Page 59 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

After the production meeting this morning, Detective Briggs brought my phone back to me and guaranteed that it’s safe to use. They scoured it and removed a tracking app. The thought that someone was tracking me through my phone and possibly reading my personal messages really gives me the creeps, but I refuse to let this psycho rule my life.

The Revelers have the day off, so I leave the office a little after five and head out to meet Sophie.

“Hey, bitch,” she calls out, a smile stretched across her face and arms open wide as I approach Neutral Grounds. When she hugs me, it feels like it’s been a week since I’ve seen her even though I just left her house yesterday morning.

She smells like sunshine and goodness.

Hugging her back, I can’t help but feel at peace. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course, it’s such a nice day. The kids were ecstatic to go hang out with Casey and the baby. Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about and I’ve invited someone to come meet us. I hope you don’t mind a little multi-tasking.”

Pulling back, I squint my eyes, trying to read her. “What’s up?”

“You’ll see,” she says, her beautiful face beaming.

When we walk into Neutral Grounds, a stunning woman with sleek black hair that is perfectly tucked behind her ears is standing by one of the tables with an expectant smile on her face.

“Sophie?” she asks, taking a step toward us.

“Hello,” Sophie replies, closing the distance.

The woman shakes Sophie’s hand and then turns her attention to me.

“Oh, sorry,” Sophie says. “This is my best friend, Greer. She’ll be my maid of honor.”

Maid of honor?

My eyes go wide when I pull my attention away from the woman’s captivating green eyes and back to my best friend. “What?”

Sophie is literally about to burst at the seams when she brings her hands together under her chin and turns to face me. When her eyes start to mist over, I feel mine do the same.

We’ve always been sympathetic criers when it comes to each other.

If she cries, I cry.

If she’s happy, I’m happy.

That’s just how it works with us.

“I’m getting married!” she exclaims. “I mean, I know you already know that. But I mean, I’m getting marriedsoon. And there’s no chance I can step into this next chapter of my life without you by my side. I wanted to make some grand gesture and send you an elaborate proposal, but this is kind of moving faster than I thought. Owen and I decided we don’t want to wait until next year. Why wait when you’ve found the love of your life, right?” she asks, her tone taking on a nervous edge. “So, we’ve decided to get married when the season is over. November eighteenth. It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving and we know that will add to the chaos of the season, but it just feels right and—”

“It’s perfect,” I say, cutting her off and pulling her into my arms for another hug. “It’s so perfect and I am so happy for you. It would be an absolute honor to stand beside you while you marry the man of your dreams.”

I hear a sniffle and turn to see the gorgeous woman blinking rapidly, as if to not disturb her perfect makeup. She waves a hand in the air in front of her face and looks up to the ceiling. “Oh, my gosh. I never do this. I’m so sorry.”

Sophie laughs, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry we’re making a big scene right here in the middle of a coffee shop. This is all just… I don’t know. I’m so happy I feel like I might combust.”

Once we’ve all collected ourselves. Her introduction continues, “I’m Everly Davenport, Sophie’s wedding planner. It’s so nice to meet you.”

The three of us—plus intermittent visits from CeCe, because apparently she and Everly are friends—plan out my best friend's wedding. In the span of an hour, we’ve nailed down Sophie’s top three options for venues and reception locations. She’s decided on flowers, music, a photographer, and a guest list. Thanks to her being so low-key and non-bridezilla, most of the decisions were simple.

But that’s Sophie. She’s not over the top or extravagant, and neither is Owen. They’re two of the most down-to-earth people I know. And all Sophie cares about is that at the end of the day, she’s married to Owen Thatcher.

“I know I should be freaking out because it’s only a little more than two months away, but I’m not,” Sophie says, glancing through a few centerpiece options Everly brought with her. “Thank you for making this so easy and taking this on with such little notice. I know you typically spend months planning a wedding.”

“It’s what I do,” Everly assures her. “I live for the adrenaline rush I get from last minute events. One time, I put together an entire wedding for over three hundred guests in just two weeks. It’s my biggest flex,” she says with a laugh. “Fear not, Sophie Callahan, this will be the day of your dreams. I promise.”

I look from Everly back to Sophie and see her eyes glisten. “Don’t,” I say, placing my hand on top of hers. “No more tears, even though they are happy. I’m tapped out on extreme emotions.”

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