Page 11 of The Proposal Planner (Ever After #2)

CHAPTER NINE

MADDY

The drone disaster leaves an unfamiliar stillness between us, thick with everything we're not saying. A tension has settled that neither of us is ready to name. We don't talk about it. We don't need to. Whatever this is, it's settled between us. And we both know it.

Still, every morning, I come down to the barn to find two mugs on the kitchenette counter, one for him and one for me, steam curling from the coffee in an unspoken truce

I, in turn, start picking up an almond croissant for him on my bakery runs, along with my usual blueberry muffin, leaving it on a napkin by the coffee machine. No notes are exchanged. No thanks are necessary. It's a ritual, a shared understanding that we've stepped into new territory.

He's no longer only the man in the loft. He has descended. First to wrangle doves, then with calm purpose to tame a drone. He put his hands over mine, and that single moment of shared control seemed to rewire the entire barn.

Now, when a problem crops up, a short in the lights, a jammed staple gun, I don't have to say a word.

I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and then he's beside me.

Focused. Calm. Already diagnosing the issue with that intense gaze and offering a solution in the kind of voice I imagine gets used in million-dollar mergers.

I'm beginning to rely on him. And that truth lands like a warning bell.

I promised myself I'd never do this again. Never let another man get under my skin and into the soft parts I worked so hard to protect. Not after Daniel. Not after I rebuilt everything from scratch, told myself I didn't need anyone.

But then he solves a problem that's stumped me, and a traitorous voice whispers … This is nice.

Not having to do it all alone?

It's nice.

And just like that, the fragile spell shatters, blown to pieces by the familiar crackle of my best friend's voice, calling in from a castle in Scotland.

"Maddy! I'm so glad I caught you," Savvy says, her voice a mix of bliss and panic.

"Henry has discovered Scottish historical auctions online.

He's bidding on a suit of armor. He says it would be a commanding focal point for the barn.

Please tell me you have a client emergency that requires my return before our home becomes a medieval tourist trap. "

I laugh, the sound echoing in the barn's high ceilings. I glance up toward the loft. I can't see Mason, but I know he's there, and the thought that he can hear my side of this conversation sends a ridiculous, warm flutter through me.

"Tell Henry I'm drawing the line at jousting tournaments," I say. "But I can't help you. Things are surprisingly uneventful here."

"Uneventful? Maddy, your life hasn't been uneventful since you discovered glitter glue in kindergarten." There's a pause. "Is this because of Mason? Are you two behaving?"

"We are behaving with maximum professional courtesy," I say, picking my words with care.

"Uh-huh. Well, speaking of professionals, I need a huge favor.

" Her voice shifts, sliding into that silky tone she uses when she's about to ruin my life with a smile.

"My friend from business school, Clara, is getting married.

Or her boyfriend Ben is about to propose.

He's a total romantic, but Clara ... Clara is a force of nature.

She's a senior project manager at a huge tech company.

Her life is a Gantt chart. I may have ..

. embellished your organizational skills. "

I groan. "Savvy. What did you tell her?"

"I told her you were the most brilliant, creative, visionary proposal planner in New York State!

Which is true!" she rushes. "I might have downplayed the improvisational nature of your methods.

She's nervous, Maddy. She needs to see a blueprint.

She needs to know there's a system behind the spectacle.

Can you do that for me? Can you be systematic? "

The request is a cosmic joke. Be systematic. The quality I had railed against, the attribute personified by the man currently residing in my loft, is now my mission.

"I will be the picture of systematic, color-coded efficiency," I say, a new sense of determination clicking into place. I have to prove to Savvy's friend and maybe to myself that I can be more than a walking to-do list with emotional whiplash.

"Perfect!" Savvy says brightly. "She's on her way now."

My brain hiccups. "Wait, now? Like ... today now?"

"An hour. Maybe two. Depends on traffic." She says it like that's comforting. "But you've got this!"

Do I? No. "Yep," I say, voice climbing a full octave. "Totally got this."

I hang up and stare at my phone like it's betrayed me. Then I glance toward the loft where Mason is, no doubt, organizing his files alphabetically by accident.

Systematic. Sure.

All I have to do is fake being someone who reads the instructions before starting the fog machine.

When Clara and Ben arrive, I feel a jolt of performance anxiety. Clara is exactly as Savvy described. Chic, composed, and radiating a level of competence that makes me instantly self-conscious. I see my workspace through her eyes, and suddenly it's not a curated creative zone.

It's a potential insurance liability.

Ben, on the other hand, is all warmth and quiet enthusiasm, the sort of man who believes in big dreams and fairy tales.

His eyes shine with hope, and that hope lands like a weight on my chest. Because this isn’t any proposal.

They’re inviting their parents to witness it.

The whole moment is being framed as a symbolic start to the rest of their lives.

It can’t be beautiful. It has to be perfect.

I guide them to the consultation area, which I scrubbed and organized within an inch of its life. Mason’s made himself scarce in the loft. It’s better this way. I need to do this on my own. No Savvy. No Ivy. No net.

“Ben had this idea,” Clara says before he can speak. Her tone is pleasant but firm. “A forest clearing. Which is lovely in theory. But my first thoughts go to mud, insects, and unpredictable weather patterns.”

Ben’s face shifts enough to make me jump in, fast.

“An enchanted forest is one of my favorites!” I say, voice bright. “We can handle those concerns. But Ben, what does it feel like to you?”

He lights up instantly, describing a scene straight out of a storybook. A secluded clearing. Moss underfoot. Lanterns strung between trees like captured stars. He wants it to feel like a secret world built for them. Timeless and untouched.

It’s beautiful. It’s everything I love.

And like that, I’m off. The ideas pour out of me before I can stop them.

"We could use theatrical misters to create a soft, low fog. Hang silk ribbons from the trees. Build a path with glowing pebbles that lights up when you step on it. Maybe even place a string quartet beyond view, playing as you walk in…"

I'm soaring. Floating. Until I make the mistake of looking at Clara.

She's nodding politely. But her eyes are cool. Assessing.

"It sounds," she says, pause devastating, "incredibly complicated. How would you get power out there? What happens if it rains an hour before? What's the exact contingency strategy?"

Pop.

Just like that, my creative balloon deflates.

She's not brainstorming. She's building a fortress of logistics and facts around Ben's dream, brick by brick. My cheeks flush. My stomach tightens. I can feel my confidence slipping through my fingers.

I am officially failing.

Then, a voice, grounded as bedrock, cuts through the tension.

"The contingency strategy is multi-layered."

I turn. Mason is coming down the loft stairs. Not hesitant but moving with the ease of someone stepping into a negotiation. He's holding a dark blue portfolio I'm ninety-nine percent sure contains blank forms or old contracts.

My heart doesn’t flutter. It takes off. He’s changed into a crisp, dark button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the sight of him, solid, capable, present, grounds me in a way I didn’t expect.

He gives Clara a polite, disarming smile.

“Apologies for the interruption. Mason Kincaid.” He extends a hand to Clara, then Ben. “I handle operational logistics and risk assessment for Maddy’s projects.”

The title is a total fabrication, and I love him for it.

He flips open the portfolio with practiced ease, like he’s presenting prepared materials. The pages inside are notes, scribbled diagrams. Nothing formal.

"Maddy's vision is extraordinary, but it works because she thinks through the practicalities.

" His tone is calm, almost conversational, but every word eases the tension.

"Power? Ever After uses marine batteries when we're off-grid.

No disruptive generators. Weather? We have a tent on standby from Albany, set up in three hours if needed.

If the forecast tips past thirty percent rain, we deploy.

And if everything else fails? We have an indoor venue on soft hold. "

He rattles off points with a confidence that makes it sound like this plan existed long before this moment. But I know better. He's stitching it together from scraps of our past conversations and sheer instinct and somehow making it sound ironclad.

Clara is transformed. The skeptical project manager melts away, replaced by a beaming, excited future fiancée.

"Ben," she says, grabbing her boyfriend's hand, "this is ideal. It's ... it's both. It's magical and it makes sense." She studies me and Mason, her eyes shining. "You two are incredible. We'll take it. All of it."

After they leave, giddy and glowing, the signed contract on my desk, the barn feels charged with our shared win.

"Operational logistics and risk assessment?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. My voice is shaky.

"A brand of genius like yours requires structural support," he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. He's echoing my earlier thoughts, and the casual intimacy of it steals my breath.

"Thank you," I say, and the words feel inadequate. "You didn't have to do all that. You ... you built a fortress for my fairy tale."

"It's a good fairy tale," he says. "It deserves a solid foundation."

Just then, my phone buzzes. It's a text from Clara. My heart hammers as I read it.

Clara

That was amazing. You have to tell me everything about your partner.

Savvy MAJORLY undersold you guys. He's a total secret weapon.

And Maddy ... for what it's worth ... the way that man studies you when you're talking has nothing to do with operational logistics. Don't let that one go. He's a keeper.

A hot blush floods my entire body. I glance up, and Mason is watching me, his eyes intent and searching. He knows. He doesn’t know what the text says, but he knows it’s about him. He knows a truth has been confirmed, one we’ve both been ignoring, now spoken aloud by a stranger.

“Good news?” he asks, his voice neutral.

I can’t speak. I nod, shoving my phone into my pocket as if it were radioactive.

He holds my eyes for a long moment, and in them, I see it all.

The satisfaction of our success, the memory of the drone controls, and a flicker of the same terrifying hope that’s doing loop-the-loops in my stomach.

He’s my partner. And as he gives me one last, lingering glance before heading back to the loft, I’m hit with the deafening, heart-stopping realization that I’m in far, far deeper than I ever imagined.