Chapter 1 - There She Is
The seating chart had put Ben’s aunt beside the speaker, which was how I knew the wedding week had officially begun.
«If she sits there, she’ll spend the ceremony asking everyone to repeat themselves,» Megan said, holding the chart at arm’s length as if distance might improve it.
«She can hear fine,» Ben said. «She just doesn’t like the music I picked.»
Megan gave him a patient look. «The music you picked is a playlist called Pub Classics.»
«It has range.»
«It has three versions of “Brown Eyed Girl.”»
I lifted the seating chart from Megan’s hands before the two of them could start a negotiation that would end with a fourth version. The venue’s back room had become a temporary command center: garment bags on a rack, boxes of place cards beneath a table, ribbon curling off a chair, and a vase of sample flowers taking up the only clear surface. I moved the vase six inches to the left. It had been blocking the outlet.
«Ben’s aunt goes at table four,» I said. «Far enough from the speakers, close enough to the bar. We can swap her with the cousins.»
Ben looked at the chart. «You made a map?»
«I made three.»
«Of course you did.» Megan’s smile was warm enough to soften the teasing. She had been doing that since college, back when we shared a dorm room and a mini-fridge that froze everything except the ice tray. She was still the person who could make an apology sound like a blanket.
I was maid of honor. Ben was the groom. Megan was my former roommate and one of the first people I called when anything happened, good or bad. The other important wedding-party fact sat in the room with us even though he wasn’t there yet: her older brother, Rohan, was best man.
I pushed a loose strand of dark hair behind my ear and checked that the hem of my wrap dress wouldn’t drag when I crouched to reach the flower boxes. I was short enough that the tall table made me stretch for the seating chart, compact enough to turn sideways between garment bags without knocking them over. Wedding week was mostly moving through spaces designed for people with longer arms.
I knew he would be here. I had known for months. There had been no surprise, no ambush, no dramatic reveal waiting behind a door. I had prepared myself in the same way I prepared a room before a client walkthrough: clear the clutter, check the measurements, don’t let one crooked lamp distract from the whole plan.
«You okay?» Megan asked.
«I’m arranging your wedding around a speaker and an aunt. I’m thriving.»
She watched me for another second. Megan had always been good at noticing when I answered the question I preferred. «I meant about Rohan.»
«I know.»
«And?»
«And I’m fine. I knew he’d be here.»
«I know you knew.» She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her dress fitting had left a faint pink mark on one shoulder, and she kept rubbing it as if she could erase the evidence of a long morning. «I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to prove anything.»
«I don’t.»
Ben kissed her temple on his way past, carrying a box of candles. Broad through the shoulders, he set the heavy box down without a grunt, caught a chair tipping with his knee, and nudged it upright with his boot. «She doesn’t have to prove anything. She already has three maps.»
«Thank you, Ben.»
«I was complimenting the maps.»
«I accepted the compliment.»
The door opened behind him. I knew the sound of Rohan’s laugh before I heard his voice, which was irritating information for my brain to have retained.
He came in with a garment bag over one shoulder and two coffees balanced in one hand. He was taller than I remembered, or perhaps I had simply stopped standing close enough to compare. His dark hair was shorter at the sides, longer on top, and his beard had gone from intermittent to deliberate. The broad line of his shoulders under a navy shirt was familiar in a way I wished I could call abstract. He looked older, obviously. Thirty-three had added a little steadiness around his eyes and none of the solemnity people liked to assign to age.
His gaze found mine. It paused on my face, my hair, the green wrap dress I had chosen because it survived kneeling beside boxes and still looked like I had made an effort. Then his mouth tilted.
«Hey, Rachel.»
«Rohan.»
«You look good.»
«You sound surprised.»
«There she is.»
Megan made a soft noise that might have been a laugh or a warning. Rohan handed her a coffee and set the other on the table beside me, remembering I took oat milk without asking. That could have been old information. It could also have been a coincidence. I chose the less interesting explanation. For two and a half years, Friday nights had meant takeout at my place, him picking the movie and me vetoing it before the opening credits. He’d learned my coffee order in the same unremarkable way: by being there often enough that it mattered.
«You brought the suit?» Megan asked.
«I brought a suit. Whether it’s the suit is a different question.» He leaned toward the garment bag. «There are at least four black suits in my closet, and one of them might belong to Ben.»
«It does,» Ben said.
«Then I brought the wrong one.»
Megan checked her watch. «Can the two of you look at the ceremony setup before the florist arrives? The arch is supposed to go near the windows, but the venue manager says the afternoon light might wash out the photos.»
I already had a floor plan folded in my tote. Rohan looked at it and then at the windows.
«You have a floor plan,» he said.
«I have two.»
«One for the arch and one for the aunt?»
«The aunt is on the seating plan.»
«I stand corrected.»
We walked into the main room. The venue was a converted brick hall with tall factory windows and warm wood floors. At this hour the tables were bare, the chairs stacked in neat columns. Sunlight came in low and bright, making the window-side wall look beautiful and the proposed ceremony spot look like an interrogation room.
I unfolded the plan on a table. «If the arch goes here, the photographer gets the brick wall and the light comes from the side. The aisle stays clear. The musicians can set up over there.»
Rohan looked from the page to the room. «And if the musicians go there, the string lights will cross their sightline.»
«They can move the lights.»
«They can. Or we can move the chairs twelve feet and let the light work for us.»
«That makes the aisle too narrow.»
«Only if you keep the front row symmetrical.»
«The front row is supposed to be symmetrical.»
«The front row is supposed to have people sitting in it.»
He wasn’t wrong, which was an annoying way to be. We tested the chair positions, moved the arch, then moved it back. Rohan asked the venue manager if the light could be softened with a sheer panel. While I measured the aisle with the tape in my bag, he charmed the manager into finding us two extra chairs and a ladder. He never made a production of being helpful. He just noticed the person who could solve the next obstacle and started talking to them.
«You still carry a tape measure?» he asked as I reeled it in.
«You still think a confident guess counts as a measurement?»
«It has served me well.»
«You once ordered a sofa that didn’t fit through your apartment door.»
«It fit eventually.»
«After we removed the door.»
«A temporary setback.»
I looked up. His grin had the same asymmetry I remembered, the left side appearing first like it had heard the joke early. I felt the old answer rise in me before I could choose it. «You called it an architectural feature.»
«And you let me keep the phrase.»
The venue manager returned with the ladder. We set the arch at an angle, checked the afternoon sightline, and found a placement that kept the aisle generous without putting Megan in direct sun. Rohan held the frame while I tightened a bracket. The work was ordinary. Our hands didn’t touch.
Still, I knew when he was about to pass me a tool before he reached for it. He knew I would check the bracket twice. When I asked him to hold the base steady, he didn’t ask how long. He just shifted his weight and did it.
«That looks better,» Megan said from the doorway.
Ben stood beside her. «It looks like an arch.»
«That’s what we were aiming for,» I said.
Megan came in and adjusted one flower on the sample arrangement. «You two make this look easy.»
«It isn’t easy,» I said.
«It’s just familiar,» Rohan said.
The words landed lightly. His expression stayed open, giving me nothing I could point to as an invitation or a regret. I folded the floor plan and tucked the tape measure away.
«Familiarity is useful for logistics,» I said.
«Sure.» He took a sip of coffee. «And for remembering where Megan hides the emergency sewing kit.»
«She doesn’t hide it. It’s in the blue box.»
«That’s hiding in a blue box.»
Megan rolled her eyes. Ben went to answer a call from the florist. Around us, the room resumed its cheerful disorder: boxes, flowers, lists, people carrying things to the wrong table and being redirected. I could handle all of it. I could handle Rohan, too. I had rehearsed that part.
Then he asked if I wanted him to take the ladder back, and I said, «Only if you promise not to call it a temporary setback when you hit the doorway.»
He laughed, and I laughed with him.
It took almost no effort to find our old rhythm. That was the part I hadn’t prepared for.
