1️⃣

ORM

"Something old. Something new."

I tap the garment bag holding Josie's vintage 1950s wedding dress, then drum my fingernails on the box holding the gorgeous Manolo Blahnik her she splurged on last month.

Josie watches me quietly, knowing better than to disturb me when I'm in Maidzilla Mode—a term she coined when she determined that making me her maid of honour was akin to Dr Frankenstein creating his monster. Thankfully, I think being compared to a reanimated corpse is rather chic. Very stylishly macabre. Plus, if I must be monstrous to ensure that my cousin gets the most beautiful wedding of the century, then so be it.

"Something borrowed..." I continue.

"My mom is dropping off her veil in the morning. And, yes, Orm, she's already mended and steamed it. You can't even tell that Auntie Cassie accidentally punctured the hem with her stiletto during a round of 'The Bunny Hop' at the reception. It's perfectly ready."

"Good."

I turn toward the coffee table, where a nest of tissue paper that has just been dropped off at our door by our favourite neighbour, the wise woman of the coast, rests among the partially packed moving boxes.

"Something blue," Josie finishes for me.

In unison, we grin and lean forward to peer at Miss Maisie's creation. When I asked her to recommend blue gemstones for a potential headpiece for Josie's wedding ensemble, I hadn't expected her to create something from her mystical supplies. Yet, now that it's here, I can't deny it's perfect. Miss Maisie has used delicate silver wire to craft a dainty headband from tiny aquamarines and raw sapphire stones. Nestled in Josie's wild, dark waves, it'll look like a crown of stars.

"It's so dreamy." I sigh, admiring the headband.

"I can't believe she won't let me pay her for it."

"I don't think Miss Maisie has ever accepted payment for her mysterious gemstone deliveries before, Jo."

"Well, this is different, no?"

I snort softly. "Maybe you can flip the script on her and slip a Benjamin into her pocket when she least expects it."

Josie giggles. As locals of Point Reyes, we've often been the target of Miss Maisie's hidden charms and wordless spiritual guidance. Even the tourists aren't safe. She knows everything about everything, and rumour has it that the wind tells her what ails every person who wanders into this town.

For example, you're minding your business one minute, thinking about how little sleep you got last night, and the next minute, you've got a chunk of howlite stone and a sachet of chamomile tea in your pocket. This exact thing happened to me just last week. Honestly, I think Miss Maisie has spent way too much of her free time trying to cure my persistent insomnia over the years. She's not the sort of person who can accept a lost cause.

But I digress.

Officially, Miss Maisie does oracle cards and palm readings from her eclectic and colourfully cushioned porch. Unofficially, she communes with the sirens who guard these shores and foretells the greatest love stories of the decade... usually between the least likely of couples.

She is, of course, invited to Josie and Elijah's wedding.

"Anyway," I say, turning back to Josie with my hands planted firmly on my hips. "You need to finish packing up your books."

She smirks. "So eager to get rid of me?"

"You know I want you to stay here and be my roommate for the rest of our lives, but you're getting married next week, so you're inevitably leaving me. Which means that you really should finish packing your things."

Josie sighs and turns to the built-in bookshelves that frame our television.

"You're right," she mutters. "I just know that Elijah will judge my taste in literature."

"Elijah has always known you like reading historical romance. I'd even bet money that he's sneaked a peek at a few of those novels."

She waves me off and goes to the nearest shelf, where endless stacks of dollar-store paperbacks are crammed into every available space. I duck into the kitchen, where we're keeping the stack of empty boxes, and grab one for her. Dropping it down onto the floor in front of the shelves, I help Josie neatly move the books from one spot to another.

Technically, the books aren't going far. After her soon-to-be-husband Elijah officially moved back to town last summer, he bought a house just down the street from here. It's barely a two-minute walk. Which is nice, of course, but I know I will still miss having Josie in her messy bedroom just down the hall from mine.

This is my childhood home, but it's just been me and Josie living in it since my dad moved down to San Diego a few years ago. And ever since Josie and Elijah officially became Josieandelijah again, they have been spending most of their time together. In that sense, I probably should've gotten used to the relative emptiness by now.

If I'm being melodramatic and pessimistic about it, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I don't like being alone. I'm a textbook extrovert. I love having people around as often as possible.

Still, I'm being ridiculous. Josie and Elijah are only down the street. They can visit all the time, and I can see them. After the honeymoon, that is. The day after the wedding, they're setting off on a lovely, month-long trip to the Mediterranean. I organised and booked everything, of course. Thanks to the few part-time staff members we've hired recently, I can handle Meridian Events in her absence. Luckily, Elijah doesn't have to worry about missing work since his position as the high school's data science teacher doesn't require him to be around until September.

It's not that he needs to work. Elijah, a genius, designed and sold some essential software in his early twenties, and now he's a billionaire. You wouldn't know it by looking at or interacting with him. He's humble, thoughtful, and incredibly frugal.

All I know is that Josie and Elijah's future children will have bottomless trust funds—lucky little things.

"I think this one is yours," Josie muses, holding up a battered book. Lie With Me by Patricia Spencer.

"Definitely not," I insist.

"No, I seem to remember you reading this one and telling me you thoroughly enjoyed it."

"Even if that were true, it's still yours. You're definitely the one who dug it out of the bottom of a dusty box at a random yard sale."

"Suit yourself." Josie giggles, dropping it into the box.

Josie loves old stuff—historical fiction, vintage clothes, nostalgic memorabilia. Memories are very important to her, and I can hardly blame her for them. If I spent most of my life madly in love with my soulmate, I'd also have pleasant feelings about the past.

My memories aren't that pretty rosy, but that's alright. I'm not a fan of dwelling on the dark stuff. It's much more interesting to focus on the good things in life. My cousin, best friend, and business partner are getting married to the love of her life in a matter of days.

I've never been in love, but it seems like quite the roller-coaster. Even though Josie and Elijah have been thick as thieves since birth—because they were born less than a day apart—it wasn't always rainbows and sunshine for them. They broke up after high school when Elijah decided to go to Caltech, and Josie wanted to stay closer to home for college. For years, Elijah had practically disappeared off the face of the earth.

Then, last summer, he reappeared for their ten-year high school reunion. Nobody expected him to show up, but there he was. And even though Elijah had been married and widowed during his time away from our hometown, it is evident that he never stopped caring for Josie.

In the end, it took them less than a month to fall back in love.

Blah, blah, blah. True love. Kindred spirits. Destiny and fate.

All that stuff.

They probably would've married as early as last autumn, but Elijah insisted he wanted to give Josie the wedding of her dreams. This means we needed to wait for a chance to reserve Marigold Manor, the most beautiful historic mansion in Sonoma County, for the event. The waiting list is months long, even for something as routine as a charity gala or luncheon.

Of course, it helps that Mr. Linden, the estate's custodian, has a soft spot for Elijah.

"I'm going to have to think of something to put on these shelves," I murmur as I start filling up a second box with more books. "They'll look weird if they're empty."

"Maybe you can start collecting knick-knacks."

"Like the old maid, I'm destined to become?"

Josie sighs. "Orm! That's not what I meant at all."

I nudge her with my elbow to let her know I'm just kidding. Except we both know that the joke is halfway true.

I might be a social butterfly, but I don't date much. My defence is that I don't have the patience for it. All those endless, shallow, getting-to-know-you questions, the tedious back-and-forth, and the unspoken rules you're supposed to know how to follow... only for it to simply not work out a month later, and you're forced to start the cycle all over again...

I'm just not interested in it.

I'd rather focus on planning Josie's wedding, growing Meridian Events, and keeping up with friendships than romances.

"Knock, knock!" calls a voice from the entryway. A moment later, the thud of the screen door echoes throughout the room, and Josie lets out a happy sigh as she runs toward the entryway.

I don't have to look to know that Elijah has stopped by.

"You don't have to knock," Josie reprimands him adoringly.

"Well, I have to announce my presence somehow," he murmurs adoringly.

I wrinkle my nose at the sound of their lips smacking together and then reach for another book.

"Hey, Orm," Elijah says when he enters the room. "Don't tell me Josie coerced you into packing all her books for her!"

"I was helping!" Josie protests before I can answer. She lets go of her fiancé, albeit reluctantly, and returns to the shelves to continue packing.

With Josie occupied with her task, my hands go back to my hips as I round on Elijah.

"You," I begin.

He freezes, his dark eyes growing wide with innocence. "Me?"

Josie whispers something that sounds a lot like Maidzilla in a warning.

"You have the wedding bands?" I ask him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And your tuxedo? You picked it up from the tailor?"

"Indeed."

"And your best man? Harry? He's landing in San Francisco on Wednesday?"

"At three o'clock in the afternoon, yes."

"And he knows what to do? He understands what's expected of him?"

Elijah quirks a smile. "He's been my assistant for years. I think he can escort the maid of honour down the aisle and make a halfway decent toast at the reception dinner."

I scoff. "It needs to be better than halfway decent. It needs to be perfect."

"I'll send him your way for a literary critique as soon as he arrives."

In the background, Josie giggles. I cross my arms, unimpressed with the lighthearted sarcasm. Elijah smiles sheepishly at me.

Elijah is much more receptive to my Maidzilla behaviour than Josie, to his credit. She wants a lovely wedding, but Elijah is obsessed with ensuring the entire event is her dream come true. He came to me weeks before proposing to her to ensure I was on board with helping him make it happen.

"Fine." I sigh.

Elijah sighed with relief that I was done with the interrogation for now. He goes over to the shelves and takes my place, helping Josie pack the books away. Josie doesn't know that Elijah has converted a room in their house into a library for her, so all of these books will have an even better home soon enough. Plus, there is room for more. How Elijah has managed to keep the library a secret from Josie is beyond me, but I'm sure the entire town will hear her delight when it's finally revealed.

I decided to give the happy couple a moment to themselves and go into the kitchen. It's a mess in here, littered with tablecloth samples, cardboard colour palettes, tangled streamers, and random bits of confetti, not just because of Josie's wedding but also because the headquarters of Meridian Events are always a treasure trove of random party necessities.

Despite everything on my to-do list, I'm not sure what to do with myself. It's too late in the evening to pester any wedding vendors, and Josie and Elijah now have the packing under control without me.

For the moment, I'm a little bit useless.

I fiddle with lavender silk ribbon, which I'll need for Addie Parker's baby shower in a couple of weeks, and stare out the window past the front lawn. My gaze skates over the bright purple fence that serves as the telltale landmark signalling Miss Maisie's house and lands on a distant point over the treetops. Very few locals are lucky enough to have beachfront access, but on apparent days, I can see a hint of the Pacific Ocean on the horizon at just the right angle from this specific window.

Million-dollar view: my dad used to joke with me.

My dad never remarried after my mom passed away when I was five. He's always been steadfast in his quiet love for her, and while he never let grief consume him, he also never let anyone else take her place. It's something I've always admired about him, even if it meant that he was often a little lonely.

We still talk often, though he lives in San Diego now, running his little fishing charter business. He'll be at the wedding, of course. There's no way he'd miss it.

Honestly, the whole town is coming to the wedding. The people of Point Reyes have been yearning for the chance to celebrate the town's most precious love story.

It's probably the most highly anticipated event of the past decade for locals.

I will not let anything—or anyone—stand in my way of ensuring that it is utterly flawless.