buzz of fluorescent lights. The windows lining the far wall offer a view of the street below, where early sunlight filters through the trees, catching on windshields and making the sidewalks glow.
I toss my keys down on the end of the conference table and settle into the nearest chair, elbows propped on my knees.
Maya has a list of tasks written out on a whiteboard and as I look over them, my stomach twists.
We’re only a couple days from the wedding, but it feels like there’s so much to do still. I don’t think the ex-coordinator was worth her salt because things are kind of a mess. It’s not evenmywedding, and I already need a drink.
But this isn’t about Danielle or her Pinterest-fueled chaos. This is about Maya. She asked for help, and I didn’t even hesitate. Not once.
The door creaks open, and in she walks, phone pressed to one ear, clipboard in hand, a pen clipped to the collar of her linen blouse. Her hair’s twisted up in that loose, casual way she probably spent twenty minutes perfecting, and the second her eyes meet mine across the table, everything quiets. Just a little.
“Morning,” I say, straightening a little as she approaches. I nod toward the clipboard. “New list or revised from the last five?”
She sighs, sliding into the chair across from me and flipping the clipboard onto the table. “Revised from yesterday. Updated as of two a.m. Danielle decided she hates the color blush now. Apparently, it’s ‘out.’” She even adds finger quotes for emphasis.
I let my head fall back with a groan, eyes on the ceiling. “Great. Let’s burn the entire floral order and start fresh. Should only take a few days we don’t have.”
“Already told her no,” Maya says, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear like she’s done it a thousand times this morning alone. “Politely. Firmly. Like an adult who doesn’t want to commit murder in broad daylight.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Growth.”
She cracks a smile and that alone feels like a minor miracle.
The door swings open again, and in strolls Jake, sunglasses perched on his head, carrying two iced coffees. Ethan’s right behind him, less composed, juggling a laptop bag and a half-open breakfast sandwich.
“Morning, clipboard overlord,” Jake says with a mock salute as he slides into a chair. “What disaster are we salvaging first?”
Maya doesn’t even blink. “Seating chart.”
Jake groans and flops dramatically into the chair next to her. “Why is italwaysthe seating chart?”
“Because Danielle keeps rearranging it like she’s planning a battle formation,” Maya replies, dry as ever. “Except instead of swords, everyone’s armed with passive-aggressive vendettas and fragile egos.”
“Sounds like my last family reunion,” Ethan mutters, peeling the wrapper off his sandwich and settling into the chair beside me. “We’re all gonna die.”
“Not if we act fast,” I say, grabbing the dry-erase marker from the ledge under the board and turning toward the white surface. “Let’s triage. What’s stable, what’s a minor emergency, and what’s full-on cardiac arrest?”
I sketch three uneven columns on the whiteboard and label them with slanted block letters. Maya rises to her feet and joins me at the board, flipping a page on her clipboard.
“Okay, stable: photographer’s confirmed. Bakery is still good—no nut allergies in the cake tiers, thank god. The officiant is booked and I made sure to confirm they have all the details they need.”
“Minor emergency?” I ask.
“The bridal party order. Danielle decided last night that she wants her cousin removed and her yoga instructor promoted to her place instead.”
Jake’s head snaps up. “Wait,Miranda? The one who introduced her to goat yoga?”
“Apparently goat yoga changed her life,” Maya says flatly.
“Honestly, same,” Ethan deadpans.
I add “Bridesmaid switch” under theMinor Emergencycolumn, biting back a laugh.
