Page 20 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
“Cardiac arrest?” I ask.
Maya hesitates for a second. Then she blows out a breath and says, “The DJ’s in the hospital with appendicitis. And Daniellewants to move the entire ceremony to the rooftop now because the ballroom feels ‘too formal.’”
Jake drops his head to the table. “We aresoscrewed.”
I glance over at Maya, and she’s pinching the bridge of her nose again. Her calm’s still intact, but I can see the hairline cracks forming around the edges.
Her eyes flick to mine when I hand her the marker.
“I don’t know how you haven’t thrown the clipboard yet,” I say softly.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Tempting. But then who would keepyoufrom lighting things on fire?”
I laugh under my breath. “Fair point.”
She takes the marker, writes “Rooftop logistics: ???” under theCardiac Arrestcolumn, and steps back.
Jake leans in, whispering theatrically to Ethan, “That’s the look of a woman two caffeine hits away from a full mental break.”
Ethan hums. “Or two kisses away, depending on who you ask.”
I give them both a look. Jake just winks.
Maya ignores them, brushing past me to sit again. But as she passes, her fingers graze my arm—quick, fleeting, maybe even accidental. But it stays with me. Like sparks along my skin.
***
The first hour actually goes… well. Better than I expected, if I’m being honest.
The conference room has transformed into a makeshift command center. The whiteboard’s filling fast with color-coded notes and sketches, Maya’s laptop is open to the updated itinerary, and the table’s scattered with spreadsheets, printed vendor agreements, a couple half-eaten muffins, and three different highlighters.
Outside, the sun filters through the blinds in pale stripes, heating the table in uneven patches, while the hum of the building’s A/C provides a soft white noise under all our frantic organization.
Jake, of course, isnotbuilt for this. He’s slouched in his chair with a pen in his mouth, sketching caricatures of the bridal party across the back of one of Maya’s carefully printed timelines.
The one of Danielle is… honestly kind of genius. Giant eyes, tiara, fireballs coming out of her hands. Drama queen energy to the max.
“You’re welcome,” he says as he shows it to me, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’m not saying it’s accurate,” I murmur, “but I’m also notnotsaying that.”
Ethan, bless him, is actually working. He’s hunched over his laptop, muttering under his breath as he cross-references the bakery’s delivery window with the venue access hours.
“Do you think they’ll be able to refrigerate the mini quiches on-site?” he asks, tapping a line in the spreadsheet.
“I think I don’t want to hear the phrase ‘soggy pastry’ ever again,” Jake says without looking up.
It’s all humming—cohesive chaos. Like a well-oiled machine that’s aware the bolts are loose but pushing forward anyway.
“If wedoshift things to the roof,” I say, “we’re gonna need backup lighting—those overhead string lights you liked would still work. We’ll need umbrellas for guests, just in case, and someone on weather watch.”
Jake straightens in his chair, hand to his heart. “I volunteer. I will make hourly weather updates sexy.”
“I’m both curious and terrified,” Ethan mutters.
Maya laughs. It rolls over the tension in the room like sunlight cutting through fog.
She reaches out, brushing her fingers against the back of my hand in a moment so quick I almost think I imagined it.
