Page 15 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

That, I did know. “Sure.”

“Well, anyway, some of the staff are meeting at the outdoor bar for drinks tonight at 10:30. You should come.”

I intended to be long asleep by then. Even now, I felt another lack-of-sleep headache coming on. “I’ll have to skip tonight, but next time.”

“If you say so. Another time, wedding planner. Assuming you’re still around.” He chuckled and trotted away.

The next morning, I felt far more refreshed. I arrived to work at 7:58 a.m., looking around in case Chase was stalking me again. But the man was nowhere to be seen.

A new stack of work sat on my desk, problems waiting to be solved. I could only hope none of them involved brides having second thoughts.

I thumbed through the stack. An accident in the storage room that broke several tables and made us short a few. We’d have to rent some in town. The chicken problem was solved, but the kitchen’s manager was out sick and would likely be gone for tonight’s rehearsal dinner. The aide would be on the job, they assured me, and everything would go according to plan.

I felt sick. What else could possibly go wrong with this blasted wedding?

The phone in my pocket buzzed. An unfamiliar number had sent a text.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment as I decided whether I had the bandwidth for this right now. Shouldn’t I handle one problem at a time? But this could be pressing. I opened the screen and scanned the text.

This is Marcus Latimer. Have you seen Kamia? She disappeared last night after dinner.

I muttered a curse. The woman’s rehearsal dinner was just eight hours from now, and I’d prepared the freaking chicken myself. What more did she want me to do? How could I answer this question without making everything blow up in our faces? It wasn’t like I could tell the groomSorry, but she’s having an affair with a hot, young tourist from Portugal. I’m sure she’ll be back before the wedding.

Instead, I went through six different versions before finally responding as vaguely as possible.

Hi Marcus! I haven’t seen her, but I’ll try to track her down and get back to you soon.

Then I picked up the radio. “Agwe, are you there?”

He answered immediately. “Hi Daphne, I am here.”

“We have a missing bride. Kamia Holland. Can you help me gather a few people to search for her?”

There was a pause that lasted almost a full minute. Then he finally responded. “Found her. The grounds crew say she is on the north side, Cabana 4. Would you like me to go?”

“No, I’ll do it. Thank you.” I hooked the radio back to my belt with a sigh.

I wassonot getting paid enough for this. A wedding planner put a wedding together. She wasn’t supposed to act as the couple’s therapist. If there was one thing Ididn’tknow how to do, it was healing broken relationships.

The past seven years were proof enough of that.

EIGHT

When I arrivedat the cabana, I saw a pair of perfectly pedicured feet sticking out one end. Only one. At least she was alone.

I peered around the canvas and stifled a groan. Nope, not alone. Her Portuguese friend sat next to her lounge chair, sipping a drink with a little umbrella in it and reading. Kamia lay in a gold bikini with sequins, wearing thick sunglasses.

Afonso spotted me and rested his book on his knee. “She’s asleep.”

“May I?” I asked.

He gestured to the other end of the lounge chair. I took a seat, unsure how to broach the subject. I needed to discuss this with Kamia, not her Portuguese love muffin.

“Her fiancé is looking for her,” I finally said.

He blew out a long breath. “I know. He’s been texting her since last night, but she refuses to answer. She drank too much and passed out. I didn’t want to leave her here alone.”

I looked around the cabana. At least they hadn’t spent the night in his room. Assuming he was telling the truth. “So you stayed with her here all night?”

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