Page 108 of A Taste of Vanilla

Oliver puts his coffee down. “Of course he is.”

I grip the edge of the counter. “Why?”

Marley keeps reading. “The lock is unacceptable and the oven is inefficient.”

“The oven is fine.”

Oliver looks toward the kitchen. “It burned the left edge of my pretzel bites last month.”

“That was user error.”

“I was reheating them.”

“At five hundred degrees.”

Marley is typing something with aggressive thumbs. “What are you saying?” I ask.

“If he comes back here, I’m making him apologize to us all again.”

Oliver nods.

My phone buzzes in my apron pocket.

It’s not Marley or Oliver, because they’re here. It’s not Grant, because he’s blocked.

Instead, it’s an email notification. One I almost ignore.

Then I see the sender.

Elsa Brielle—Wedding Photography

My throat closes, and I step back from the counter.

Marley’s eyes are on me in an instant. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Halston.”

“It’s—it’s wedding stuff.” My voice is hoarse.

I called three vendors last week, but apparently untangling a future is about as efficient as peeling old packing tape. Every time I think I’ve peeled up one corner, another strip is stuck to me.

I take a second to hype myself up before opening the email.

Hi Halston,

I’m so sorry to bother you. I know you mentioned the wedding has been called off, and again, I’m heartbroken for you. I only wanted to check because Caroline Whitaker reached out asking whether the datewas officially available, and I didn’t want to respond without confirming with you first.

Sending love,

Elsa

I read it once. Then twice.

Then a third time, because apparently my brain wanted to make sure the knife had gone in at the proper angle.

Caroline Whitaker had reached out to my wedding photographer.