Page 103 of Single Chance

“Aww, thank you,” Magnolia said. “I had fun with it.”

“I keep telling her she needs to make a business of her party-planning skills,” Chloe said, nudging Magnolia’s side.

“You really should consider it, dear,” Loretta said.

“In my spare time between the Lily Pad and the inn,” Magnolia said, laughing.

“You’re good at event planning,” Chance told her.

Luke and West arrived, and my husband excused himself to greet them.

We’d been married for three weeks. I was still pinching myself at my good fortune or fate or whatever deserved the credit for guiding me to that man. He was so exactly what I hadn’t even known I needed. Forever supportive, full of love, humor, and common sense, and so damn irresistible. I knew pregnancy hormones could enhance a girl’s sex drive, but I wasn’t convinced those were to blame for how much I craved him.

Our wedding had been an intimate gathering of just over a dozen of our closest friends, everyone except Presley, who’d been too sick to get out of bed. We’d exchanged vows on the terrace of the Honeysuckle Inn, the exact one we’d discussed the first night we’d met. If you’d told me on New Year’s Eve I’d be marrying Chance a few months later in that spot, I would’ve laughed hysterically and told you to shut up.

Afterward, our group enjoyed a private dinner party at the Marks Resort, prepared by The Cove’s chef, Nola Simms, and her staff. We’d made the decision to branch out from Henry’s with the good-natured blessing of both Holden and Cash, who were on our short guest list. I could understand why Nola and Cash had both received national recognition for their chef skills. Our wedding dinner had been unforgettable.

Though Chance had invited his parents and brother to the wedding, none of them had bothered to show up, claiming four weeks wasn’t enough notice. Chance had shrugged it off and declared it their loss. He’d told me Sam and I were what true family felt like, not the cold, self-centered jerks who’d raised him. I agreed. Those people, who I had yet to meet, didn’t deserve to have him in their lives.

“You look gorgeous, Rowan,” Quincy, Knox’s wife, said as she came up and hugged me.

“No, you do,” I said, grinning as I checked out her short, flouncy tangerine dress with boots. “I look like a plump blueberry.”

Her smile was sad at the edges. “I’d give just about anything to look like a plump blueberry.”

“You will,” I told her.

“You absolutely will,” Chloe said.

It was no secret Quincy and Knox had been trying to get pregnant. My heart went out to them. It must seem so brutally unfair that they could want a baby so badly and not be blessed with a pregnancy, and then someone like me comes along and gets pregnant after one chance meeting.

I squeezed her hand and tried to convey my empathy without drawing more attention to her.

Just then, Presley came bustling onto the patio from the parking lot, looking classy and sexy at once in a short, silver dress, thigh-high black boots, and a black cropped jacket.

“About time you got here,” Chloe called to her.

“Hey, Presley,” Olivia, the baker of the gender reveal cake, said. “Welcome.”

“You look stunning,” I said as she approached us.

“Thanks, Rowan. I’m sorry I’m late.” Presley hugged me, then Chloe and the other girls in our cluster.

“There’s no late,” I assured her. “The food is about to be served, and we’ve got plenty of drinks, so help yourself.”

“Yes to the drinks,” Presley said. “I just quit my job on the spot.”

I whipped my head to her to see if I’d heard her right. “You quit? Really?”

“Escorted off the premises and everything,” she said almost flippantly.

There was a collective gasp, then Chloe said, “Well, good riddance.”

Presley said, “Amen.”

“What happened to make you quit?” Anna asked.

“I’ll get you a cocktail. Would you like a Blue Bayou or a Watermelon Mojito?” Quincy asked, naming our themed blue and pink drinks for the evening, also Magnolia’s idea.

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