The house smelled faintly of coffee, fresh flowers, and something sweet I couldn't quite name—like the scent of happiness had quietly settled into the corners overnight. Outside, the sky was clear, and the early sun spilled through the trees in long, golden threads. The world felt oddly still, like it had paused for us.
For this.
And then Liz barged through the front door like a hurricane in lip gloss and kitten heels, nearly tripping over a basket of folded linens in the hallway.
"Okay, okay, okay," she announced, breathless and dramatic as she kicked the door shut behind her. "I come bearing gowns, caffeine, and a level of emotional chaos that may or may not be appropriate for this hour."
I laughed as she swept into the room, arms loaded with garment bags and what looked like a pastry box teetering on top.
"You realise you're the only person who can make a wedding feel like a Broadway opening night."
