Page 2 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

"Please. I've been managing difficult people since I learned to talk."

Lyra's shoulders dropped two inches. She sank onto the couch and watched me sort through the welcome bags with an expression of relief.

Carson appeared in the kitchen doorway, his phone pressed to his ear. He waved at me, mouthed "catering crisis," and disappeared back into the other room.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

"He will be once this weekend is over." Lyra twisted her engagement ring, a nervous habit I'd noticed during our video calls. "I keep thinking I’m forgetting something.”

"You aren’t. But even if you are, that’s why you’ve got me."

I pulled out the printed schedules and spread them across the table. They were color-coded, laminated, and organized by day. Friday's rehearsal and dinner. Saturday's welcome events at the ranch. Sunday's ceremony and reception. Every event was timed down to the fifteen-minute buffer I'd built in for inevitable delays.

As I got to work, I pushed an empty bottle of sparkling water out of my way. Ugh. My ex used to order the same brand when we went out to dinner. He always said plain water was cheap.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose. James Keller had been gone from my life for eighteen months. I wouldn’t let an empty bottle drag me down.

My phone buzzed. The bridesmaids' group chat had come alive with the sort of last-minute panic that made me glad I'd overpacked.

Jen: Are we seriously putting Hannah next to James at the rehearsal dinner?

A knot formed behind my breast bone. What the heck was she talking about?

Marissa: Lyra hasn't told her yet.

Jen: Oh shit

Marissa: DELETE THAT

My fingers moved before my brain caught up.

Me: Told me what?

The chat went silent.

I looked up at Lyra. She froze, her face the same pale shade as the wedding dress hanging behind her.

"Hannah—"

"James is coming to the wedding."

"Yes."

"As a guest."

She didn't answer.

My phone buzzed again.

Jen: I'm so sorry. I thought Lyra already told you James stepped in as best man.

The piece of paper in my hands suddenly felt like it weighed forty pounds. I set it down carefully like it might spontaneously explode.

“He's the best man,” I said, still hoping it wasn’t true.

"Carson's cousin had a family emergency.” Lyra’s words came out too fast, defensive and apologetic at once. "James and Carson have been friends since college, so he offered to step in."

I ran through the implications of this new development with the mechanical efficiency of someone who'd spent too many years managing other people's problems. The color-coded schedule now felt like a personal assault. I’d have to hold his arm as we walked down the aisle. Stand next to him. Sit at the head table together. Probably pose for five-hundred pictures by his side. Maybe even have to fake a smile while we danced with the whole wedding party.