The Second Best Man

Chapter Three

Cass found Wren at nine the next morning, before the planning office opened, in the kitchen of the guesthouse Wren’s parents had put her up in for the engagement weekend, still in pajamas, hair a disaster, cradling a mug of coffee like it was the only thing tethering her to consciousness.

“Absolutely not,” Cass said, by way of good morning.

Wren didn’t even look up. “I made you coffee. It’s the peace-offering kind, extra sugar; I know how you take it when you’re about to yell at me.”

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

“You’re doing the jaw thing again.”

“I am going to calmly and rationally explain,” Cass said, sitting down hard across from her, “why I cannot spend six months attached at the hip to Eli Marchetti.”

Wren finally looked up, and to her credit, there wasn’t an ounce of surprise in her face, which told Cass everything she needed to know about how long Wren had been sitting on this, and how long she’d been dreading this exact conversation.

“You knew,” Cass said.

“I knew the planner pairs the bridal party by role. I didn’t know you’d react like” Wren gestured vaguely at all of her. “Like this.”

“He’s Daniel’s brother, Wren.”

“I’m aware.”

“He’s the reason I left Harbor’s Rest and didn’t come back for five years.”

“I’m aware,” Wren said again, softer this time, setting her mug down. “Cass. I love you. You know I love you. But I’ve been engaged for exactly nineteen hours, and I need my maid of honor, and the wedding planner’s pairing system is not something I control, and honestly” she hesitated, the particular hesitation of someone about to say something she’s already decided is a bad idea to say “I don’t actually think this is only about scheduling logistics for you.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying”

“Don’t therapize me before ten a.m.”

Wren held up both hands, surrendered, and let it go, which was one of the things Cass loved her for; she knew exactly how far to push and exactly when to stop. They sat in silence for a moment, the coffee going lukewarm between them, the guesthouse windows full of that same golden Harbor’s Rest light that had been needling at Cass since she’d crossed the town line.

“I could ask them to switch it,” Wren said finally. “Pair you with someone else. It’d be strange, but I could ask.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Wren would ask. Wren would blow up her own seating chart, ruffle feathers with a mother-in-law she was still trying to charm, just to keep Cass comfortable. That was exactly the kind of friend Wren was, and exactly why Cass couldn’t let her do it.

“No,” Cass said, before she could think better of it. “It’s your wedding. I’m not going to make it weird because I can’t handle six months in a room with a guy who”

She stopped.

Wren waited.

“It’s fine,” Cass said instead, which wasn’t an answer to anything, but seemed to satisfy the moment enough that Wren let her have it.

The planning office was above the flower shop on Harbor Street, all exposed beams and swatches of fabric pinned to corkboards, and when Cass walked in at ten a.m. sharp, Eli Marchetti was already there.

Of course he was. The man probably hadn’t been late to anything in his life.

He was standing at the far table, going through a binder with the wedding planner, a brisk, efficient woman named Delia who Cass immediately liked and immediately resented for being so cheerful about all of this, and when he looked up and saw Cass in the doorway, something crossed his face that she couldn’t read. Not quite dread. Not quite anything else, either.

“Cass,” Delia said warmly, waving her over. “Perfect timing. We were just going over the schedule.”

Cass crossed the room and made herself stand beside Eli like it cost her nothing.

“Six months,” Delia said, sliding a printed calendar across the table, “give or take. Dress fittings start next week, cake tasting the week after, and there’s a vendor walkthrough at the Cliff House that I’ll need both of you for, since you’ll be coordinating the toast logistics together”

“Together,” Cass repeated.

“That’s generally how a joint toast works, yes.” Delia smiled, missing the edge in Cass’s voice entirely, already moving on to venue timelines.

Cass looked sideways at Eli. He was staring very fixedly at the calendar like it contained something more interesting than a list of dates, his jaw tight in a way that mirrored, uncomfortably, the exact expression Wren had accused her of wearing the night before.

“You could have said something,” Cass said, low, while Delia dug through a folder for the venue contract. “Last night. Before I heard it from a wedding planner.”

“I tried,” Eli said, just as low. “You told me not to do the pleasantries.”

“That’s not” Cass exhaled through her nose. “That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

There was something underneath the words, something careful and strange, and Cass didn’t have time to chase it down before Delia surfaced from her folder, triumphant, and slid a thick contract across the table between them.

“Right,” Delia said. “First thing on the list: the two of you need to sign off on the joint vendor agreement. It’s just a formality, but I’ll need both signatures before we can lock in the venue.”

Cass reached for the pen at the same moment Eli did. Their hands brushed barely, half a second, nothing, and Cass pulled back like she’d touched something hot, and when she looked up, Eli was watching her with an expression she hadn’t seen on him in five years and had spent five years telling herself she’d never see again.

It looked, unmistakably, like regret.

Before she could decide what to do with that, her phone buzzed against the table with a text from an unknown Harbor’s Rest number, and when she unlocked it, her stomach dropped clean through the floor.

It’s Daniel. I heard you were back in town. We should talk.