Page 67 of The Breakup Broker

Later, as we cut into the cake—a masterpiece of copper-painted tiers and handcrafted sugar flowers that matched my bouquet—Henry got frosting on my nose despite my best efforts to avoid it.

“The bouquet toss!” Ivy called out, gathering the single ladies. My wedding bouquet, a cascade of white roses and blue delphiniums tied with copper ribbon, sailed through the air in a perfect arc ... straight into Maddy’s surprised hands.

“The garter’s next!” someone shouted, and I caught Henry’s wicked grin as he knelt before me. The delicate lace garter—borrowed from Mom and something blue—snapped across the room directly at Mason, who caught it reflexively.

“Don’t even think about it,” Maddy warned as Mason approached with the garter, though her cheeks flushed pink.

“Please,” Mason drawled, though his ears had reddened. “I’d rather walk through Richard Kingston’s hostile takeover again than be stuck in a room with your drone collection.”

“Funny,” Maddy shot back, clutching my bouquet like ashield, “I was thinking I’d rather paint a thousand pigeons than attempt to dance with a lawyer who thinks a sense of humor is a liability.”

But it was during the reception that the real magic happened. Mr. Dixon appeared at our table, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday best.

I watched Ivy try to convince Mrs. Patterson that she couldn’t livestream the entire reception when Mr. Dixon approached our table. He pulled Henry aside, and I saw them exchange something—an envelope, maybe?—followed by matching grins that made me instantly suspicious.

After their hushed conversation, they both turned to me.

“Come with us,” Henry said, extending his hand. “Mr. Dixon has something to show us.”

Mr. Dixon led us through to a back room I barely recognized. The space had been completely cleared out, its soaring ceilings and original hardwood floors glowing in the evening light. “Took me three weeks to clear it all out,” he said proudly, running a hand along one of the exposed beams. “But a deal’s a deal, and I wanted it perfect for today.”

Mr. Dixon’s eyes grew wistful with memory. “Your grandmother used to plan all the town’s celebrations here,” he told me. “Back when River Bend knew how to throw a proper party. Been waiting for the right moment to pass it on to someone who’d bring that magic back.”

“Pass it on?” I turned to Henry, who was holding out the envelope I had seen earlier.

“Happy wedding day, love,” he said. “Mr. Dixon and I have been working on this for months.”

My hands shook as I opened it. Inside was a deed—toThe Weathered Barn. My name was right there on the dotted line.

“You didn’t,” I breathed.

“I did.” Henry’s gaze warmed. “Every love story needs the right setting. And I thought maybe it was time for River Bend to have a place where happy endings are just the beginning.”

“Oh my god!” Maddy’s voice carried from the doorway where she and Ivy had been eavesdropping. “It’s perfect! We could do everything here—proposals, weddings, celebrations?—”

“A one-stop shop for happily ever afters,” Ivy finished, moving through the space like she could see it all.

“Ever After, Inc.,” I said, the name feeling right on my tongue. “Everything you need to make your perfect day perfect.”

“Or perfectly imperfect,” Henry added with a grin, no doubt remembering his own drone disaster of a proposal.

Mr. Dixon cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you young folks to it. Remember—this place has seen a lot of love stories. Treat her right.”

As he walked away, Maddy was in full planning mode. “We’ll need to update the wiring, maybe add some modern lighting, but keep the vintage charm.”

“Slow down,” I laughed. “I just got married. Maybe we can wait until tomorrow to start the next adventure?”

But looking around the space—at my best friends deep into plotting and planning, at Henry’s look of quiet pride, and at the way the evening light bathed everything in shades of possibility—I knew this was exactly right. The Breakup Broker was officially retired, and something new was beginning.

A commotion from the main room drew our attention. “Speaking of adventures,” Ivy said with a grin, “I think Maddy’s grand finale is about to start.”

We hurried back in time to hear the first notes of “At Last” fill the air. But instead of the simple first dance we’d planned, the ceiling erupted in a shower of silver stars—actual metallic stars, drifting down on nearly invisible threads while tiny lights twinkled in the rafters.

“No drones,” Maddy said when we stared at her. “You said no drones. But you didn’t ban stars.”

“Your stars are crooked,” Mason called out as Maddy finished adjusting the final constellation. “The whole left side will come down on someone’s head.”

“My stars,” Maddy said, spinning to face him, “are perfectly engineered. Unlike your personality.”

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