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“Absolutely,” Callan said. “She’s the best in the business. I wouldn’t trust my own wedding to anyone else.”

I nearly dropped the brochure I was holding. Was he implying what I thought he was implying?

“Your wedding?” the woman asked, glancing between us.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Callan clarified with a wink. “But if I were getting married, Knot Your Average Wedding would be my only call. In fact—” he leaned in conspiratorially, “—I’ve already reserved her services for my brother’s wedding next year.”

The man was oozing lies. I didn’t have the heart to point out he was an only child. And I would’ve pointed out that he was an enormous pants-on-fire liar, but I sort of enjoyed hearing all of the made up stories. Plus, I knew I was a good wedding planner, even if the stories were bullshit.

“Well, that’s quite an endorsement,” the woman said, clearly sold. “Do you have any availability for a June wedding next year?”

“Let me check,” I said, jumping in before Callan could invent any more fictional family members. I flipped through my planner. “We do.”

“Perfect!” The woman beamed. “Can I put down a deposit today?”

Twenty minutes later, we’d secured not only her booking but also two of her friends who’d stopped by to see what the excitement was about. Callan’s charm offensive was proving incredibly effective.

“Not bad for a rookie,” I murmured as the women walked away, clutching our promotional materials.

“I told you I’m good at selling things,” he replied with a grin. “It’s like riding a bicycle, except the bicycle is overpriced services and the road is paved with bridal dreams and parental bank accounts.”

“You made up a brother.”

“Creative marketing,” he countered. “Besides, who knows? Maybe I’ll adopt one by next June. Or build one. I have the technology.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet incredibly effective,” he pointed out. “Three bookings in one hour. I’m pretty sure that means I’ve earned at least one of those mini-cakes.”

He wasn’t wrong. The morning continued in the same vein, with Callan charming potential clients while I handled the technical details. We developed a natural rhythm, playing off each other’s strengths. He’d draw them in with his charisma, I’d close the deal with my experience.

I couldn’t help noticing the envious glances from neighboring booths, particularly Enchanting Endings, whose champagne fountain was attracting less attention than Callan’s smile.

“Your boyfriend is quite the asset,” the Enchanting Endings owner, Lauryn, remarked during a brief lull. “Smart move bringing him. Does he do children’s parties too? Or is he just eye candy for the mothers-of-the-bride?”

“He’s not my—” I began automatically, then caught myself. “Yes, he’s been very helpful.”

No point in explaining the complicated reality to a competitor who’d use any information as ammunition. Let her think what she wanted.

“Lucky you,” Lauryn said with a tight smile. “Well, may the best planner win.” She retreated to her booth, whispering urgently to her assistants.

“What was that about?” Callan asked, returning with two cups of coffee from the concession stand.

“Just friendly industry competition,” I replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. “And thank you for this. I was running on fumes.”

“Can’t have my star planner collapsing from caffeine withdrawal.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost one. Have you eaten anything today?”

I tried to remember. “I had... half a protein bar in the car? All of my leftover takeout boxes had mold in them so I had to toss them.”

“A protein bar is not food,” he declared. “It’s a sad rectangle masquerading as nutrition. Come on, we’re taking a lunch break.”

“We can’t both leave the booth,” I protested.

“Sure we can.” He glanced around, then waved over a young woman from the booth across from ours. “Excuse me, would you mind watching this booth for twenty minutes? I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Um, sure!”

Before I could object, Callan had handed her the cash and was steering me toward the exit. “Twenty minutes,” he said firmly. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor,” I pointed out.

“I played one in my third-grade play,” he replied. “Close enough. I said ‘stat’ and everything. Very convincing.”

He led me to a quiet corner of the convention center where food vendors had set up. After procuring sandwiches and drinks, we found a relatively secluded table away from the main crowd.

“Eat,” he commanded, pushing a sandwich toward me. “Before you pass out and I have to dramatically catch you again. Though I wouldn’t mind,” he added with a wink.

I rolled my eyes but took a bite of the sandwich, realizing how hungry I was. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“So,” Callan said finally, “this is what you do. All the time, I mean. The behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Pretty much,” I nodded. “Though usually with more staff and less last-minute panic.”

“You’re really good at it,” he observed. “At all of it. The planning, the client management, the execution.”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the compliment.

“Why not expand?” he asked. “You clearly have the skills and the reputation. You could have offices in multiple cities.”

I hesitated, not used to sharing my professional dreams. “That’s the plan, eventually. But expansion requires capital, and wedding planning isn’t exactly venture capital’s favorite industry. Most investors hear ‘wedding’ and think ‘frivolous,’ not ‘scalable business opportunity.’”

“It could be,” he said, leaning forward. “With the right pitch and the right numbers.”

“Still wanting to invest?” I asked, half-joking.

“Maybe I am,” he replied, his tone serious. “You’re sitting on a goldmine, Anica. Your approach, your attention to detail, your client management. It’s all scalable. With the right business plan and funding, you could be the premier wedding planning service on the East Coast.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by his interest in my business. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he said confidently. “I don’t back losers, and you’re anything but. You’ve got vision, talent, and work ethic. A rare, but impressive combination.”

Excitement bubbled inside me. It wasn’t just the compliment, though that was nice, but the fact that he saw the business potential in what I did. So many people dismissed wedding planning as too niche. Callan didn’t.

“I’ve actually been working on a business plan,” I admitted. “For expansion into Boston and DC first, then maybe Chicago.”

“Smart,” he nodded. “Regional saturation before going national. Less risk, more controlled growth.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, surprised and pleased that he understood my strategy. “The wedding industry is all about word-of-mouth and reputation. You can’t just parachute into a new market and expect?—”

His phone buzzed, interrupting me. He glanced at the screen, and a small smile crossed his lips.

“Sorry,” he said, quickly typing a response. “Just confirming plans for tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“Second date with Angie,” he explained, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “She wants to try that new rooftop restaurant in Tribeca.”

“Angie,” I repeated. Already at the nickname stage. Peachy. The bubbles of excitement I’d had a moment earlier popped and evaporated. “That’s... great. I’m glad it’s going well.”

“She’s pretty amazing,” he agreed with that smile. “Smart, funny, accomplished. We talked for hours at lunch yesterday.”

“I noticed,” I said, then winced internally at how that sounded. “I mean, that’s excellent. She meets all your criteria. A perfect match.”

“Seems that way. Thanks for finding her. You really are good at your job.”

“Just doing what you’re paying me for,” I replied.

An awkward silence fell between us, the easy camaraderie of moments before gone.

“I should get back,” I said, gathering my trash. “Can’t leave the booth unattended for too long.”

“Right,” Callan agreed, standing. “Wouldn’t want to miss any potential clients.”

I walked slightly ahead of him, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest. This was good. This was what I wanted. Callan and Angelina—Angie—were hitting it off. The arrangement would proceed as planned. The contract would be fulfilled. Everything was going perfectly.

“I need to make a quick call before we head back,” I said, stopping abruptly. “You go ahead.”

“You sure?” he asked, studying my face.

“Positive,” I forced a smile. “And Callan? Thank you again for your help today. It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he said, his hands in his pockets. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Friends. Right. That’s exactly what we were.

“Right,” I agreed. “Friends.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded and walked away. I watched him go, telling myself that the heaviness in my chest was just fatigue from the stressful morning. Nothing more.

I’d found Callan his perfect match. I should be pleased. Proud, even. It was a professional triumph.

But no.

It sucked.

A lot.