Page 8 of Coming for Her Brother’s Best Friend (Coming For Christmas #4)

SIDNEY

With the cake secured and the wedding only a few hours away, I forced myself to get back on track.

The ballroom looked like the aftermath of a hurricane with half-built tables, a bare arch frame, and towers of boxes lining the perimeter.

The space that had been a candlelit cathedral for the rehearsal dinner last night had been torn back down to nothing, ready for me to build it all again from bones.

“Where are we on chairs?” I said into my headset as my boots squeaked on the polished floor.

The event manager responded. “Half set, linens are next.”

“Skip the linens until the florals are placed. They’ll shred the garlands if they’re set before.”

“Yes, boss.”

I rolled my shoulders back like armor clicking into place. If I thought about how much was riding on today, like my reputation, my business, and my entire future, I’d lock up or break down. So I didn’t. I focused on the next task, and the one after that.

The hours blurred, one into the next, while I coaxed roses open, set out place cards, and unfurled garlands down the center of tables.

My headset buzzed every ninety seconds. The band arrived, the ice sculpture showed up cracked, and the power flickered once in the east wing, making my stomach drop to my knees.

The hotel manager stopped by to tell me they had a few generators primed and ready just in case. It didn’t make me feel better.

Hayes worked silent and steady at the edges. I caught him hauling boxes, setting out chargers, and untangling fairy lights with the concentration of a man used to defusing bombs. Twice, I told him to go put on his tux. He ignored me both times.

At one point he caught me by the wrist as I passed by. “You need to eat something.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t take the time,” he said, and left a plate of cheese and crackers on a crate next to me.

By four, the room was stunning. The arch soared over the riser, dripping with velvet ribbon and white roses. A cluster of gold lanterns glowed at the base. The tables were dressed and gleaming. Candles lined the windows and illuminated the snow that had piled up outside.

I stood in the center, clutching my clipboard, trying to make my pulse slow. This was the point where I should’ve felt proud. Instead, it felt like standing on a frozen lake and hearing the first hairline crack.

“Go change,” Hayes said from behind me. “Before the guests show.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You’ll make time,” he said. “Or I’ll drag you.”

I went.

In the staff lounge, I pulled on wide-leg black pants and a cream silk blouse that would let me blend in and go unnoticed.

My hands shook while I twisted up my hair, and I smudged my lipstick twice.

When I came back down the service stairs, the power flickered long enough to make everyone stop breathing.

It held. For now.

The guests who weren’t staying at the lodge started arriving just before five.

By then, the snow had softened to slow, fat flakes drifting past the windows, blurring the view of the mountains beyond.

Inside, the smaller ballroom where the ceremony would be held glowed.

Chandeliers had been dimmed to a honeyed shimmer, and the soft light spilled across velvet runners the color of fresh cream.

The gold Chiavari chairs lined the aisle in perfect symmetry.

The arch at the far end bloomed with white roses, each petal luminous.

The entire room looked like it had been dipped in champagne and spun around in sugar.

Harper peeked in from the side door. “It’s… it’s perfect,” she whispered, her eyes wet.

It almost was. Then the power went out. Not a flicker. Just gone. Gasps rippled through the seated guests. The music stopped, and the chandeliers went dark.

I froze, but Hayes didn’t.

“Everyone please stay seated,” he called out, his voice calm enough to cut through the collective panic. “Keep the aisle clear. Groomsmen, go to the ballroom across the hall and bring back the candles from each table. Now.”

They bolted.

I forced my lungs to thaw. “Ushers, please get some matches to light the candles. Musicians, keep playing.”

For some reason, everyone obeyed. My heart hammered so hard it felt like it was trying to fight its way out of my chest, but the glow came back in layers.

The candle centerpieces came from the reception area.

Someone brought in lanterns to set by the arch.

The hotel event manager found two matching candelabras and put them behind the officiant so everyone could watch Harper and Rand exchange their vows.

Harper walked down the aisle by candlelight while the quartet played an instrumental version of Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years.” It was better than perfect. It was magic.

The room roared when they kissed. The ceremony blurred into hugs and applause and the giddy chaos of a cocktail hour while the crew flipped the space for the reception.

I didn’t stop moving—redirecting trays, checking heat lamps, rerouting the DJ when the storm took out the internet.

My headset buzzed like a nest of hornets.

Hayes slipped through it all like a shadow, somehow everywhere and nowhere.

I caught him hauling a tray for the caterer, steadying the ice sculpture, and refilling votives.

At one point I saw him slow-dancing with Harper’s eighty-year-old great-aunt while the band did a soundcheck, his big hands cradling her like she was made out of glass.

She giggled. My stomach did something it wasn’t supposed to.

By the time Rand spun Harper onto the dance floor for their first dance under the chandeliers, the storm had decided not to give up and was hammering against the windows like it wanted into the party.

Guests laughed louder, talked closer, champagne-fueled and glowing while snow clawed at the glass.

The air smelled like vanilla cake and candle wax.

I stood at the edge, my smile glued in place, my eyes scanning nonstop—watching the servers, the band, the flicker of the generator lights. Everyone was celebrating while I was still braced for impact.

The song ended. Cheers erupted. Harper’s eyes sparkled brighter than the diamond on her ring finger.

And for the first time all day, I let myself stop.

Just for a second. I ducked into the catering corridor while the band launched into the next song.

Leaning against the stainless prep table, I willed my pulse to slow from a gallop to a steady walk.

I’d done it.

“Sidney.” Hayes stood in the doorway, his tux jacket open and bow tie loose, snow still melting on his shoulders. His voice was quiet but loud enough to cut through the static in my head.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

“You’re shaking.”

“I can’t fall apart,” I whispered. “Not now.”

“You can,” he said, stepping closer. “Just not alone.”

That cracked something open that I hadn’t meant to let him see. My throat made a sound halfway to a sob. I pressed my hands to my eyes, hard, but it didn’t stop the blur behind them.

Then his hands were on my shoulders, warm and grounding, and I was leaning into him before I thought about it. “I can’t screw this up,” I mumbled into his shirt.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You saved it.”

“I froze.”

“For half a second. Then you took control.” His hand slid into my hair, his forehead tipping to touch mine. “You were incredible.”

Something in me snapped clean. I kissed him. Or maybe he kissed me. Either way, it was quick and fierce, like a match struck in the dark—hot and gone before it could burn anything down.

I pulled back first, my breath ragged. “I have to get back out there.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “You do.”

I walked away on shaky legs, my lips still tingling like I’d just stepped off the side of the mountain.