Page 17 of The Wedding Twist

“Jameson Kent?” Celeste said, eyes widening. She’d met the local guide once at a town fundraiser at the local library, and he not only had the biggest, and most unfounded, ego she’d ever encountered, but she’d watched as he’d pocketed six sets of silverware in his parka pocket from one of the tables, for god knows what reason. There was no way they were allowing the groom and his family and friends to spend the day with that loser. “That’s a hard no. I’d sooner take them out myself.”

The day out was meant to happen while the bride, her mother and sisters, and the other female guests spent the day at the local hot-springs spa, then returned to the lodge for a specially designed happy hour, complete with a visit from a mixologist who was going to demo some signature cocktails, then stick around for the evening to mix drinks for the rehearsal dinner.

The rehearsal dinner was an elaborate seafood feast, a McCarthy-family specialty modeled after the traditional Christmas Eve dinners of Jeannie’s childhood at the lodge: towers of crab legs, trays of oysters on beds of glistening shaved ice, hot lobster bisque, and sides of warm corn bread and shrimp toasts.

After dessert, there would be cards and nightcaps in the great room, then the groom would retire to a double suite, which would be cleaned in between the rehearsal dinner and wedding day for the sisters of the bride, while the bride would spend her last unmarried night having a slumber party with her sisters in what would be the bridal suite the next night.

Now Celeste had to think fast to find someone who would be able to fill in for her father at the last minute.

“Espresso?” she asked her mother, who was already rolling out dough for the next pastry, her irritation clear in her aggressive motions.

“I’ve already had two,” Jeannie said. “I’m going to put these in the oven, then I’ll warm up some soup for your father. And can you call Kristopsen’s when they open? Our order was delayed yesterday. I want to make sure they’re still doing a drop-off this morning.”

“On it. Let me know if you need anything else,” Celeste said, then took her coffee to the great room and blew on her drink while she stared out the window. The pale light of the rising sun was starting to creep up the tree line, a morning mist thick on the ground. It would burn off by eleven, and with the trees already budding ahead of schedule, it was going to be a gorgeous weekend for an early-spring wedding.

She took a small sip of her coffee. It was obvious who she needed to call. But what if he said no? What if he said yes? Celeste would have to basically be Jack’s boss for the next couple of days and ensure that he offered her guests the bespoke experience the lodge had guaranteed.

There was also the small fact that Quinn would have a field day. Their father and his cover band had been a last-minute substitution on Christmas Eve so many years ago when the jazz trio had canceled and her parents’ love story had begun. Celeste didn’t want to endure her sister’s matchmaking glee at the parallel turn of events.

There wasn’t really a choice to be made. Jack could deliver, and it wasn’t like there was much time to explore other options. It was her duty to make sure that the wedding weekend was as perfect as she could possibly make it, especially since over a million people would be witness to the event.

Without overthinking, she opened the Wallace Expeditions account on Instagram and sent Jack a DM: “Any chance you’re free to manage a group tomorrow? Something outdoorsy? 6 guys.” She put her phone down and paced around the room, making small adjustments to picture frames on the walls and fluffing pillows. Jack likely wouldn’t be up for a few hours, so she’d have to be patient.

She snatched her phone off the table again when it vibrated only seconds later. On the home screen was a response from Jack. Her heart raced. “Count me in,” read his message. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Can you come by the lodge this afternoon to discuss?” she typed. “Noon?”

Another message came through almost immediately: “See you then.”

She dropped her phone onto the table, while her stomach did flip-flops. She loved problem-solving.

Her solutions, however, didn’t usually involve the prospect of working side by side with incredibly handsome men.

*

The morning flewby in a flurry of checkouts and room preparations. The wedding group was due to start arriving at one o’clock, and in the meantime, Celeste was doing a final check of the main spaces before her meeting with Jack.

“You’ve rearranged those books six times in the last five minutes,” Quinn said. “Is someone nervous?”

Celeste stepped back from the stack of coffee-table books in front of the fireplace. “I’m just tidying up,” she shot back. “You could help, you know. And you’re not to be anywhere in the vicinity of this room this afternoon.”

“What if I want to say hi to Jack?”

“Too bad. Go latch hook a rug.”

“Very funny,” Quinn said. She approached Celeste and straightened the collar on her green blouse. “But you don’t need to be nervous. You’re gorgeous, and Jack is totally into you.”

“I don’t need him to be into me; I need him to show the group a great time. And I’m not nervous.”

Quinn was right—Celeste was nervous. And she was also incredibly stressed. Half of their order from Kristopsen’s still hadn’t been delivered, and the seafood dinner was starting to look a lot less like a feast and more like an afternoon snack. After going over some logistics with Jack, who would be there any minute, she had to call around to all the local providers to see who had any stock. Not to mention finishing prepping all the rooms, restocking the mini fridges with bottles of cava and bags of truffle-oil potato chips, as per the bride and groom’s special request, and making sure that when everyone arrived, the lodge was ready to shine.

The chimes at the front door rang, indicating someone had just passed through, and Quinn gave Celeste a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Celeste smoothed her hair and went to the front entrance, anticipation swirling like a whirlpool in her gut. Jack stood in the lobby in jeans, a black bomber jacket, and a baseball cap.

“Hey, Jack,” she said.

“Hey. Wow,” he said, glancing around at the lodge’s entrance. “This place is incredible.”

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