Managing Expectations

Dakota Wilds

Copyright © 2025 Dakota Wilds

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Contact: dakotawildsauthor@gmail.com

Chapter 1

The ivory silk runner stretched down the aisle with intent, bordered by clusters of white hydrangeas and dusty miller that Adriana had personally arranged at dawn. She stood at the back of the vineyard, clipboard pressed against her chest, watching two hundred guests settle into their seats with the satisfaction of a conductor before the symphony began.

The morning had started at five-thirty, as they always did on wedding days. Adriana had arrived at the vineyard while the world was still wrapped in pre-dawn quiet, her van loaded with emergency supplies that most brides never knew they needed: safety pins in three different sizes, stain removal pens, tissues that wouldn't leave lint on black suits, and a sewing kit that had saved more than one wedding dress from disaster.

She'd walked the grounds in the dim light, checking that the chairs were properly aligned and that the altar arrangements were positioned to catch the afternoon light. The hydrangeas had been delivered fresh that morning, their blooms heavy with dew, and she'd spent an hour adjusting each cluster until they looked effortlessly perfect.

Now, watching the guests arrive, she felt the familiar flutter of anticipation mixed with controlled anxiety that came with every wedding. No matter how many she planned (this would be her hundred and forty-third) there was always that moment of wondering if everything would come together as perfectly as she'd envisioned.

"Adriana, the string quartet is asking about the processional timing," Kai whispered, appearing at her elbow with his usual impeccable timing. Her assistant had an uncanny ability to anticipate her needs—probably from three years of watching her orchestrate other people's perfect days.

Kai Tran had been a godsend when she'd finally admitted she needed help. Fresh out of hospitality management school, he'd answered her Craigslist ad with a cover letter that was equal parts professional and charmingly honest: "I have no wedding experience, but I can fold napkins seventeen different ways, I never panic under pressure, and I make excellent coffee." She'd hired him on the spot, and he'd proven himself invaluable during their first event together—a disaster of a wedding where the bride's ex-boyfriend had shown up drunk and the cake had collapsed in the heat.

"Tell them we start in exactly four minutes," Adriana murmured back, her eyes scanning the crowd for any detail out of place. A groomsman's crooked boutonniere caught her attention, and she made a mental note to fix it before the ceremony photos. "And remind the photographer that the bride specifically requested no shots during the vows."

She spotted the photographer, Derek, positioning himself near the arbor. He caught her eye and gave her a subtle thumbs up. Good. He remembered about the vows. Some photographers got so caught up in capturing the moment that they forgot the couple might actually want privacy during the most intimate part of their ceremony.

The September afternoon light filtered through the vineyard's oak trees in golden columns, casting everything in the warm glow that made her Instagram followers weep with envy. This was why she'd spent two months scouting venues with the bride—not just for the views, but for the light at exactly 4:30 PM on a Saturday in late September. She'd taken light readings at different times of day, studied weather patterns, even consulted with local photographers about the best angles.

Most brides didn't realize how much thought went into the timing. They wanted a fall wedding, an outdoor ceremony, beautiful photos—but they didn't understand that the difference between magical and mediocre often came down to fifteen minutes and the angle of the sun.

Her phone buzzed against her hip. Without looking, she knew it was her mother.

Elena Abarca had been texting since seven that morning, each message a new angle of attack in her ongoing campaign to see her thirty-one-year-old daughter married. The irony wasn't lost on Adriana that she spent her life creating perfect wedding days while her mother despaired that she'd never have one of her own.

"Don't you dare answer that," Kai warned, reading her expression. "You have exactly three minutes before showtime, and I can see your mother's guilt-trip face from here."

Adriana glanced at the screen: Call me back, mija. Mrs. Hendricks' son is visiting from San Francisco and he's a lawyer!

"She's relentless," Adriana sighed, silencing the phone. "I plan one perfect wedding and she thinks I should be starring in the next one."

"Maybe if you told her you're too busy making other people's dreams come true to focus on your own love life, she'd back off."

"Have you met my mother?" Adriana shook her head. "She thinks my business is just an elaborate hobby until I find a husband. Last week she suggested I give out my personal number instead of business cards."

Kai snorted. "That would be a disaster. Remember the groom from the Martinez wedding who kept calling you at midnight because he was nervous about his vows?"

"Don't remind me." She checked her watch—two minutes. "Speaking of disasters, how's the bride holding up?"

"Surprisingly calm. Her maid of honor had a minor meltdown about her dress being too tight—apparently she went to a new Pilates class yesterday and is convinced she's bloated—but I fixed that with some strategic safety pins and compliments about her posture."

This was why she loved Kai. He understood that weddings were ninety percent logistics and ten percent psychology. The right compliment at the right moment could prevent a crisis that would ripple through the entire day.

The bride's music began—a string arrangement of "At Last" that Adriana had fought for when the bride's mother insisted on traditional Wagner. It had taken three diplomatic phone calls and a compromise on the reception playlist, but she'd won. The bride had wanted to walk down the aisle to something that felt like her, not something that fulfilled her mother's vision of propriety.

She straightened her shoulders and slipped into the zone, the familiar calm that came with executing a flawless event. This was her element: the moment when months of planning crystallized into a single, perfect experience.

The processional began with the bridesmaids, five women in varying shades of dusty rose, each dress chosen to flatter different body types while maintaining a cohesive look. Adriana had learned early in her career that forcing women into identical dresses was a recipe for disaster and tears. Better to give them options within a color palette and let them feel beautiful in their own skin.

The maid of honor paused at the altar, just as they'd rehearsed, allowing the photographer to capture her smile as she looked back down the aisle. These tiny choreographed moments made the difference between amateur and professional wedding photos.

Then came the flower girl—seven-year-old Sophia, the bride's niece, who had been practicing her petal-tossing technique for weeks. Adriana held her breath as the little girl started down the aisle, her basket clutched in both hands.

The ceremony unfolded like clockwork. The flower girl remembered to toss petals instead of dumping them in one pile—though she did throw them with more enthusiasm than grace, creating a slightly chaotic but charming path of pink rose petals. The ring bearer, the groom's nephew, didn't trip over his carefully tied shoes, though he did stop halfway down the aisle to wave at someone in the crowd, earning a ripple of laughter that broke the formal tension perfectly.

The bride appeared at the back of the aisle, and Adriana felt the familiar catch in her throat that came with this moment. Melissa looked radiant in her grandmother's renovated lace dress, the train catching the light perfectly as she walked down the aisle with her father. His eyes were bright with tears that wouldn't ruin the photos—Adriana had learned to stock waterproof mascara for fathers of brides as well as the bridal party.

She found herself holding her breath during the vows, the way she always did. There was something about watching two people promise forever that made her chest tight with longing, even after planning hundreds of weddings. She believed in love—how could she not, when she spent her days crafting the perfect setting for it?

The vows were personal, written by the couple themselves rather than pulled from a book. Adriana had encouraged this during their planning meetings, knowing that authentic emotion always photographed better than generic promises. Melissa's voice shook as she promised to love Tom through his questionable cooking experiments and his tendency to leave coffee cups in every room. Tom's vows included a promise to always let her control the thermostat and to never comment on her true crime podcast obsession.

The crowd laughed at the right moments, grew quiet during the serious parts, and Adriana could see shoulders relaxing as people settled into the genuine joy of the moment. This was what she lived for—not just the perfect photos and flawless timing, but the moment when everything clicked and became real.

The couple kissed, and the crowd erupted in applause. Adriana exhaled, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction before the controlled chaos of the reception began. One hundred and forty-three weddings, and she still felt a thrill when everything came together perfectly.

"Beautiful ceremony," a voice said behind her as guests filed out for cocktail hour.

Adriana turned to find an elderly woman in navy lace, clutching a small beaded purse. She had the kind of silver hair that spoke of good genes and regular salon appointments, and her jewelry was understated but expensive—real pearls, not costume.

"Thank you. Are you family of the bride or groom?"

"Groom's grandmother. I've been to a lot of weddings in my eighty-three years, dear, but I've never seen one quite so... perfect." The woman's eyes twinkled with intelligence and mischief. "You must be the wedding planner everyone's been talking about."

"Adriana Abarca, Ever After Events." She offered her hand, which the grandmother clasped warmly. The woman's grip was firm, her skin soft but her handshake confident.

"Eleanor Morrison. My friends call me Ellie." She studied Adriana with the frank appraisal of someone who'd lived long enough to size people up quickly. "My granddaughter is getting engaged next month. I'm going to give her your card."

Adriana smiled, pulling a business card from her jacket pocket. She always kept them handy at weddings—word of mouth was her best advertising.

"Though I have to ask," Ellie continued, leaning closer conspiratorially, "with all these beautiful weddings you plan, when do we get to see yours?"

The question hit like it always did—a small punch to the solar plexus that she'd learned to absorb without flinching. Adriana's smile never wavered, even as her stomach clenched. "Oh, I'm far too busy making other people's dreams come true to focus on my own. But thank you for the kind words."

It was her standard response, practiced and polite. She'd used it countless times with well-meaning relatives, curious vendors, and romantic clients who insisted she must have someone special in her life. The truth was more complicated than a cocktail party conversation could hold.

Ellie nodded knowingly, and Adriana could see the older woman wasn't buying the brush-off. "That's what my mama said too. She was a nurse, you know, always taking care of everyone else. Worked double shifts, covered for colleagues, spent her days off volunteering at the free clinic." She adjusted her purse strap, her voice taking on the storytelling cadence of someone who'd lived through enough history to have perspective. "Then she met Frank at a hospital charity event—he was the new cardiologist, all serious and dedicated to his work. They bonded over being too busy to date."

Adriana found herself genuinely interested despite the obvious setup. "How long were they married?"

"Fifty-two years," Ellie's eyes softened with memory. "She always said the best part wasn't that he understood her dedication to helping people—it was that he made her realize she deserved to be taken care of too." She patted Adriana's arm with a touch that was both gentle and firm. "Your time will come, dear. Someone's going to be very lucky to have you plan their forever."

The words hit differently than the usual platitudes. Maybe it was Ellie's matter-of-fact delivery, or the way she spoke about love as both magical and practical, but Adriana felt something shift in her chest—a tiny crack in the armor she'd built around the question of her own romantic future.

As the woman walked away, moving carefully but steadily toward the cocktail reception, Adriana's phone buzzed again. This time it was a text: The Hendricks boy is very handsome. I showed him your Instagram and he's impressed! Dinner tomorrow?

Adriana stared at the message, then at the vineyard where the newlyweds were posing for photos, their faces glowing with joy. She'd spent six months planning this day, perfecting every detail, creating a moment that would live in their memories forever. The bride's dress was bustled perfectly for photos, the groom's boutonniere had been fixed, and the golden hour light was making everything look like a fairy tale.

So why did she feel like she was watching someone else's life through a window?

She thought about her apartment, waiting for her at the end of this long day. It was beautiful in its own right—carefully decorated, always clean, filled with photos from the weddings she'd planned but none of her own celebrations. Her refrigerator held leftover takeout and good wine she never had anyone to share with. Her bed was perfectly made every morning because she was the only one to sleep in it.

When had she stopped imagining her own wedding day and started only planning them for others?

"Adriana!" Kai's voice cut through her thoughts. "The caterers need you to approve the reception setup."

She looked over to see him approaching with his usual efficiency, tablet in hand and a slight crease between his eyebrows that meant someone was having a minor crisis that required her attention.

"What's the problem?" she asked, slipping her phone back into her pocket, unanswered.

"The linens are slightly off-white instead of pure white, and the bride's mother is having what she calls 'a moment' about it. Also, the band wants to do a sound check, but they need you to confirm the volume levels won't disturb the neighbors."

Standard wedding day emergencies. Adriana could solve both problems in under ten minutes—reassure the mother that off-white looked more elegant anyway and was probably better for the photos, then charm the neighbors with a bottle of wine and an invitation to enjoy the music from their porch.

She followed Kai toward the reception tent, her heels clicking against the flagstone path she'd had the venue polish that morning. There were still four hours left in this perfect day, and she had work to do.

◆◆◆

The reception was flawless. The first dance went off without a hitch—Tom had remembered not to step on Melissa's train during the spin they'd practiced a dozen times, and the photographer caught the exact moment when she threw her head back and laughed at something he whispered in her ear. The cake cutting was Instagram gold, all golden light and genuine smiles as they fed each other without the childish cake-smashing that Adriana always discouraged. The band kept the dance floor packed until the last guest stumbled to their Uber, the playlist flowing seamlessly from dinner jazz to dancing classics to the late-night crowd-pleasers that got even the most reluctant uncles moving.

Adriana had spent the evening in constant motion, invisible but essential. She'd discreetly cleaned red wine from a bridesmaid's dress using the club soda and white wine trick her grandmother had taught her. She'd relocated the gift table when Uncle Robert's wheelchair needed better access. She'd coordinated with the catering manager to ensure the vegetarian meals went to the right guests and that the bride's diabetic grandfather got his sugar-free dessert without anyone making a fuss about it.

The evening had unfolded like a carefully choreographed dance, each moment building toward the next. Dinner had been served precisely at seven, giving guests enough time to enjoy cocktail hour without getting too tipsy before the main event. The toasts had been scheduled between courses to maintain energy, and she'd worked with the maid of honor to edit her speech down from eight minutes to a more manageable four—keeping the touching story about meeting in college but cutting the rambling anecdote about their sophomore year spring break.

She'd watched the bride's face light up during her father's speech, seen the groom discretely wipe away tears during his new mother-in-law's surprisingly heartfelt welcome to the family. These were the moments that made all the logistics worthwhile—the genuine emotion that couldn't be planned or scheduled, only facilitated by creating the right environment for love to flourish.

The dancing had started right on time at nine-thirty, with the newlyweds taking the floor for their first dance to "The Way You Look Tonight." They'd taken lessons, and it showed—nothing too fancy, but smooth and confident, Tom's hand steady on Melissa's waist as he guided her through the simple steps they'd practiced. The photographer circulated around them like a satellite, capturing angles that would look effortless in the wedding album but required careful coordination to achieve.

Adriana had coordinated the traditional dances with military precision. Father-daughter, mother-son, then the gradual invitation of family and wedding party until the floor was full of swaying couples. She'd cued the band for each transition, ensured the elderly grandparents had stable chairs nearby when they needed to rest, and even convinced the shy teenage cousins to join in by having the band play something current that made them forget their self-consciousness.

The bouquet toss had been perfectly timed during a natural lull in the dancing, with Adriana subtly arranging the single women so that Melissa's cousin Sarah—recently engaged but not yet officially announced—was in the perfect position to catch it. The garter toss had been mercifully brief, a concession to modern sensibilities that kept the tradition without making anyone too uncomfortable.

As the evening wound down, she'd managed the seamless transition from celebration to send-off. The sparkler exit had been coordinated down to the minute, with Kai distributing the sparklers during the last slow dance and the venue staff positioning the lighting just right to create that magical tunnel of light that every couple dreamed of.

Now Adriana stood in the empty tent at midnight, surveying the controlled chaos of cleanup. The catering staff moved efficiently around her, breaking down the bar and packing up linens. The florist was carefully collecting any arrangements that could be donated to the local nursing home—Melissa's request, another detail that spoke to the kind of person she was. Tables were being folded and stacked, chairs collected into neat rows, the dance floor swept clean of rose petals and the occasional lost earring.

She felt the familiar combination of exhaustion and satisfaction that came at the end of a successful event. Her feet ached in her heels—she'd been on them for nearly eighteen hours—and she could feel the beginnings of a headache from the combination of stress, wine fumes, and the concentrated effort of managing a hundred small details simultaneously.

But it had been perfect. She'd seen it in the guests' faces, heard it in their compliments as they said goodbye. More importantly, she'd seen it in the couple's faces—that glow of happiness that came from having their vision realized exactly as they'd dreamed it.

Her phone rang, cutting through the quiet efficiency of the cleanup crew. The caller ID made her stomach clench with familiar guilt.

"Mija, you didn't call me back." Her mother's voice carried the particular note of maternal disappointment that could make Adriana feel guilty for crimes she hadn't committed.

Elena Abarca had perfected the art of the guilt trip over thirty-one years of motherhood. She could convey volumes of disappointment in a single sigh, communicate entire lectures through strategic silences, and make Adriana feel like a terrible daughter for the crime of being too busy with work to properly attend to her romantic life.

"I was working, Mami. You know, the thing that pays my rent?" Adriana walked toward the exit, nodding to the venue coordinator who was checking items off a clipboard with practiced efficiency.

"Work, work, work. That's all you do." The familiar refrain carried across the phone line with well-practiced exasperation. "Mrs. Hendricks' son is very successful, and he's only in town until Tuesday. We could arrange—"

"I'm not going on a blind date with Mrs. Hendricks' son," Adriana said, pulling bobby pins from her hair as she walked to her car. The updo that had looked perfect twelve hours ago now felt tight and artificial, and she longed for the relief of letting her hair down. "I'm thirty-one years old. I can find my own dates."

"Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, all you find are excuses."

The words stung because they carried just enough truth to hurt. Adriana paused with her hand on the car door, looking back at the vineyard where fairy lights still twinkled in the oak trees. The cleanup crew would have those down within the hour, erasing all evidence of the magical evening that had just concluded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're so busy planning everyone else's love story that you've forgotten to write your own." Her mother's voice softened slightly, moving from accusation to concern. "When was the last time you went on a date? A real one, not those coffee meetings with vendors."

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Adriana couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a date that hadn't ended awkwardly, with her making excuses about being too busy or not feeling a spark. There had been David, the accountant her friend Rosa had set her up with—nice enough, but he'd spent the entire dinner talking about tax law and asking pointed questions about her business expenses. Before that, Elliot from the dating app, who'd seemed promising until he'd suggested she could plan their wedding for free as a "fun project." And before that...

The truth was more complicated than her mother understood. It wasn't just that she was too busy, though that was certainly part of it. It was that dating felt like another event to plan and execute, rather than something organic and natural. She approached potential relationships the way she approached weddings—with checklists and contingency plans and a clear vision of how things should unfold. And when real life refused to follow her carefully laid plans, she found herself disappointed and frustrated instead of excited and hopeful.

"I'm happy, Mami. Can't that be enough?"

It was a lie, or at least not the complete truth. She was successful, certainly. Proud of her work, definitely. Fulfilled by her career, mostly. But happy? That was more complicated.

Her mother's sigh carried across the phone line, heavy with years of worry and love. "I want you to be more than happy, mija. I want you to be loved. Is that so wrong?"

The words hit Adriana square in the chest, carrying the weight of all her mother's unfulfilled dreams for her daughter's future. Elena had married young, had children immediately, built her life around family in a way that Adriana had always found both admirable and suffocating. Her parents' marriage had been solid if not passionate, built on shared values and mutual respect more than grand romance. They'd been happy together in their quiet way, until her father's heart attack five years ago had left her mother alone in a house suddenly too big for one person.

"No, it's not wrong. But love isn't something you can plan like a wedding. It just... happens."

"Or it doesn't happen, if you never give it a chance."

The truth of that statement settled in Adriana's stomach like a stone. When was the last time she'd given love a real chance? When had she stopped being open to possibilities and started treating dating like another item on her endless to-do list?

"Miguel Hendricks is a good man," her mother continued, pressing her advantage. "He's a partner at his firm, he owns his own home, and he wants children. His mother says he's looking for someone serious, someone who understands commitment."

"Someone who sounds like a resume, not a person," Adriana muttered, but she found herself curious despite her resistance. "What kind of law does he practice?"

"Family law. Divorces, custody cases, that sort of thing." Her mother's voice brightened with hope. "He helps families, mija. He understands what's important."

A lawyer who specialized in failed marriages trying to date a woman who specialized in perfect weddings. The irony wasn't lost on her.

"I'll think about it," Adriana said finally, more to end the conversation than from any real intention to follow through.

"That's all I ask. Just think about it. And maybe check your Instagram—I may have shown him your page."

"Mami!" Adriana's voice rose in mortification. "You didn't."

"He was very impressed with your work. Very professional, very creative. I may have mentioned that you were single."

Adriana closed her eyes and leaned against her car, feeling the cool metal against her forehead. Her Instagram was carefully curated to showcase her work—stunning venue shots, perfect table settings, emotional moments from ceremonies. It was her professional brand, not her personal life, and the thought of her mother using it as a dating profile made her cringe.

"We'll see," she said, which they both knew meant probably not, but it was enough to satisfy her mother for now.

After they hung up, Adriana sat in her car in the empty parking lot, surrounded by the detritus of someone else's perfect day. Wilted flower petals clung to her windshield—hydrangea blooms that had fallen from the arrangements during the loading process—and she could hear the distant sound of the cleanup crew breaking down tables and folding chairs with the efficient clattering that marked the end of every event.

The vineyard looked different in the darkness, without the warm lighting and flowing guests that had made it magical just hours before. Now it was just a venue, functional and empty, waiting for the next celebration to bring it back to life.

Her mother wasn't wrong. She was always too busy, too focused on work, too something to make space for dating. And when she had tried, when she'd forced herself to go on dates that friends set up or that she'd found on apps, something always felt... off. Like she was playing a role instead of being herself. She would sit across from perfectly nice men and find herself mentally planning their conversation like an event timeline, wondering if they were hitting the right milestones for connection instead of actually connecting.

Maybe the problem was that she'd become so good at creating perfect moments for other people that she'd forgotten how to let moments happen naturally in her own life. She orchestrated romance for a living, but she'd lost the ability to experience it spontaneously.

She pulled out her phone and opened her notes app, where she kept lists for everything: grocery runs, client meetings, wedding day timelines, emergency vendor contacts, seasonal decoration ideas. Almost without thinking, she started a new list, thumb moving across the screen in the darkness of her car.

Things I want in a relationship:

●                    Someone who makes me laugh

●                    Shared values about family and commitment

●                    Understanding about my work schedule

●                    Emotional connection

●                    Someone who sees me, not just what I do

She paused, thinking about the couples she'd worked with over the years. The ones who seemed happiest weren't necessarily the ones with the most in common on paper, but the ones who brought out something special in each other. The bride who became more confident around her fiancé, the groom who seemed funnier and more relaxed when his partner was near.

●                    Someone who makes me feel like the best version of myself

She stared at the list, then added one more line:

●                    Someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm missing something

The words appeared on the screen, and she realized that was exactly how she'd felt on every date she'd been on in the past few years—like she was missing some essential component that everyone else seemed to have naturally. Like she was performing being on a date rather than actually experiencing it.

Her phone buzzed with a text notification. For a moment, she thought it might be her mother again, but it was from Melissa, the bride.

Adriana, I can't thank you enough for today. It was everything I dreamed of and more. You're incredible at what you do. I hope someday you get to experience the magic you create for others.

The message was followed by a photo from the reception—not one of the professional shots, but a candid image someone had taken of Adriana during the evening. She was talking to the flower girl, crouched down to the child's level, both of them laughing at something. Her face was animated and genuine, completely absorbed in the moment.

Looking at the photo, she realized she looked happy. Not the careful, professional smile she wore for clients and vendors, but genuinely happy. This was who she was when she forgot to perform, when she was simply being herself in a moment of connection.

Maybe that was what was missing from her dates—the ability to forget to perform and just be herself.

Adriana closed the app and started her car, the engine breaking the vineyard's nighttime quiet. Tomorrow she had a consultation with a new client—a high-profile wedding that could make or break her business. The bride was a local socialite whose wedding would be featured in magazines and blogs, the kind of exposure that could elevate Ever After Events to the next level of success.

She needed to focus on that, not on her mother's matchmaking schemes or her own complicated feelings about love. There were vendor contracts to review, venue options to research, and a vision board to create that would convince the client she was the right planner for their dream day.

Chapter 2

Adriana's Monday morning started with a minor crisis, which, in the wedding planning world, meant Tuesday's crisis would probably involve actual fire. Her coffee maker had died sometime during the night—she'd found it stone cold and unresponsive despite multiple attempts at resuscitation—leaving her to face a 9 AM consultation with new clients while running on fumes and the single shot of espresso she'd grabbed from the corner café.

The corner café had been a mistake. Giuseppe, the ancient Italian man who ran it, had insisted on telling her about his grandson's upcoming wedding while grinding her beans by hand at a pace that suggested time was merely a social construct. She'd stood there, checking her watch every thirty seconds, while he waxed poetic about the importance of family and tradition and how young people today rushed through life without appreciating the simple pleasures.

Normally, she would have found his stories charming. Today, caffeinated only by anxiety and the fumes of other people's coffee, she'd managed polite nods while internally calculating how many minutes late she'd be to her own office.

"Please tell me you have caffeine," she said to Kai as she swept into the Ever After Events office, a converted Victorian house in the Mission that she'd spent two years making Pinterest-perfect.

The house had been a labor of love and a significant portion of her savings. She'd fallen in love with the bay windows and original hardwood floors, then spent months coordinating contractors and designers to transform it into a space that felt both professional and welcoming. The front parlor served as a reception area, with vintage furniture reupholstered in soft grays and whites. The dining room had become her main consultation space, dominated by an antique oak table she'd found at an estate sale and restored herself. Upstairs, the bedrooms had been converted into her office, Kai's workspace, and a sample room where she stored linens, china patterns, and décor options for clients to touch and feel.

Every detail had been carefully chosen to convey both sophistication and warmth—the kind of place where nervous brides could relax and envision their perfect day. The walls were lined with photographs from her most successful weddings, not just the glamorous shots that went on Instagram, but candid moments that showed real emotion: a grandmother wiping away tears during vows, a flower girl tugging on the bride's dress, a groom laughing so hard during the best man's speech that he had to lean on his new wife for support.

Kai looked up from his computer, took one look at her face, and wordlessly handed her a large coffee cup. "Extra shot, oat milk, just a touch of vanilla. Also, the Patel-Kaiser wedding moved their tasting to Thursday, and the photographer for the Morrison event wants to discuss 'artistic vision,' which usually means he wants to charge more money."

Adriana accepted the coffee like a religious offering. Kai had been making her coffee exactly the way she liked it for three years now, somehow intuiting her preferences better than she knew them herself. The first sip was perfect—strong enough to restart her heart, smooth enough to drink quickly, sweet enough to take the edge off her Monday morning mood.

"You're a saint." She took another grateful sip and felt her shoulders relax slightly. "What do we know about this morning's clients?"

"Priya Sharma and Marcus Broom. She's a lifestyle influencer with a million followers, he's a tech entrepreneur who sold his startup to Google last year." Kai pulled up their file on his tablet, scrolling through the notes he'd compiled. "Big budget, bigger expectations. They want something 'authentic but elevated, intimate but Instagram-worthy.'"

Adriana groaned, recognizing the terminology that had become increasingly common as social media transformed the wedding industry. Everyone wanted to be authentic, but they also wanted their authenticity to look perfect online. They wanted intimate gatherings that somehow also impressed hundreds of people they'd never met. They wanted to be unique while following the exact same trends as everyone else.

"So they want to appear relatable while spending more on flowers than most people make in a year."

"Pretty much. Budget's in the mid-six figures, and they're flexible on most details except the date—October 15th, because that's when they had their first kiss." Kai made a note on his tablet. "Oh, and fair warning—the maid of honor is coming too. Priya said she's 'very involved' in the planning process."

Adriana felt her stomach clench with familiar dread. Involved family members and friends were often the most challenging part of wedding planning, more so than difficult vendors or impossible timelines. They came with their own visions, their own opinions, and their own ideas about what the couple really wanted, often conflicting with what the bride and groom had actually expressed.

"Define 'very involved.'"

"The kind that has opinions about everything and thinks she knows better than the professional." Kai's expression was carefully neutral, which meant he was trying not to scare her before she'd even met the client. "Her name's Jordan Blake, she works in marketing."

Marketing. That explained the opinions about authenticity versus Instagram appeal. Marketing people always thought they understood branding better than everyone else, even when it came to someone else's wedding.

Before Adriana could respond, the front door chimed with the vintage brass bell she'd had installed because it sounded more welcoming than a electronic buzzer. Voices filled the reception area—a woman's laugh, a deeper male voice, and another woman speaking with the kind of confident tone that suggested she was used to being heard.

Adriana smoothed her black blazer, the one that made her look both professional and approachable, and switched into consultation mode. She grabbed her consultation folder—leather-bound, expensive, filled with vendor portfolios and inspiration photos organized by season and style—and headed toward the front of the house.

"Priya? I'm Adriana Abarca—"

She stopped mid-sentence as three people turned toward her, and her carefully practiced introduction died in her throat.

The bride was exactly what she'd expected from Kai's description: petite and perfectly styled, with glossy black hair that fell in magazine-worthy waves and the kind of effortless beauty that translated well to social media. She wore a cream-colored sweater that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, paired with jeans that fit like they'd been custom-made, and carried a designer handbag that Adriana recognized from her own wishful thinking Pinterest board.

The groom looked like he'd stepped out of a tech company's diversity brochure—trendy glasses with thin black frames, expensive casual wear that managed to look both relaxed and put-together, and a genuine smile that suggested he was genuinely happy to be there. His handshake, when he offered it, was firm but not aggressive, accompanied by direct eye contact and an "I've heard wonderful things about your work."

But it was the third woman who made Adriana's brain stutter and her carefully prepared consultation spiel evaporate.

Tall and athletic, with perfectly layered hair that looked like she'd run her fingers through it and somehow made it look better rather than worse. She wore a navy blazer over dark jeans and boots that had clearly seen some actual wear, not the kind of distressed designer footwear that cost a fortune to look broken in. When she smiled, it was the kind of smile that suggested she found the whole world amusing, like she was in on a joke that everyone else was missing.

"Jordan Blake," the woman said, extending her hand with the kind of confidence that came from someone who was comfortable in her own skin. "Sorry we're a few minutes late—I got caught in a client call that ran long."

Adriana shook her hand, immediately noting the firm grip and the small callus on Jordan's index finger that suggested a guitar player. Her skin was warm, her handshake neither too brief nor too lingering, professional but somehow more personal than most business interactions.

"No problem at all," Adriana managed, hoping her voice sounded more composed than she felt. "Should we head to the consultation room?"

She led them through the house, pointing out features as they walked—the original crown molding, the restored hardwood floors, the vintage chandelier in the dining room that had taken her three months to find and another month to have properly rewired. Usually, this little tour helped put clients at ease and demonstrated her attention to detail. Today, she was acutely aware of Jordan's presence behind her, though she couldn't have said why.

As they settled around the antique oak table that served as her conference room centerpiece, Adriana pulled out her standard consultation materials: inspiration boards organized by season and style, vendor portfolios with her most trusted photographers and florists, and her infamous planning timeline that had been featured in three different wedding magazines and had scared more than one procrastinating bride into hiring her immediately.

The consultation room was her favorite space in the house, designed to feel both professional and intimate. The walls were painted a soft sage green that photographed beautifully and made everyone's skin tone look better. The table was surrounded by mismatched vintage chairs that she'd collected over years of estate sales and antique shops, each one reupholstered in complementary fabrics. A sideboard along one wall held china patterns, linen samples, and a selection of her favorite coffee table books about weddings, flowers, and design.

"So," Adriana began, settling into her chair and opening her consultation folder, "tell me about your vision for the day."

Priya launched into a detailed description that hit every social media wedding trend of the past two years with the precision of someone who had been researching extensively. Pampas grass, sage green color palette, outdoor ceremony with natural lighting, reception under string lights or Edison bulbs. She spoke with the fluency of someone who lived and breathed visual content, describing not just what she wanted but how she wanted it to feel, how it should look in photos, how it would play on various social media platforms.

Adriana took notes, mentally calculating costs and logistics while maintaining an expression of interested engagement. She'd learned to listen not just to what clients said they wanted, but to what they meant, and to the things they didn't say but clearly expected.

"The thing is," Priya continued, leaning forward with the earnestness of someone making an important point, "I want it to feel authentic, you know? Not like we're just following trends. I want our guests to feel like they're experiencing something real, something that's actually about Marcus and me."

"Absolutely," Adriana nodded, making a note about authenticity while internally noting the irony of someone describing authenticity using the exact language of every lifestyle blog she'd read in the past year. "What makes your relationship unique? What story do you want the day to tell?"

Marcus reached for Priya's hand with the kind of unconscious gesture that spoke of genuine affection. "We met at a coffee shop near my office. She was there every morning, working on her blog, and I kept trying to work up the courage to talk to her."

"It took him three weeks," Priya laughed, and for the first time since they'd arrived, her polished exterior cracked slightly to reveal something more genuine. "I finally had to ask him about his laptop stickers just to put him out of his misery."

Marcus colored slightly but looked pleased. "I had spent so much time crafting the perfect opening line that I'd completely psyched myself out. When she finally talked to me, I was so surprised I forgot everything I'd planned to say."

"That's sweet," Adriana said, making a note and feeling herself relax into the familiar rhythm of consultation. This was the part she loved—finding the real story underneath the Pinterest boards and Instagram inspiration. "We could incorporate that into the décor somehow—maybe a coffee bar during cocktail hour, or custom laptop sticker designs as favors, or—"

"Actually," Jordan interrupted, and something in her tone made Adriana look up from her notes, "what about the camping trip?"

Priya's face lit up with genuine excitement, the kind of joy that couldn't be performed or planned. "Oh my god, yes! Marcus, tell her about Yosemite."

Marcus looked embarrassed but pleased, the way people do when they're about to tell a story that reveals something vulnerable about themselves. "I'm not exactly outdoorsy—I mean, I work in tech, my idea of roughing it is staying at a hotel without room service. But Priya wanted to go camping for her birthday last year, and I couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her."

"So he spent weeks watching YouTube videos about setting up tents and starting fires," Priya added, her hand squeezing his. "He ordered so much camping gear that our apartment looked like a REI showroom."

"The whole trip was basically me being completely out of my element while she saved us from various disasters," Marcus continued. "I couldn't figure out how to work the camp stove, I set up our tent on a slope so we kept rolling into each other all night, and I definitely packed way too much stuff."

"He tried to make me breakfast over the campfire and nearly set the whole campsite on fire," Priya laughed. "The park ranger had to come over with a fire extinguisher. It was mortifying."

"But," Marcus said, and his voice grew softer, more serious, "I also surprised her with a meteor shower viewing at midnight. I'd researched the peak viewing times and found the perfect spot away from the campground lights. I brought a thermos of hot chocolate—which somehow I managed not to burn—and a blanket that I'd somehow kept dry despite everything else going wrong."

"We lay there for hours," Priya said quietly, "just watching shooting stars and talking about everything and nothing. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me, and it was perfect because it was so completely him—overprepared and underprepared at the same time, but trying so hard because he loved me."

Adriana felt herself smiling genuinely for the first time that morning, the professional smile she'd been wearing replaced by something real. This was why she loved her job—these moments when couples shared the stories that revealed who they really were together, not just who they wanted to appear to be.

"Now that's a story worth telling," she said, making notes with renewed enthusiasm. "We could play with the indoor-outdoor contrast—elegant outdoor ceremony, but with unexpected cozy elements. Maybe hanging lanterns instead of string lights, stations with different hot drinks, blankets for guests during the evening reception if it gets cool..."

"See?" Jordan said, and when Adriana looked up, she found Jordan looking directly at her with an expression of approval that made something flutter in her chest. "That's exactly what I was talking about. Something that's actually about them, not just what looks good on Instagram."

There was something in Jordan's tone that sounded almost like a challenge, and Adriana felt herself bristle slightly. The comment felt pointed, personal, like an accusation disguised as a compliment.

"I assure you, all my weddings are about the couple," she replied, setting down her pen with perhaps more force than necessary. "The Instagram-worthy elements are just a bonus."

"Right," Jordan said, leaning back in her chair with that amused smile that suggested she was enjoying this conversation more than she probably should, "but don't you think there's pressure to make everything look perfect online instead of focusing on what actually matters?"

The question hit a nerve that Adriana didn't realize was exposed. She'd been grappling with this exact issue for months, watching as her industry became increasingly driven by social media metrics rather than genuine emotion. But hearing it articulated as a criticism of her work made her defensive.

"What matters," Adriana said carefully, "is giving my clients the wedding they've dreamed of. If that happens to photograph well, I consider that a service, not a distraction."

"I'm not criticizing your work," Jordan said, though her smile had gained an edge that suggested she was absolutely pushing buttons on purpose. "I'm just saying that sometimes the most perfect moments aren't the most planned ones."

"In my experience," Adriana replied, feeling her professional composure slipping, "the most perfect moments are the result of very careful planning. When you leave things to chance, you get disasters, not romance."

They were staring at each other across the table now, and Adriana was suddenly aware that Priya and Marcus were looking back and forth between them like spectators at a tennis match. The air in the room felt charged, though she couldn't have said whether it was with antagonism or something else entirely.

Kai, who had been quietly taking notes in the corner like the professional he was, cleared his throat diplomatically. "Perhaps we should focus on the timeline?" he suggested. "Priya mentioned wanting an October wedding, which gives us about thirteen months to plan."

Adriana forced herself back into professional mode, grateful for Kai's intervention and silently promising to give him a raise. "Absolutely. October is peak wedding season, so we'll need to move quickly on venue booking and vendor selection."

The rest of the consultation went smoothly, with Adriana walking them through her process and timeline while carefully avoiding direct eye contact with Jordan. She explained her vendor vetting process, showed them examples of past October weddings, and outlined the payment schedule and contract terms. Priya asked intelligent questions about logistics and timing, Marcus nodded along and deferred to his fiancée's expertise, and Jordan remained strategically quiet, though Adriana could feel her watching throughout the presentation.

By the time they shook hands and scheduled a follow-up meeting for the following week, Adriana's professional smile felt painted on, and she was looking forward to the moment when she could collapse in her office chair and try to figure out what had just happened.

"I can't wait to work with you," Priya said as they gathered their things, her enthusiasm genuine and infectious. "Everyone says you're the best in the city."

"I'm looking forward to creating something beautiful for you both," Adriana replied sincerely, and she meant it. Despite the tension with Jordan, she could already see the potential for Priya and Marcus's wedding—the way to balance their desire for visual impact with the genuine warmth of their relationship.

Jordan lingered as the couple headed toward the door, and Adriana braced herself for another challenge or criticism.

"Look," Jordan said quietly, her confrontational edge replaced by something softer, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I wasn't trying to insult your work. Priya's been talking about hiring you for months—she's shown me your portfolio probably fifty times."

Adriana studied Jordan's face, looking for signs of insincerity and finding none. The woman who had been needling her moments before seemed to have been replaced by someone more genuine, more vulnerable.

"I appreciate that," Adriana said carefully. "I know I can be... protective of my process."

"Passionate," Jordan corrected, and the word hung in the air between them. "There's a difference. And for the record, your portfolio is incredible. I spent half the night scrolling through your Instagram after Priya showed it to me."

Despite herself, Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks. There was something about the idea of Jordan looking through her work, seeing the careful curation and artistic choices she made, that felt unexpectedly intimate.

"Thank you," she said. "That means a lot."

"Good. Because I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next year." Jordan's smile was warmer now, less challenging and more genuine. "Try not to let me drive you too crazy."

And then she was gone, following Priya and Marcus out the front door, leaving Adriana standing in her consultation room with the distinct feeling that something significant had just happened, though she couldn't quite articulate what.

After they left, Adriana slumped in her chair while Kai cleaned up the consultation materials, stacking the inspiration boards and closing the vendor portfolios with his usual efficiency.

"Well, that was interesting," he said mildly, not looking up from his organizing.

"Define interesting."

"The part where you two spent ten minutes debating wedding philosophy like it was a matter of national security." Kai paused in his stacking to look at her directly. "Also the part where you were both clearly enjoying the argument more than you wanted to admit."

Adriana groaned, covering her face with her hands. "She's going to be a nightmare client."

"She's not the client," Kai pointed out reasonably. "And she seemed to calm down once you explained your process. Maybe she was just testing you."

"Testing me for what?"

"To see if you actually care about the couples you work with, or if you're just in it for the pretty pictures." Kai paused in stacking folders, his expression thoughtful. "Which, for the record, she seemed satisfied with your answer."

Adriana replayed the conversation in her mind, focusing on the moment when Jordan's expression had shifted from challenging to something softer, more approving. The moment when she'd said "passionate" instead of "protective," and the way the word had sounded in her voice.

"She was protecting her friend," Adriana realized.

"Seems like it. Can't fault her for that."

"No," Adriana agreed, though something about Jordan Blake continued to nag at her thoughts in a way that had nothing to do with professional concerns. "I suppose you can't."

As Kai headed back to his desk to input the new client information, Adriana found herself opening her laptop and, almost without thinking, googling Jordan Blake.

LinkedIn showed a marketing executive with an impressive resume—senior positions at respected firms, a degree from Northwestern, professional accomplishments that suggested intelligence and competence. Her headshot was polished but somehow managed to make a corporate blazer look effortlessly cool, and her summary spoke about "authentic brand storytelling" and "creating meaningful connections between companies and consumers."

Instagram was private, which was both disappointing and intriguing. Her Twitter, however, was public and revealed a sharp sense of humor and strong opinions about everything from coffee culture to political developments to the latest Netflix releases. Her bio read "Marketing strategist, coffee snob, amateur guitarist, professional skeptic of anything that claims to be 'authentic.'"

Adriana found herself scrolling through months of tweets, building a picture of someone who was funny and opinionated and clearly intelligent. Someone who called out corporate buzzwords and marketing speak with ruthless precision, who shared articles about everything from environmental policy to the economics of the wedding industry.

She was three months deep in Jordan's Twitter history when she realized what she was doing and slammed the laptop shut, annoyed with herself.

She had dozens of clients and their family members and friends to manage. She had vendor meetings to coordinate, timelines to create, and a business to run. Jordan Blake was just another maid of honor who took her duties seriously.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about that challenging smile, or the way Jordan had said "passionate" like she meant it as a compliment?

And why was she already looking forward to their next meeting, despite the professional complications it was sure to bring?

Chapter 3

"I need you to promise me something," Adriana said to Kai as they loaded vendor portfolios into her car the following Thursday morning. "If I start getting into philosophical debates about wedding planning again, just kick me under the table."

"What if we're not sitting at a table?"

"Then get creative."

The morning fog was just beginning to lift from the city as they prepared for their drive to Sonoma, revealing glimpses of blue sky that promised a beautiful day for venue touring. Adriana had packed her car with military precision: vendor portfolios organized by category, her professional camera for site documentation, measuring tools, backup battery packs, bottled water, and the emergency kit she brought to every venue visit—including safety pins, stain removal pens, and Band-Aids for brides who insisted on wearing new shoes.

They were meeting Priya, Marcus, and Jordan at the first of three potential venues—a restored barn in Sonoma that Priya had found on Pinterest and had been obsessing over for weeks. Adriana had her doubts about the location (too rustic, probably terrible acoustics, definitely no backup plan for weather), but she'd learned over years of experience to let clients discover these things for themselves rather than crushing dreams in the consultation phase.

Some lessons in wedding planning could only be learned through direct experience. No amount of professional explanation could replace the moment when a bride stood in a space and realized it didn't match the fantasy she'd built in her mind.

The drive to Sonoma gave her forty-five minutes to mentally prepare for another encounter with Jordan Blake, which was forty-four minutes longer than she should have needed to psych herself up for a standard venue visit. She'd spent the last three days catching herself thinking about their conversation, analyzing Jordan's comments about authenticity versus Instagram appeal, and wondering what she'd meant about testing her.

More troubling was the fact that she'd found herself checking Jordan's social media accounts multiple times, scrolling through Twitter posts that revealed a sharp wit and genuine intelligence. She'd even found herself laughing out loud at a thread where Jordan systematically dismantled a particularly ridiculous marketing campaign for artisanal water.

"You're overthinking this," Kai said from the passenger seat, not looking up from his tablet where he was reviewing the venue's specs and cross-referencing them with Priya's wish list.

"I'm not overthinking anything. I'm being thorough."

"You've reorganized your portfolio three times since Monday."

Adriana winced. She had reorganized her portfolio, but only because she'd noticed the lighting photos weren't in chronological order. And possibly because she'd wanted to make sure her most impressive work was prominently featured. Not that Jordan's opinion mattered more than any other family member's, but she found herself wanting to make a good impression.

"The lighting photos weren't in chronological order."

"Adriana."

She glanced at him and saw the look he usually reserved for brides who wanted to change their color scheme two weeks before the wedding—part patience, part gentle concern, and part barely concealed amusement.

"Fine. Maybe I'm slightly overthinking this. But Jordan made some valid points about authenticity versus aesthetics on Monday, and I want to make sure—"

"That you prove her wrong?"

"That I prove her right." The words came out before Adriana could stop them, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I mean, that I prove I care about more than just pretty pictures."

That wasn't entirely true, and they both knew it. Yes, she wanted to demonstrate her professionalism and genuine care for her clients, but there was something else driving her desire to impress Jordan Blake. Something that had nothing to do with professional validation and everything to do with the way Jordan's challenging smile had made her feel both defensive and energized.

Kai was quiet for a moment, studying her profile as she navigated the increasingly winding road toward wine country. "You know, in three years of working together, I don't think I've ever seen you this concerned about a maid of honor's opinion."

"She's not just any maid of honor. She's clearly Priya's closest friend, which means her opinion carries weight." Adriana negotiated a turn, focusing on the road rather than Kai's knowing expression. "Besides, I respect people who advocate for their friends."

It was a reasonable explanation, and it had the benefit of being partially true. Jordan's protective instincts were admirable, and her questions about authenticity were legitimate concerns in an industry increasingly driven by social media metrics.

"Uh-huh."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just... uh-huh."

Adriana shot him a look that could have frozen wine in the middle of fermentation. "Stop analyzing me like I'm one of your psychology textbooks."

"I'm not analyzing you. I'm just observing that you seem unusually invested in this particular client's approval process."

"Because they're important clients with a significant budget and excellent connections in the tech industry," Adriana said with perhaps more force than the statement required.

"And because Jordan Blake is attractive and clearly gets under your skin in ways that have nothing to do with wedding planning."

Adriana nearly swerved into the guardrail. "That's completely inappropriate and also completely wrong."

"Is it wrong?"

She wanted to say yes immediately, to shut down this line of conversation before it could go any further. But the word stuck in her throat, because the truth was more complicated than she wanted to admit. There was something about Jordan that had been occupying her thoughts in ways that were distinctly unprofessional.

"She's a client's friend," Adriana said finally. "That's all."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going to fire you."

"No, you're not. You need me to keep you organized and to call you out when you're being ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous."

"You spent twenty minutes yesterday researching her company's marketing campaigns."

Adriana had, in fact, spent considerably more than twenty minutes researching Jordan's professional background, ostensibly to better understand her perspective on authenticity in marketing. She'd found herself impressed by the campaigns Jordan had worked on—thoughtful, clever work that managed to be both effective and genuine.

"I was trying to understand her professional perspective," Adriana said weakly.

"Sure you were."

They arrived at Willow Creek Barn to find Priya already taking Instagram stories of the exterior, her phone moving in practiced sweeps to capture the rustic charm from multiple angles. Marcus stood nearby looking vaguely overwhelmed by his fiancée's enthusiasm, the way grooms often did when confronted with the full force of wedding planning energy.

Jordan was leaning against their rental car, scrolling through her phone with the casual elegance of someone completely comfortable in her own skin. She was dressed in dark jeans and a green henley that made her eyes look almost amber in the morning light, and when she looked up at the sound of their car doors closing, her smile was more neutral than it had been on Monday—less challenging but also less warm.

"Adriana! Thank god you're here," Priya called out, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. "I've been trying to visualize the ceremony setup, but I can't figure out where the arch would go with the best lighting for photos."

"That's exactly what we're here to figure out," Adriana said, pulling her site survey materials from her professional bag—a leather tote that looked stylish but could hold enough supplies to run a small wedding from scratch. "Jordan, good morning."

"Morning." Jordan's smile was polite but reserved. "Thanks for accommodating our schedule change."

The venue manager, a woman named Carol who looked like she'd stepped out of a country living magazine, met them at the entrance with the kind of enthusiastic greeting that suggested she lived and breathed rustic wedding charm.

"Welcome to Willow Creek! I'm so excited to show you around. We just finished the renovations last month, and I think you're going to love what we've done with the space."

The barn was undeniably photogenic. Exposed beams that had been carefully restored, string lights pre-installed throughout the space with dimmer switches for ambiance control, and enough rustic charm to make Pinterest users weep with envy. The floors were wide-plank wood that had been refinished to a honey glow, and vintage farm tools had been artfully arranged as décor.

But as they walked through the space, Adriana's professional eye caught a dozen potential problems that Carol's enthusiasm couldn't disguise. The flooring, while beautiful, was uneven in places—murder for guests in heels, and a liability nightmare for elderly family members. The acoustics would turn any speech into an echo chamber without significant sound equipment rental. The lighting was gorgeous for photos but would be insufficient for evening dining without additional fixtures.

Most concerning was what Carol wasn't mentioning: exactly zero contingency plans for October weather that could range from sunny and seventy to cold and pouring rain.

"The ceremony would be outside, of course," Carol was saying, leading them to a grassy area behind the barn that sloped gently toward a small creek. "We can seat up to 150 guests with our white folding chairs, and there's a perfect spot for your arch right here."

The outdoor space was genuinely beautiful—mature oak trees providing natural shade, the creek adding gentle ambient sound, and enough space for a substantial gathering. But Adriana could already see the complications: guest seating on uneven ground, potential mud issues if it rained in the days before the wedding, and absolutely no backup plan visible anywhere.

She walked the space systematically, taking measurements and notes while Jordan hung back with Marcus, asking quiet questions about logistics that demonstrated she was thinking practically about the day's requirements.

"The lighting is beautiful," Priya said, spinning in a patch of filtered sunlight that did, admittedly, make her look like she was auditioning for a fairy tale. "Very golden hour, very romantic."

"It's gorgeous," Adriana agreed sincerely. The space had undeniable charm, and she could already visualize the stunning photos that could be created here. "But we should also consider the practical elements. What's the backup plan for weather?"

Carol's enthusiastic smile flickered slightly, the first crack in her polished presentation. "Well, we can move everything into the barn if needed. It's cozy and intimate."

The word 'cozy' in wedding venue speak usually meant 'uncomfortably small,' and Adriana felt her professional skepticism sharpening.

"And how many people can you seat comfortably inside the barn?" Jordan asked, stepping forward with the directness of someone accustomed to cutting through marketing speak.

"Oh, we can fit 150 people anywhere," Carol said with the confidence of someone who had never actually tried to seat 150 people in a space designed for significantly fewer.

Adriana and Jordan exchanged a look—the first moment of professional understanding they'd shared. It was the look that passed between people who both recognized polite fiction when they heard it.

"Would you mind if I took some measurements of the interior space?" Adriana asked diplomatically. "Just so we can create some floor plan options."

"Of course! Take all the time you need. I'll be right here if you have any questions."

Twenty minutes later, Adriana had confirmed what she'd suspected from the moment they'd walked into the barn: the space could comfortably seat maybe 80 people for dinner, 100 if they wanted guests eating with their elbows in each other's ribs and servers unable to move efficiently between tables.

She finished her measurements and rejoined the group, who were admiring the rustic ceremony area while Carol pointed out features like the vintage farm bell that could be rung during the kiss and the photogenic hay bales that could serve as casual seating for cocktail hour.

"So if it rains..." Marcus began, clearly working through the logistics in his mind.

"We'd need to cut the guest list significantly or find an alternative indoor option," Adriana finished diplomatically, though internally she was already calculating the cost and complexity of renting a tent large enough to accommodate their guest count.

Priya's face fell, her Instagram-worthy fantasy bumping up against practical reality. "But it's so perfect for photos."

"It really is beautiful," Adriana said gently, because it was important that clients never felt dismissed or stupid for falling in love with impractical venues. "And October weather can be unpredictable. We'd just need to have a solid Plan B."

"What kind of Plan B?" Jordan asked, and Adriana appreciated that Jordan was asking the practical questions so she didn't have to be the dream-crusher.

"Either a tent rental, which would add about eight to ten thousand to the budget depending on size and styling, or a venue with indoor/outdoor flexibility built in."

She watched Priya's face as the reality of additional costs sank in. This was always the delicate moment in venue selection—helping clients understand that Pinterest-perfect didn't always translate to guest-comfortable or budget-friendly.

They spent another hour walking the grounds, with Adriana taking notes and photos while trying to help Priya envision alternatives that might capture the essence of what she loved about the space. She showed her how strategic tent placement could maintain the outdoor feeling while providing weather protection, and how lighting and décor choices could enhance the rustic charm of an indoor backup plan.

By the time they reconvened in the parking lot, the bride looked overwhelmed by the gap between vision and reality.

"I love it, but..." Priya trailed off, looking between the barn and Marcus with the expression of someone whose Pinterest board was colliding with practical limitations.

"But you're worried about the weather," Marcus finished gently. "Which is totally reasonable."

"What's our next venue?" Jordan asked Adriana, and there was something in her tone that suggested she understood the importance of giving Priya alternatives before disappointment could set in too deeply.

"Silverado Resort. It's more traditional, but they have beautiful gardens and full indoor/outdoor capability."

"Less Pinterest-worthy?" Priya asked with a rueful smile that showed she was beginning to understand the trade-offs involved in venue selection.

"Different Pinterest-worthy," Adriana corrected carefully. "More classical elegance, less rustic charm. But completely weather-proof and with professional event coordination included in the venue fee."

As they prepared to caravan to the next location, Jordan approached Adriana while Priya and Marcus discussed logistics and Marcus reassured his fiancée that whatever she chose would be perfect.

"That was well handled," Jordan said quietly, her voice carrying genuine approval.

"What was?"

"Letting her discover the limitations herself instead of shutting down her vision immediately. You could have saved time by explaining all the problems up front, but then she would have always wondered 'what if.'"

Adriana felt an unexpected flush of pleasure at the compliment. It was exactly the approach she'd developed over years of working with dreamers and pragmatists, and hearing someone recognize the strategy behind it felt validating in a way that surprised her.

"I've learned that people need to fall out of love with an idea naturally," she said. "Otherwise they always wonder what might have been possible, and they never fully commit to the alternative."

"Smart approach. Very different from how I handle client expectations in marketing."

"How do you handle them?"

Jordan leaned against her car, considering the question. "I tend to be more direct. Present the data, explain why certain approaches won't work, and recommend alternatives based on evidence. But weddings are more emotional than marketing campaigns."

"Are they? I'd think both involve selling people on a vision of their ideal future."

"True, but if a marketing campaign doesn't work out exactly as planned, you adjust the strategy and try again next quarter. If a wedding doesn't work out..." Jordan shrugged. "There's no do-over."

It was an astute observation, and it made Adriana see Jordan's initial skepticism in a new light. She wasn't just being difficult for the sake of it—she was genuinely concerned about her friend's happiness and the irreversible nature of wedding day decisions.

"I owe you an apology for Monday," Jordan continued. "I came in ready to be skeptical, and that wasn't fair to you or to Priya."

"What made you skeptical?"

Jordan looked toward Priya, who was taking selfies with the barn in the background, her disappointment already being processed through the filter of social media documentation.

"She's been hurt before by people who promised her dreams and delivered disappointment. Bad contractors, unreliable vendors, a photographer who disappeared with her deposit for an engagement shoot. I guess I wanted to make sure you were the real deal."

The admission was more personal than Adriana had expected, revealing not just Jordan's protective instincts but also providing context for Priya's need for both Instagram perfection and authentic emotion.

"And now?"

Jordan's smile was warmer than it had been all morning, less guarded and more genuine. "Now I'm thinking Priya chose well. You clearly care about more than just the photos."

They were standing close enough that Adriana could smell Jordan's perfume—something woodsy and subtle that suited her completely. Cedar and bergamot, maybe, with undertones of something warmer. For a moment, the constant busy thoughts in Adriana's head went quiet, replaced by an awareness of Jordan's proximity and the way the morning light caught the gold flecks in her eyes.

"I should probably catch up with Marcus," Jordan said, but she didn't move immediately, seeming caught in the same moment of unexpected connection.

"Right. Yes. The next venue."

"The next venue," Jordan agreed, still not moving, her gaze dropping briefly to Adriana's lips before returning to her eyes.

It was Kai's voice calling "Adriana! GPS question!" that broke the moment, sending them both back to their respective cars with what felt like unnecessary haste.

During the drive to Silverado, Adriana found herself replaying the conversation, particularly the moment when Jordan had stood just a little too close and smiled like she was seeing Adriana clearly for the first time. There had been something electric in the air between them, a tension that had nothing to do with wedding planning and everything to do with the way Jordan's presence seemed to make her more aware of herself.

"So that looked friendly," Kai observed, not bothering to look up from his tablet but clearly having witnessed the entire interaction.

"We were just discussing venue logistics."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

Adriana shot him a look in the rearview mirror. "We were literally discussing venue logistics."

"While standing very close together and smiling like teenagers with crushes."

"I don't smile like a teenager."

"You were practically glowing."

Adriana checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, annoyed to discover that Kai wasn't entirely wrong. There was something different about her expression, something softer and more open than her usual professional composure. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes had a brightness that had nothing to do with caffeine.

"It's nice to work with someone who asks good questions," she said finally, which was both true and a massive understatement.

"Uh-huh."

"Stop saying that."

"Stop giving me reasons to say it."

The second venue was everything the barn wasn't: polished, professional, and completely weatherproof. Silverado Resort had been hosting high-end events for decades, and their experience showed in every detail. The gardens were meticulously maintained, with multiple ceremony sites that could accommodate everything from intimate gatherings to large celebrations. The ballroom was elegant without being stuffy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that provided natural light and garden views.

The staff clearly knew their business—they anticipated questions before clients asked them, provided detailed information about catering options and vendor policies, and had backup plans for their backup plans.

It was also, Adriana noted, significantly more expensive than the barn and about as personal as a luxury hotel conference room.

Priya walked through the space with growing enthusiasm, clearly drawn to the sophistication and reliability after the reality check of the barn. The resort's event coordinator, a woman named Yolanda who radiated competent professionalism, showed them ceremony sites with stunning backdrops and reception spaces that could be configured dozens of different ways.

"The weather is never a concern here," Yolanda explained as they toured the indoor ceremony chapel, which featured soaring ceilings and stained glass windows that cast rainbow patterns across polished marble floors. "We can move ceremonies indoors with two hours' notice, and the acoustics are perfect for both intimate vows and larger celebrations."

It was exactly what they needed from a practical standpoint, but Adriana could see Priya's mental Instagram feed shifting from rustic charm to generic elegance. The space was beautiful, but it was beautiful in the way that luxury hotels were beautiful—impressively but impersonally.

"It's beautiful," Priya said as they finished the tour, standing in the main ballroom with its crystal chandeliers and neutral color palette. "Very... safe."

"Safe isn't necessarily bad," Marcus pointed out reasonably. "Safe means our guests will be comfortable and we won't be stressed about weather or logistics."

"But does it feel like you guys?" Jordan asked gently, and it was exactly the right question.

Adriana felt another flicker of appreciation for Jordan's instincts. It would have been easy to push Priya toward the practical choice, the venue that would guarantee a smooth event. But Jordan was asking the deeper question that would determine whether Priya would look back on her wedding day with joy or regret.

Priya looked around the ballroom again, clearly trying to imagine herself and Marcus in the space, surrounded by their friends and family. The venue was undeniably elegant, but it was the kind of elegance that belonged to everyone and no one.

"I think I need to see the third venue before I can decide," Priya said finally, and Adriana heard the uncertainty in her voice.

The third venue was a calculated compromise: Hazelwood Manor, a historic mansion with indoor and outdoor options, rustic elements but professional management, and a price point that split the difference between the barn and the resort. Adriana had saved it for last because she suspected it might be exactly what Priya and Marcus needed—a space with character and charm that could also deliver on practical requirements.

The mansion had been built in the 1920s and carefully restored to maintain its original character while adding modern amenities. The ceremony could take place in the rose garden, with the mansion's classical architecture providing a stunning backdrop. If weather became an issue, they could move everything to the grand parlor, which featured original hardwood floors, a marble fireplace, and French doors that opened onto the gardens.

Adriana could see Priya's excitement building as they walked through the space, her enthusiasm returning as she discovered details that felt both elegant and personal. The mansion's event coordinator showed them how they could use both indoor and outdoor spaces, creating a flow that would feel natural and intentional rather than like a compromise.

"This is it," Priya announced as they reached the garden ceremony area, grabbing Marcus's hand with sudden certainty. "This is perfect. It's got the charm of the barn but the reliability of the resort."

Marcus grinned and spun her around, both of them laughing as they kissed in the middle of the rose garden. It was a spontaneous moment of pure joy, the kind of natural happiness that made Adriana's job worthwhile.

Adriana felt her chest tighten with familiar longing as she watched them, the way they fit together so naturally, so completely comfortable in their love. It was exactly the kind of moment she spent her life creating for other people.

"They're cute," Jordan said, appearing beside her with the quiet grace of someone who moved through the world without needing to announce her presence.

"They are. This is going to be a fun wedding to plan."

"Assuming you can keep me from interfering too much."

Adriana looked at her sideways, surprised by the self-awareness in Jordan's tone. "I'm starting to think your interference might not be entirely unwelcome."

Jordan's eyebrows rose slightly, and her smile gained a warmth that made Adriana's pulse quicken. "Careful, Adriana Abarca. That almost sounded like you're warming up to me."

"Maybe I am," Adriana said, then immediately felt heat flood her cheeks at her own boldness.

The admission hung in the air between them, honest and vulnerable in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying. Adriana rarely let her guard down with clients or their families, but something about Jordan made her want to be more honest than was probably wise.

Jordan's smile in response was warm and genuine, without any of the challenge or testing from their first meeting. "Good," she said simply. "Because I have a feeling this is going to be interesting."

As they rejoined the group to discuss next steps and timeline details, Adriana caught herself thinking that Jordan was absolutely right. This was definitely going to be interesting.

The question was: what kind of interesting did she want it to be?

Chapter 4

Three weeks later, Adriana found herself sitting on the floor of her office at nine PM, surrounded by fabric swatches, vendor contracts, and the remains of Thai takeout, wondering how wedding planning had become a contact sport.

"I can't believe she wants to change the entire color palette," she said to Kai, who was sprawled in the client chair with his laptop, updating timelines. "We've already ordered the linens."

"She didn't change it," Kai corrected. "She said she was 'exploring options' and 'keeping things fluid.'"

"Which means?"

"Which means Jordan talked her out of the sage green."

Adriana looked up from the invitation samples she'd been sorting. "Jordan did what now?"

"You weren't listening during the conference call yesterday, were you?" Kai gave her the look that meant he was about to deliver information she should have absorbed the first time. "Jordan said the sage green felt too trendy, that they should choose something more personal. Priya's been second-guessing herself ever since."

Adriana set down the invitations with more force than necessary. "Jordan doesn't get to override design decisions. That's literally what they're paying me for."

"She's not overriding anything. She's asking questions."

"She's undermining my authority."

Kai closed his laptop and gave Adriana his full attention, which was never a good sign. "What's really going on here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been weird about Jordan Blake for three weeks. You get tense whenever her name comes up, you over-prepare for any meeting she's attending, and now you're taking her perfectly reasonable input as a personal attack."

Adriana opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. Kai wasn't wrong. Ever since the venue visit, she'd been hyper-aware of Jordan's presence in the planning process. Jordan attended every meeting, asked thoughtful questions, and generally made herself helpful—which should have been a dream scenario for a wedding planner.

Instead, Adriana found herself caught between appreciation for Jordan's genuine investment in Priya's happiness and frustration that someone else was influencing decisions she'd been hired to make. It didn't help that Jordan had a way of looking at her during meetings that made Adriana forget what she was saying mid-sentence.

"She's very... involved," Adriana said finally.

"Most maids of honor are."

"Not like this. She has opinions about everything. The flowers, the music, the timeline—"

"All of which have been good opinions that made the event better."

Adriana glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side of sanity. Which, right now, means pointing out that you're creating a problem where none exists." Kai leaned forward. "Unless there is a problem I don't know about?"

Before Adriana could answer, the front door chimed. They both looked toward the reception area in confusion—the office had been locked, and it was well past business hours.

"Adriana? Your light's on—I hope it's okay that I used the key Priya gave me?"

Jordan's voice carried from the front room, and Adriana felt her stomach do something complicated. Priya had a key for emergencies, but Adriana hadn't realized she'd shared it with Jordan.

"Back here," Adriana called, scrambling to her feet and trying to look professional despite the fact that she was wearing yoga pants and had pad thai sauce on her sweater.

Jordan appeared in the doorway holding a coffee carrier and a paper bag, taking in the scene of organized chaos with raised eyebrows. She'd clearly come from work—dark slacks and a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, looking frustratingly put-together despite the late hour.

"I brought reinforcements," Jordan said, holding up the coffee. "Priya mentioned you'd be working late on her timeline, and I figured you could use caffeine."

Kai perked up immediately. "Is that from Blue Bottle?"

"The good stuff," Jordan confirmed, handing him a cup. "And I brought those pastries from the place on Mission Street—the ones Adriana mentioned during the catering meeting."

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks. She'd mentioned the bakery in passing three weeks ago, surprised that Jordan had remembered. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to." Jordan handed her a coffee, their fingers brushing briefly during the exchange. "Besides, I'm partly responsible for the color palette crisis, so I figured I owed you."

"You're not responsible for anything," Adriana said automatically, then caught Kai's knowing look. "I mean, Priya has every right to change her mind."

"But it's creating extra work for you," Jordan said, settling cross-legged on the floor next to Adriana's fabric samples. "And I may have pushed too hard about the sage green thing."

"May have?"

Jordan's smile was rueful. "Okay, I definitely pushed too hard. I just want this to be perfect for her, and sometimes I get a little... intense."

"A little?"

"Fine. I get very intense. It's a character flaw." Jordan picked up one of the fabric swatches—a deep burgundy that Adriana had been considering as an alternative. "This is beautiful, though. Much more than the sage."

Adriana found herself leaning closer to see which swatch Jordan was holding, close enough to catch that woodsy perfume again. "You think? I was worried it might be too dark for an outdoor October wedding."

"Are you kidding? It's perfect. Look how it plays against this gold." Jordan held up another sample, and Adriana had to admit the combination was stunning.

"You have a good eye," Adriana said, meaning it.

"I pay attention." Jordan's voice was softer, and when Adriana looked up, she found Jordan watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "To things that matter."

The moment stretched between them, charged with something Adriana couldn't name. She was suddenly very aware that they were sitting close together on her office floor, that Jordan smelled amazing, and that Kai was watching them both with barely concealed interest.

"So," Kai said loudly, "should we call Priya and run the burgundy idea past her?"

The spell broke, and Adriana scrambled for professional composure. "Right. Yes. We should definitely get her approval before moving forward."

Jordan was already pulling out her phone. "I'll text her. She's probably still awake—she's been stressed about the color thing all week."

While Jordan typed, Adriana tried to organize her scattered thoughts. This was exactly what Kai had been talking about—Jordan wasn't undermining her authority, she was genuinely trying to help. And Adriana's reaction had less to do with professional territoriality and more to do with the way Jordan's presence made her feel simultaneously more confident and completely off-balance.

"She loves it," Jordan announced, showing them Priya's string of heart-eyes emojis. "She wants to see samples with the gold and maybe a cream accent."

"I can pull those together," Adriana said, already mentally organizing the new palette. "Actually, this might work better than the sage anyway. More sophisticated, better for photos..."

"And more personal," Jordan added. "Burgundy was the color of the dress she wore on their first real date."

Adriana looked at her in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"She mentioned it during the venue tour. When you were talking about incorporating their story into the details." Jordan's smile was warm. "You were right about that, by the way. The personal touches are what make it special."

For the next hour, they worked together on refining the color palette, with Jordan providing context about Priya and Marcus's relationship while Adriana translated their story into design elements. Kai eventually excused himself, claiming exhaustion, but Adriana suspected he just wanted to leave them alone.

By eleven PM, they had a cohesive new direction that felt much more authentic than the original sage green concept. Adriana found herself genuinely excited about the wedding for the first time in weeks.

"This is going to be beautiful," she said, looking at the materials spread across her floor.

"It really is." Jordan stretched, rolling her shoulders. "And I'm sorry for making it harder than it needed to be."

"You didn't make it harder. You made it better." Adriana meant it, and she could see the relief in Jordan's expression. "I just... I'm not used to collaborating this closely with family members."

"Is that what we're doing? Collaborating?"

There was something in Jordan's tone that made Adriana look at her more closely. Jordan was watching her with that unreadable expression again, the one that made Adriana's chest feel tight.

"I think so," Adriana said carefully. "If that's okay with you."

"More than okay." Jordan's smile was soft, genuine. "I like working with you, Adriana. You care about the details, but you also care about the people. That's rare."

Adriana felt warmth spread through her chest, followed immediately by panic. This was dangerous territory—personal compliments, late-night collaboration, the way Jordan was looking at her like she was seeing something special.

"I should probably head home," Jordan said, seemingly unaware of Adriana's internal crisis. "But thank you for letting me help. And for not firing me as maid of honor."

"The thought never crossed my mind," Adriana lied.

Jordan laughed, standing and offering Adriana a hand up. "Liar. But I appreciate the diplomacy."

Adriana took her hand, noting again the callus from guitar playing and the way Jordan's grip was both gentle and strong. She let herself be pulled to her feet, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jordan asked. "Priya wants to finalize the florals, and I promise to only have opinions about half of your suggestions."

"Only half?"

"I'm working on self-improvement."

Adriana found herself laughing, the tension of the evening dissolving into something warmer and more complicated. "Same time tomorrow."

After Jordan left, Adriana stood in her office surrounded by the evidence of their collaboration, trying to understand what had just happened. Three hours ago, she'd been frustrated with Jordan's involvement in the planning process. Now she was looking forward to tomorrow's meeting with an anticipation that had nothing to do with wedding planning.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jordan: Thanks again for tonight. The burgundy palette is perfect—Priya's going to cry when she sees how beautiful everything looks together.

Adriana stared at the message, then typed back: Thank you for the coffee. And for caring so much about her happiness.

Jordan's response came immediately: Sweet dreams, Adriana.

Adriana read the message three times before setting her phone aside, her cheeks warm and her chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

This was definitely getting complicated.

Chapter 5

Adriana spent the next morning second-guessing every decision she'd made in the past twenty-four hours, starting with agreeing to meet Jordan for what was definitely not a date to discuss floral arrangements over lunch.

The invitation had come three days earlier, during what should have been a routine check-in call about timeline adjustments. Priya had been dealing with a family crisis—her grandmother's health scare that had everyone on edge—and Marcus was traveling for work. Jordan had stepped in to handle the vendor meetings, displaying a level of organizational skill that both impressed and unsettled Adriana.

"We should probably coordinate on the florals before the consultation," Jordan had said during their phone call, her voice carrying that particular blend of professionalism and warmth that had become dangerously familiar. "I've been doing some research based on Priya's Pinterest boards and some stories she's told me about her grandmother's garden."

"I could email you my vendor recommendations," Adriana had offered, though she'd found herself hoping Jordan would suggest something more collaborative.

"Actually, would you want to meet for lunch? I know this Italian place that's quiet enough for planning discussions. My treat, since I'm essentially making you do extra work."

The phrase "my treat" had sent an unexpected flutter through Adriana's chest, followed immediately by the professional voice in her head reminding her that clients and their families often offered to pay for meetings. But there had been something in Jordan's tone—casual but careful, like she was testing the boundaries of their professional relationship.

"That would be helpful," Adriana had said, and if her voice had been slightly warmer than strictly professional, she'd told herself it was just good client relations.

Now, standing in front of her bathroom mirror at 7:30 AM, she was questioning every aspect of that decision.

"It's a working lunch," she told her reflection as she changed her shirt for the third time. "People have working lunches all the time. With people they find attractive. Who bring them coffee and text them sweet dreams."

The navy blouse made her look too formal, like she was heading to a board meeting rather than a casual lunch. The cream sweater made her look washed out under the bathroom's unflattering lighting. The burgundy top—chosen subconsciously to match the wine-colored accents in Priya's new wedding palette—made her look like she was trying too hard.

She was definitely trying too hard.

The burgundy top was also new, purchased during an impulsive shopping trip the day after their venue visit when she'd found herself thinking about the way Jordan's eyes had lit up when she'd smiled. Adriana had tried to convince herself she needed new work clothes anyway, but the truth was she'd chosen the color because it complemented her skin tone and made her feel confident in a way that had everything to do with wanting to look good for someone specific.

"You're overthinking this," she said aloud, then immediately felt ridiculous for talking to herself. Again.

She'd been having a lot of conversations with her reflection lately, a habit that had started sometime around the second week of working with Jordan. It was as if having someone challenge her professionally had awakened some dormant part of her personality that needed to vocalize her internal debates.

Her phone buzzed against the bathroom counter: Running five minutes late—client called with a crisis. Order for me if you get there first? You know what I like.

Adriana stared at the message, realizing with a sinking feeling that she had no idea what Jordan liked. Coffee, apparently—she'd learned that much from their various meetings where Jordan always arrived with a cup from the same local roastery. Thai food, maybe, since she'd brought it to their late-night planning session the week before. But actual restaurant preferences? They'd been working together for a month and she'd never paid attention to anything Jordan ordered during their various meetings.

This felt like a test she was destined to fail, another reminder that despite the easy conversation and growing familiarity, she didn't know Jordan as well as she sometimes felt like she did.

The realization was more unsettling than it should have been. Adriana prided herself on reading people, on understanding what they needed and wanted. It was essential to her job, this ability to translate vague desires into concrete plans. But with Jordan, she felt constantly off-balance, like she was operating without her usual professional instincts.

She settled on the burgundy top—because the navy was too formal and the cream made her look tired—and tried to convince herself that she was not, in fact, dressing to impress someone she was definitely not attracted to.

The restaurant Jordan had chosen was a small Italian place in the Mission, the kind of neighborhood spot that relied on quality rather than atmosphere. Adriana had driven past it dozens of times but never stopped, assuming it was just another casual trattoria. Now, standing outside its modest exterior, she wondered what had made Jordan choose this particular place.

The interior was warm and unpretentious, with mismatched chairs around small tables and the kind of lived-in comfort that suggested local regulars and family recipes. The lunch crowd was a mix of neighborhood workers and what looked like a few couples on casual dates, the atmosphere relaxed but not particularly romantic.

Adriana arrived exactly on time—punctuality was a professional habit she couldn't shake even in social situations—and found herself scanning the menu with the intensity of someone planning a military operation.

What did Jordan like? Something simple, probably. She seemed like the type who ordered confidently and didn't spend twenty minutes debating options. Definitely not someone who changed her outfit three times before a working lunch or arrived fifteen minutes early to study the menu like it contained state secrets.

The menu was thankfully straightforward: classic Italian dishes with descriptions that didn't require translation, reasonable prices that suggested this was indeed meant to be a working lunch rather than an elaborate gesture. Adriana found herself gravitating toward the pasta dishes, figuring they were safe choices that wouldn't be too difficult to eat while discussing business.

She was debating between the carbonara and the penne arrabbiata when Jordan's voice came from behind her, slightly breathless and apologetic.

"Sorry, sorry," Jordan said, sliding into the opposite seat with the fluid grace of someone comfortable in her own skin. "Client emergency turned into client meltdown turned into me talking someone off a ledge for forty-five minutes."

Adriana turned to find Jordan looking harried but apologetic. She'd obviously come straight from work—blazer slightly wrinkled, hair showing evidence of stressed finger-combing, a small crease between her eyebrows that suggested the client crisis had been genuinely challenging. But she still managed to look effortlessly put-together in a way that made Adriana feel overdressed and overprepared.

"No problem," Adriana said, closing her menu. "I just got here myself."

It was a small lie, but Jordan looked relieved anyway, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she settled into her chair and shrugged out of her blazer.

"Thank you for being flexible. I know your schedule is probably packed tighter than mine." Jordan glanced around the restaurant, and Adriana caught a flicker of something that might have been nervousness. "I hope this place is okay. I know it's not exactly upscale, but the food is fantastic and it's usually quiet enough for conversation."

"It's perfect," Adriana said, and meant it. There was something refreshing about the lack of pretense, the way Jordan had chosen function over flash. "Did you order?"

"I waited for you. I wasn't sure what you'd want."

"Oh, I'm easy. Whatever you're having is fine."

The casual response made Adriana's stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. There was something about Jordan's confidence, the way she moved through the world without seeming to overthink every decision, that Adriana found both attractive and slightly intimidating.

She flagged down the waitress—a woman who clearly knew the regulars and treated Jordan with the familiarity of someone who'd served her before—and ordered two pasta dishes at random, hoping she'd guessed right about Jordan's preferences.

"The penne arrabbiata is perfect," Jordan said as the waitress walked away. "I probably should have mentioned I'm a sucker for spicy food."

"Good to know," Adriana said, filing the information away with the same automatic precision she used for client preferences. "I'll remember that for future vendor tastings."

"Already planning to feed me again?" Jordan's smile was teasing, but there was something underneath it that made Adriana's pulse quicken.

"Professional hazard," Adriana said, though she was starting to suspect her interest in Jordan's food preferences went beyond professional courtesy. "I categorize everyone by dietary restrictions and preferences. It's how I remember people."

"What else have you catalogued about me?"

The question was casual, but Adriana caught the hint of genuine curiosity underneath. Jordan was leaning forward slightly, her attention focused entirely on Adriana in a way that was both flattering and unnerving.

"You drink your coffee black, you're left-handed, you play guitar, and you have strong opinions about authenticity in marketing," Adriana said, then immediately wondered if that level of observation was normal or creepy.

Jordan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "That's... very thorough. How did you know about the guitar?"

"Callus on your index finger. And you mentioned being an 'amateur guitarist' in your Twitter bio."

"You read my Twitter bio?"

Adriana felt heat flood her cheeks. "I research all my clients and their key family members. It helps me understand their preferences and communication styles."

It was true, though she'd definitely spent more time researching Jordan than was strictly necessary for professional purposes. She'd found herself genuinely enjoying Jordan's tweets, the way she deconstructed marketing campaigns and shared random observations about everything from coffee culture to local politics.

"And what did my Twitter bio tell you about my communication style?"

"That you're direct, intelligent, and slightly skeptical of people who claim to care about things they're trying to sell you."

Jordan laughed, a sound that was warm and genuine and made something flutter in Adriana's chest. "That's frighteningly accurate. No wonder Priya was so confident you'd be able to handle me."

"Handle you?"

"I can be... a lot. Especially when it comes to things I care about." Jordan's expression grew more serious. "I have a tendency to take over when I think someone I love isn't being taken care of properly."

It was an admission that revealed more vulnerability than Adriana had expected. She could see the genuine concern in Jordan's expression, the weight of responsibility she felt for her friend's happiness.

"So," Jordan said, pulling out her phone with what seemed like deliberate subject change, "I made a list of Priya's flower preferences based on her Pinterest boards and that conversation we had about her grandmother's garden."

She slid the phone across the table, and Adriana found herself looking at a meticulously organized note that rivaled her own planning documents. Jordan had catalogued not just flower types and colors, but personal meanings, seasonal availability, and budget considerations. She'd even included photos from Priya's social media accounts that showed flowers she'd admired in various contexts.

"This is incredibly thorough," Adriana said, genuinely impressed by the level of detail and thoughtfulness. "Most family members give me a list like 'pink flowers' and consider their job done."

"I may have gotten a little carried away," Jordan admitted, though she looked pleased by Adriana's reaction. "But I figured if we're going to collaborate, I should do my homework."

"Most people think wedding planning is just picking pretty things."

"Most people haven't watched their best friend stress-plan her dream day for six months." Jordan's smile was warm, affectionate. "Besides, I like research. It's what I do for work—figure out what people really want versus what they think they want."

It was exactly the kind of analytical approach that Adriana used in her own work, and hearing Jordan articulate it made her feel less alone in her obsessive attention to detail.

"And what does Priya really want?"

Jordan paused, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved. "Something that makes her feel like the heroine of her own love story," she said finally. "She's been the practical one her whole life. Responsible job, sensible apartment, dating guys her parents approved of but who never really saw her. Marcus is the first person who makes her feel like she can be romantic and dreamy without being ridiculous."

Adriana felt something tight in her chest as she listened to Jordan talk about her friend. There was so much affection in her voice, so much genuine care for Priya's happiness. It was the kind of friendship Adriana had always admired but never quite managed to cultivate herself—deep, protective, unconditional.

"That's beautiful," Adriana said softly.

"She deserves it. She's been taking care of everyone else since we were eighteen." Jordan's expression grew fiercer, more protective. "Her parents, her little brother when he was going through his rebellious phase, her previous boyfriends who never seemed to appreciate what they had. She's the person everyone calls when they need someone reliable, someone who'll show up and fix things."

"And you want to make sure her wedding reflects that she deserves to be taken care of too."

"Exactly." Jordan met her eyes across the table, and Adriana felt the full force of her attention, the intensity of someone who cared deeply about the people in her life. "Which is why I'm so grateful you're willing to work with me on this. A lot of wedding planners would have written me off as an interfering maid of honor by now."

Adriana thought about her conversation with Kai the week before, about her initial resistance to Jordan's input and her territorial response to having someone else care about the details.

"I'll admit, I was... territorial at first," she said, the admission feeling like a small confession.

"Were you?" Jordan's eyebrows rose in mock surprise, her tone teasing. "I hadn't noticed."

"Very funny." Adriana felt herself smiling despite her embarrassment. "I'm used to being the only one who cares about the details. Having someone else who notices things, who asks the right questions—it's different."

"Good different or bad different?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with meaning that went beyond wedding planning. Adriana found herself studying Jordan's face, noting the way her eyes had gone serious, the slight tension in her expression that suggested the answer mattered more than it should for a working lunch.

There was something vulnerable in Jordan's expression, like she was asking about more than just their professional collaboration. Adriana had the sense that her answer would determine something important about their relationship going forward.

"Good different," Adriana said quietly, the words carrying more weight than she'd intended. "Definitely good different."

Jordan's smile in response was soft and genuine, without any of the challenge or testing from their early meetings. It was the kind of smile that suggested relief and hope in equal measure.

"I'm glad," Jordan said, her voice warm. "Because I've been enjoying working with you more than I expected to."

Their food arrived, breaking the moment with the cheerful efficiency of the waitress who clearly knew how to navigate around couples deep in conversation. The pasta was as good as Jordan had promised—perfectly cooked, with sauce that had the complexity of something made from scratch rather than a jar.

They spent the next hour discussing flower arrangements with the kind of detailed enthusiasm that probably looked insane to outside observers. But Adriana found herself enjoying the collaboration more than she had enjoyed work in months. Jordan asked thoughtful questions that pushed Adriana to think creatively about traditional arrangements. She offered solutions that balanced aesthetic appeal with practical considerations. She somehow made the whole process feel less like work and more like... fun.

"What if we incorporated some of her grandmother's roses?" Jordan suggested, showing Adriana a photo on her phone of an elderly woman in a garden. "Not as the main arrangement, but as accent pieces? Priya has this story about helping her grandmother tend her rose garden when she was little, and how her grandmother always said roses were the flowers of true love because they required both patience and passion."

Adriana felt her chest tighten at the sweetness of the memory, the way Jordan had clearly listened to Priya's stories and found ways to honor them. "That's perfect. We could use them in her bouquet and maybe as small arrangements at the family tables."

"The florist would need special notice for heirloom roses, right?"

"At least two weeks, maybe three depending on the variety. But the symbolism is worth the extra planning."

Jordan made a note on her phone, her efficiency matching Adriana's own planning style. "I'll get you the specific type from Priya's mom. She might even be able to provide cuttings."

"I think we have a plan," Jordan said finally, checking the time on her phone and looking surprised at how much time had passed. "Priya's going to love the idea of incorporating her grandmother's roses."

"The florist will need at least two weeks' notice for the special order," Adriana noted, making a final addition to her notes. "But the symbolism is perfect."

"You're amazing at this," Jordan said, and there was something in her tone that made Adriana look up from her notebook. "The way you take someone's random emotional attachments and turn them into something beautiful—it's like magic."

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. She was used to praise for her organizational skills, her attention to detail, her ability to execute a vision flawlessly. But Jordan was seeing something deeper, something more personal.

"It's just problem-solving," Adriana said, though she knew it was more than that. "Find the meaning, find the visual representation, execute the plan."

"It's not just problem-solving. It's..." Jordan paused, seeming to search for words. "It's like you see people's hearts and find ways to make them visible."

The compliment hit Adriana somewhere deep in her chest, in a place she hadn't realized was hungry for that kind of recognition. She'd built her career on being efficient, reliable, professional. But Jordan was seeing the part of her work that she cared about most—the moments when she could take someone's deepest emotions and transform them into something tangible and beautiful.

"Thank you," Adriana said softly, the words feeling inadequate for the way Jordan's observation had moved her. "That means a lot."

"I mean it." Jordan's voice was warm, sincere, without any of the professional polish that usually characterized their interactions. "You have a gift, Adriana. The way you care about people, the way you create these perfect moments for them—it's special."

They were leaning across the table now, the wedding planning materials forgotten between them. Adriana was very aware of how close Jordan's hand was to hers on the table, of the way Jordan was looking at her like she was seeing something wonderful and unexpected.

The moment stretched between them, charged with possibility and the kind of tension that had nothing to do with flower arrangements. Adriana found herself wondering what it would be like to reach across the table and touch Jordan's hand, to acknowledge the connection that seemed to be building despite all her professional boundaries.

"I should probably get back to the office," Adriana said finally, though she made no move to gather her things. The words felt like an obligation rather than a desire, a retreat from a moment that felt too significant to navigate without more thought.

"Probably," Jordan agreed, also not moving. "Kai's probably wondering where you are."

"He's used to long vendor meetings."

"Is that what this was? A vendor meeting?"

The question was casual, but Adriana caught the hint of something more serious underneath. Jordan was giving her an opening, a chance to define what was happening between them beyond the framework of professional collaboration.

Adriana felt like she was standing at the edge of something significant, a decision that would determine the direction of their relationship. She could retreat into professional safety, maintain the boundaries that had served her well throughout her career. Or she could acknowledge that this lunch had felt more personal than professional, that her interest in Jordan went beyond their shared concern for Priya's wedding.

"It was..." Adriana paused, feeling the weight of the moment. "It was lunch. With someone I'm starting to consider a friend."

"A friend," Jordan repeated, and Adriana couldn't tell if she sounded pleased or disappointed.

"A good friend," Adriana clarified, then immediately felt foolish for the qualifier. The words felt both true and insufficient, a safe answer that didn't capture the complexity of her feelings.

Jordan's smile was enigmatic, difficult to read. "I'd like that. Being your friend."

There was something in Jordan's tone that suggested 'friend' might not be exactly what she'd hoped to hear, but she seemed willing to accept it as a starting point.

They walked back to Adriana's car together, the conversation light but charged with undercurrents Adriana didn't quite know how to navigate. Jordan talked about her work, sharing funny stories about difficult clients and successful campaigns. Adriana found herself laughing more easily than she had in months, relaxing into the kind of easy conversation she rarely experienced with people outside her closest circle.

As they reached her car in the small parking lot behind the restaurant, Jordan turned to face her, and Adriana was suddenly aware of how intimate the moment felt despite being in broad daylight.

"Thank you for lunch," Jordan said, her voice softer than it had been during their walk. "And for being patient with my learning curve."

"Thank you for caring so much about Priya's happiness. It makes my job easier when the family is invested."

"Is that all I am? Invested family?"

The question caught Adriana completely off guard. Jordan was standing close enough that Adriana could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, could smell that subtle woodsy perfume that was becoming dangerously familiar. There was something vulnerable in Jordan's expression, like she was asking for something more than professional recognition.

"I..." Adriana started, then found herself at a loss for words. The honest answer was complicated, involving attraction and professional boundaries and feelings she wasn't ready to examine too closely.

Jordan stepped back, seeming to read Adriana's confusion and uncertainty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I should let you get back to work."

"Jordan, wait." Adriana reached out without thinking, catching Jordan's hand as she turned to leave. "You're not just invested family. You're..."

She trailed off, suddenly aware that she was holding Jordan's hand in a restaurant parking lot, that Jordan was looking at her with an expression of careful hope, that she had absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence without crossing lines she wasn't sure she was ready to cross.

"I'm what?" Jordan asked gently, making no move to pull her hand away.

"You're important," Adriana said finally, the words feeling both true and inadequate. "To the wedding. To Priya. To... this whole process."

It wasn't what she'd meant to say, and from Jordan's expression, it wasn't what Jordan had hoped to hear. But Jordan squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her smile understanding but disappointed.

"I'm glad I can help," Jordan said, her professional smile sliding back into place like armor. "I'll send you those vendor contacts we discussed."

Adriana watched Jordan walk away, feeling like she'd just failed a test she hadn't realized she was taking. But as she drove back to her office, she couldn't stop thinking about the way Jordan had looked at her across the lunch table, like she was seeing something precious and unexpected.

And she couldn't stop wondering what would have happened if she'd been brave enough to answer Jordan's question honestly, to admit that Jordan was becoming something more than a professional connection, something that scared and excited her in equal measure.

Back at Ever After Events, Kai took one look at her face and raised an eyebrow in the way that suggested he'd been waiting for exactly this conversation.

"How was your working lunch?"

"Productive," Adriana said, settling at her desk with more focus than the simple action required. She opened her laptop and began transferring her handwritten notes into her digital planning system, trying to lose herself in the familiar routine of organization.

"Uh-huh. And how was Jordan?"

Adriana looked up to find Kai watching her with barely concealed amusement, the expression of someone who had already drawn his own conclusions about the afternoon's events.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that you have that look."

"What look?"

"The look of someone who just realized they're in trouble."

Adriana opened her project management software with unnecessary force, clicking through screens without really seeing them. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Kai said cheerfully, settling into the chair across from her desk with the air of someone prepared for a long conversation. "But just so you know, being attracted to someone isn't actually a professional crisis."

"I'm not—" Adriana started, then stopped, realizing that denying the attraction would be pointless when it was apparently written all over her face. "We're planning her best friend's wedding."

"So?"

"So it's complicated."

"Most good things are."

Adriana stared at her computer screen, seeing Jordan's smile instead of her inbox full of vendor emails and timeline updates. Kai was right—she was in trouble. The question was what she planned to do about it.

"What if it affects my professional relationship with Priya and Marcus?" she asked finally, voicing the concern that had been nagging at her since the moment she'd realized her interest in Jordan went beyond professional collaboration.

"What if it doesn't?" Kai countered. "What if Jordan feels the same way you do, and you're both overthinking this because you're both professionals who care about doing right by Priya?"

"And what if she doesn't feel the same way, and I make things awkward for everyone?"

"Then you handle it professionally and move on. But Adriana..." Kai leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. "When was the last time someone made you this flustered? When was the last time you came back from a lunch meeting looking like you'd just discovered something wonderful and terrifying at the same time?"

Adriana couldn't remember. Her romantic life had been a series of pleasant but unremarkable dates, relationships that ended amicably when work took priority or when she realized she felt more comfortable alone than with someone who didn't quite understand her passion for her career.

"She asked me what I am to her," Adriana said quietly. "Besides invested family. And I panicked."

"What did you want to say?"

"I don't know. Something honest. Something that acknowledged that I think about her more than I should, that I look forward to our meetings in ways that have nothing to do with wedding planning."

"So why didn't you say that?"

"Because..." Adriana paused, trying to articulate fears that felt both rational and ridiculous. "Because I've never been good at mixing personal and professional. Because I don't know how to be someone's friend and also be attracted to them. Because the last time I let my guard down with someone I was working with, it ended badly and I swore I'd never do it again."

It was more honesty than she'd intended to share, but Kai had a way of drawing confessions out of her, particularly when she was already feeling vulnerable.

"That was five years ago," Kai pointed out gently. "And that situation was completely different. You were working for someone who turned out to be married and lying about it. Jordan isn't hiding anything from you."

"How do you know?"

"Because she's been completely transparent about everything since day one. She told you why she was skeptical, she's been honest about her protective instincts, and unless I'm completely misreading the situation, she's been giving you pretty clear signals that her interest in you goes beyond wedding planning."

Adriana thought about the way Jordan had looked at her during lunch, the way she'd asked about being more than invested family, the disappointment in her expression when Adriana had retreated into professional safety.

"Maybe," she admitted.

"Definitely. The question is whether you're going to do anything about it."

"The wedding is still ten months away."

"So?"

"So that's ten months of working together closely, of making decisions that affect Priya's biggest day, of navigating professional boundaries while trying to figure out personal feelings."

"Or," Kai said with the patience of someone who had watched Adriana overthink dozens of decisions over the years, "it's ten months of getting to know someone who clearly cares about the same things you do, who appreciates your work in ways that most people don't, and who makes you smile more than anyone has in years."

Adriana looked at her reflection in her computer screen, noting the softness in her expression that seemed to appear whenever Jordan's name came up in conversation.

"I don't know how to do this," she said finally.

"Nobody does. That's what makes it interesting."

"I liked it better when my biggest problem was choosing between centerpiece options."

"No, you didn't. You've been happier in the past month than you've been since I started working here. Jordan challenges you in good ways, makes you think differently about your work, appreciates things about you that clients usually take for granted."

Kai was right, and Adriana knew it. Working with Jordan had reminded her why she'd fallen in love with wedding planning in the first place—the moments when everything clicked, when she could create something that honored people's deepest emotions and most cherished relationships.

"What would you do?" she asked.

"I'd probably text her tonight and ask if she wanted to grab coffee sometime when you're not discussing wedding business. I'd be honest about enjoying her company and curious about getting to know her better outside of your professional relationship."

"And if she says no?"

"Then you know where you stand, and you can focus on being an excellent wedding planner for her best friend. But Adriana?" Kai's smile was warm and encouraging. "I really don't think she's going to say no."

Adriana spent the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on work, with limited success. Every time she tried to concentrate on vendor contracts or timeline adjustments, her mind drifted back to the way Jordan had smiled when she'd called her work magic, or the disappointment in her expression when Adriana had deflected her question about their relationship.

By the time she locked up the office and headed home, her conversation with Kai was still echoing in her head. Maybe he was right about some things—maybe Jordan's interest did go beyond professional collaboration, and maybe Adriana was overthinking the complications. But taking action on those possibilities felt like stepping off a cliff without knowing how far the fall might be.

As she settled onto her couch with a glass of wine and tried to lose herself in mindless television, her phone buzzed with a message from Jordan:

Thank you for lunch today. The flower plan is going to be perfect—Priya will love the grandmother's roses. Looking forward to our next planning session.

It was perfectly professional, exactly the kind of follow-up message she'd expect from any collaborative meeting. But Adriana found herself reading it multiple times, looking for hidden meaning in the phrase "looking forward to our next planning session."

She typed and deleted several responses before settling on: Thank you for all the research you put into this. It's clear how much you care about Priya's happiness.

Safe. Professional. Appropriately grateful without being too warm.

Jordan's response came quickly: She deserves the best day possible. I'm glad she has you to make it happen.

Adriana stared at the message, noting that Jordan had said "she has you" rather than "we have you." It was a small distinction, but it felt significant—like Jordan was acknowledging their professional relationship while maintaining some distance from it.

Maybe that was for the best. Maybe the smart thing was to keep their interactions focused on the wedding, to resist the pull of attraction and maintain the boundaries that had served her well throughout her career.

But as she set her phone aside and tried to return her attention to the television, Adriana couldn't shake the feeling that she'd missed an opportunity that afternoon. That in her fear of professional complications, she'd chosen safety over the possibility of something meaningful.

She was definitely in trouble, but unlike what Kai had suggested, she wasn't sure it was the good kind of trouble. It was the complicated kind, the kind that made her question whether she was being professionally responsible or just afraid.

The question was whether she'd be brave enough to figure out the difference before it was too late.

Chapter 6

Adriana should have known her mother would ambush her at the grocery store.

Elena Abarca had an uncanny ability to appear whenever Adriana was feeling unsettled about her personal life, as if maternal radar could detect emotional vulnerability from three zip codes away. It was a Thursday evening, two days after her lunch with Jordan, and Adriana had been replaying their conversation on an endless loop while trying to convince herself that everything was perfectly normal and professional.

She'd been standing in the pasta sauce aisle for fifteen minutes, ostensibly comparing ingredients but actually thinking about the way Jordan had leaned forward during their conversation, the warmth in her voice when she'd called Adriana's work magical, the disappointment in her expression when Adriana had deflected her question about their relationship.

The decision between marinara and arrabbiata should not have required this level of deliberation, but somehow when her mind was occupied with Jordan Blake, even simple choices felt impossibly complex.

"Mija, what are you doing here so late? It's almost eight o'clock."

Adriana turned to find her mother approaching with a cart full of ingredients for what looked like a dinner party. Elena Abarca was sixty-two years old and still one of the most elegant women Adriana knew, the kind of person who could make a grocery run at eight PM look like a social event. Her dark hair was perfectly styled despite the late hour—not a strand out of place—and she wore a cream-colored blazer that probably cost more than most people's weekly grocery budget.

Elena had always been this way: polished, put-together, the kind of woman who ironed her sheets and color-coordinated her spice rack. It was both inspiring and exhausting, and it had taken Adriana years to realize she'd inherited some of that perfectionist gene, channeling it into wedding planning instead of domestic excellence.

"Hi, Mami. Just grabbing something for dinner." Adriana held up the jar of marinara sauce like evidence, though she'd actually been debating between three different options for the better part of twenty minutes.

"Jarred sauce? Adriana, I taught you better than this." Elena's expression was the particular combination of loving and exasperated that Adriana had been seeing since childhood, the look that suggested her daughter was capable of so much more if she'd just apply herself properly. "You know how to make sauce from scratch. Your grandmother's recipe is practically foolproof."

"I don't have time to make sauce from scratch. I have three weddings this weekend and a consultation on Monday."

Elena sighed the way she did whenever Adriana's work schedule came up in conversation. "You work too much, mija. When was the last time you cooked a real meal? When was the last time you had dinner with someone who wasn't paying you?"

The questions hit closer to home than Adriana wanted to admit. She'd been living on takeout and quick meals between client meetings for weeks, eating dinner alone in her apartment while reviewing vendor contracts and updating timelines.

"I had lunch with someone yesterday," she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.

Elena's face immediately lit up with interest, the way it always did whenever Adriana mentioned any kind of social interaction that didn't involve work. "Oh? Tell me about this someone."

Adriana immediately regretted the admission. Her mother had been trying to set her up with various eligible bachelors for years, each introduction accompanied by detailed explanations of the man's career prospects, family background, and potential for providing grandchildren.

"It's not like that, Mami. It was work-related."

"Work-related lunch with someone who makes you blush just thinking about them?" Elena moved closer, abandoning her cart to focus entirely on her daughter. Her voice dropped to the conspiratorial whisper she used when discussing Adriana's nonexistent love life in public places. "What's his name?"

Adriana felt her stomach clench with familiar anxiety. This was the moment she'd been dreading and avoiding for months, maybe years. The moment when her attraction to Jordan would force her to confront truths she'd been carefully not examining.

"Her name is Jordan," she said, the words feeling both significant and terrifying. "And it really was work-related. She's the maid of honor for a wedding I'm planning."

Elena's eyebrows rose in surprise, but her expression remained curious rather than shocked. She studied her daughter's face with the intensity of someone reading a particularly interesting book, taking in details that Adriana didn't realize she was broadcasting.

"Jordan. That's a nice name. Pretty?"

"Mami—"

"Smart?"

"Yes, but—"

"Successful?"

Adriana sighed, recognizing her mother's interrogation pattern from years of experience. Elena approached gathering information the way some people approached military campaigns: systematically, thoroughly, and with clear strategic objectives.

"She's a marketing executive. And before you ask, yes, she's probably successful. But it doesn't matter because it's not like that."

"Not like what?"

"Not like... anything. We work together. Professionally."

Elena's smile was knowing in the way that made Adriana feel like she was fifteen again, trying to convince her mother she didn't have a crush on her lab partner. The same smile that had seen through every teenage deception and young adult rationalization for the past thirty-one years.

"Mija, I've seen you talk about work before. You don't get that look in your eyes when you're discussing vendor contracts."

"What look?"

"The look that says you're thinking about someone when you should be thinking about pasta sauce."

Adriana looked down at the jar in her hands, realizing she'd been holding the same bottle for twenty minutes while her mind wandered through every detail of her lunch with Jordan. The way Jordan had smiled when she'd talked about Priya's happiness, the genuine interest in her eyes when she'd asked about Adriana's process, the moment of connection when they'd both recognized the venue manager's polite fiction about capacity.

"I don't have a look."

"You have a look. The same look you had when you were twelve and decided you wanted to be a wedding planner after watching that movie with the woman who planned weddings."

"The Wedding Planner. And I was fourteen."

"The point is, you get that dreamy expression when something matters to you." Elena reached out and touched Adriana's arm gently, her voice growing softer. "So tell me about Jordan."

Despite herself, Adriana found herself wanting to talk about Jordan. Her mother's interest was genuine, even if it came with an agenda, and Adriana had been carrying her confusion about Jordan around for weeks without anyone to discuss it with. Kai was supportive but biased toward action, and her few close friends were either too busy with their own lives or too removed from her work to understand the professional complications.

"She's... different than I expected," Adriana said carefully, testing the waters of honesty. "When I first met her, I thought she was going to be difficult. Overly involved, questioning everything I did."

"But she's not?"

"She is overly involved. But she's also..." Adriana paused, searching for words that would capture the complexity of her feelings about Jordan. "She cares about people. Really cares. And she sees things—details that matter, connections that make a difference. She makes me better at my job."

It was true, though incomplete. Jordan did make her better at her job, but she also made Adriana more aware of herself, more conscious of the choices she made and the reasons behind them. Working with Jordan felt like being seen clearly for the first time in years.

Elena nodded encouragingly. "And?"

"And what?"

"And what else? You didn't get that look just from good professional collaboration."

Adriana felt her cheeks warm as her mother's perceptive gaze saw through her careful professional explanations. "She's attractive."

"Ah." Elena's smile was satisfied, like she'd just solved a puzzle she'd been working on for months. "There we go."

"But it's complicated, Mami. She's my client's best friend. I can't just... I mean, it would be unprofessional to..."

"To what? To like someone?"

"To act on liking someone."

The admission hung in the air between them, more honest than Adriana had intended to be. She'd been attracted to women before—quiet acknowledgments that she'd never examined too closely, feelings she'd dismissed as admiration or professional appreciation. But with Jordan, the attraction felt impossible to ignore or rationalize away.

Elena was quiet for a moment, studying Adriana's face with the kind of attention she usually reserved for important conversations. The grocery store continued to hum around them—other shoppers comparing prices, children asking for cookies, the distant sound of checkout scanners—but their corner of the pasta aisle felt strangely private.

"Mija, can I ask you something?"

Adriana nodded, though she had a feeling she wasn't going to like the question.

"When you plan these beautiful weddings, when you watch these couples promise to love each other forever, what do you think about?"

It wasn't the question she'd expected, and Adriana found herself considering it seriously. "I think about whether the flowers are positioned correctly and if the musicians are on schedule."

"Adriana."

Her mother's tone was gentle but firm, the one that meant she wanted a real answer, not a deflection. It was the same tone she'd used when Adriana was young and trying to avoid difficult conversations about feelings or fears or dreams.

Adriana looked down at her hands, still holding the jar of sauce. "I think about how brave they are," she said quietly. "To stand up in front of everyone and promise forever. To believe that love is worth the risk."

"And do you want that? That kind of love?"

It was a question Adriana had been avoiding for months, maybe years. She'd been so focused on creating perfect love stories for other people that she'd never seriously considered what her own might look like. She'd dated casually, had relationships that felt pleasant but never essential, and told herself she was too busy for serious commitment.

But watching Jordan's face light up when she talked about Priya's happiness, seeing the way Marcus looked at his fiancée like she was the answer to questions he hadn't known he was asking—it made Adriana realize she did want that kind of connection.

"I want..." Adriana paused, the words feeling fragile and important. "I want someone who sees me. Really sees me, not just what I do or what I can provide. Someone who makes me laugh, who I can talk to about anything. Someone who makes me feel like I'm enough, exactly as I am."

Elena's smile was soft, understanding. "That sounds like love to me, mija."

"But what if it's not that simple? What if there are things about me that make it complicated?"

"Like what?"

Adriana looked at her mother, this woman who had loved her unconditionally her entire life, and felt the weight of all the conversations they'd never had. All the questions about why Adriana never seemed to connect with the men her mother tried to set her up with, why her relationships always seemed to fizzle out after a few months, why she seemed content to focus on work instead of dating seriously.

The truth was that she'd been questioning things about herself for years—small moments of attraction to women that she'd dismissed or rationalized, relationships with men that felt performative rather than passionate, a growing awareness that her idea of romantic love didn't match the heterosexual template everyone seemed to assume.

"I don't know," Adriana said finally, not ready to voice the deeper questions that had been surfacing since she'd met Jordan. "I just... I don't know if I'm built for the kind of love story I plan for other people."

Elena stepped closer and took Adriana's free hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "Mija, listen to me. Love isn't one-size-fits-all. It's not a template you follow or a checklist you complete. It's finding someone who fits with who you are, not who you think you should be."

The words hit Adriana with unexpected force. She'd spent so much of her life trying to be the person she thought she should be—the dutiful daughter, the successful businesswoman, the woman who dated appropriate men and wanted appropriate things. But what if who she really was didn't fit those expectations?

"But what if who I am isn't what they expect?" she asked, the question carrying years of uncertainty and fear.

"Then they're not the right person for you." Elena's voice was firm, unwavering. "The right person will love you for exactly who you are, including the parts that make you different."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by her mother's acceptance of something she hadn't even been able to articulate fully. It was the kind of unconditional support she'd always known was there but had never tested with something this fundamental.

"When did you get so wise?" she asked, her voice slightly shaky.

"I've always been wise. You just never listened before." Elena squeezed her hand gently. "So, this Jordan. Do you think she might be someone who sees you?"

Adriana thought about the way Jordan had looked at her across the lunch table, the genuine appreciation in her voice when she talked about Adriana's work. The way Jordan remembered small details about their conversations, brought coffee at exactly the right moment, made her feel like her thoughts and opinions mattered beyond their professional utility.

"Maybe," Adriana said softly. "I think maybe she does."

"Then maybe you should find out."

They finished their shopping together, Elena adding ingredients to Adriana's cart with the determination of someone who believed proper nutrition could solve most of life's problems. Fresh garlic, good olive oil, San Marzano tomatoes, fresh basil—the components of the sauce recipe Adriana's grandmother had brought from Mexico and adapted to California kitchens.

"You're going to make sauce from scratch," Elena announced, loading pasta into the cart. "Real food for real feelings."

"I don't think cooking is going to solve my romantic confusion."

"No, but it will give you something to do with your hands while you think. And if you decide to invite Jordan over, you'll have something impressive to feed her."

As they walked to their cars, Adriana found herself feeling lighter than she had in weeks. The conversation with her mother had clarified things she hadn't realized were unclear, given her permission to want things she'd been afraid to acknowledge.

"Mami," she said as they reached Elena's car. "Thank you. For listening. For not pushing."

Elena laughed, a sound full of warmth and affection. "Mija, I'm your mother. I'm always going to push. But I'll try to push you toward happiness instead of just toward marriage."

"There's a difference?"

"There's a big difference. Marriage is a piece of paper. Happiness is finding someone who makes you want to be the best version of yourself." Elena paused, studying Adriana's face. "Bring her to dinner sometime. This Jordan."

"It's not like that—"

"Bring her anyway. I'll make my famous enchiladas. If she's going to be important to you, I want to meet her."

The casual assumption that Jordan would be important made Adriana's heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. Her mother was already planning future dinners, already accepting the possibility of Jordan as a significant person in Adriana's life.

As Adriana drove home, she found herself thinking about her mother's words. The right person will love you for exactly who you are. It was a comforting thought, but also a terrifying one. Because being loved for who she was would require her to figure out who she was first.

And lately, when she tried to picture herself clearly, all she could see was the way Jordan smiled at her across planning meetings, the way Jordan's voice softened when she said Adriana's name, the way Jordan made her feel like she was capable of creating something beautiful.

Maybe it was time to stop hiding behind professional boundaries and find out what might be possible.

Her phone buzzed as she pulled into her driveway, and Adriana's heart jumped when she saw Jordan's name on the screen. She sat in her car, groceries getting warm in the backseat, and opened the message.

Priya loved the flower plan. You're officially a miracle worker. Drink sometime to celebrate?

Adriana stared at the message, her mother's words echoing in her head. This was it—the moment to decide whether she was going to stay safely within professional boundaries or take the risk of admitting her feelings were more than professional.

She thought about Elena's encouragement, about the way Jordan had looked disappointed when Adriana had deflected her question about their relationship, about the growing awareness that she wanted something more than friendship with this woman who challenged and inspired her.

Before she could lose her nerve, she typed back: I'd like that. When?

The response came quickly: Tomorrow? I know a place.

Adriana's heart hammered as she typed: It's a date.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then immediately panicked. Had she just asked Jordan Blake on an actual date? Via text message? While sitting in her driveway after a grocery store therapy session with her mother?

Her phone buzzed again: Looking forward to it. :)

Adriana stared at the smiley face emoji, feeling like she'd just jumped off a cliff and wasn't sure if she was flying or falling. The simple response felt like confirmation that Jordan understood exactly what Adriana meant by "date," that she was equally interested in exploring whatever was growing between them.

As she gathered her groceries and headed inside, Adriana realized that for the first time in weeks, she was excited about the uncertainty rather than anxious about it. Her mother was right—the right person would love her for exactly who she was.

Now she just had to be brave enough to show Jordan who that was.

She spent the evening making sauce from scratch, following her grandmother's recipe while thinking about the conversation with her mother and the text exchange with Jordan. The familiar rhythm of cooking—chopping garlic, sautéing onions, simmering tomatoes—gave her hands something to do while her mind processed the day's revelations.

By the time she sat down to eat the pasta she'd made, Adriana had reached a decision. Tomorrow's drink with Jordan wouldn't be a professional meeting disguised as social time. It would be an honest conversation between two people who were attracted to each other and curious about the possibilities.

For the first time in her adult life, Adriana was going to prioritize her personal happiness over professional safety. And surprisingly, that felt like exactly the right choice.

Chapter 7

The place Jordan had chosen was nothing like what Adriana expected.

She'd spent the entire day imagining possibilities—a trendy cocktail bar with craft drinks and exposed brick, an upscale wine bar with carefully curated selections, maybe even one of those rooftop restaurants that made everything feel like a scene from a romantic movie. Instead, Jordan had texted her an address that led to a small bookstore café in the Castro, the kind of place that stayed open late and served wine alongside coffee.

Adriana stood outside for a moment, taking in the warm light spilling from the windows and the hand-painted sign that read "Between the Lines Books & Café." The exterior was unassuming—weathered brick, vintage posters in the windows, a small rainbow flag hanging beside the door. It was the kind of place she would have walked past without noticing, assuming it was just another neighborhood coffee shop.

Inside, the space was a perfect blend of cozy and eclectic. Mismatched vintage furniture filled every corner—velvet armchairs that had seen better decades, wooden tables with interesting histories carved into their surfaces, a collection of floor lamps that cast warm pools of light throughout the room. Fairy lights hung between floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the air smelled like espresso and old paper and something faintly sweet that might have been vanilla candles.

The clientele was a mix of neighborhood regulars and what looked like first dates, people reading alone with coffee and couples deep in conversation over shared bottles of wine. It felt intimate without being exclusive, welcoming without being overwhelming.

Adriana arrived five minutes early—punctuality was a hard habit to break, especially when she was nervous—and found Jordan already there, sitting in a corner armchair with a glass of red wine and a worn paperback. She looked different outside of wedding planning contexts: softer somehow, more relaxed. She wore dark jeans and a cream sweater that made her skin look golden in the warm light, and her hair was down, falling in waves around her shoulders instead of pulled back in the professional style Adriana was used to seeing.

"This is lovely," Adriana said as Jordan stood to greet her, setting her book aside on the small table between chairs. "Very different from what I expected."

"Different how?" Jordan asked, and there was something almost nervous in her expression, like Adriana's opinion of her choice mattered more than it should for a casual evening out.

"More personal. Less... datey."

The word came out before Adriana could stop it, and she immediately felt heat rise in her cheeks. They hadn't explicitly defined what this evening was—date, friendly drink, professional celebration—and she'd just imposed her own interpretation on the situation.

Jordan's smile was relieved, almost grateful. "I thought about taking you somewhere impressive, but then I realized I'd rather take you somewhere I actually like. Is that okay?"

The question was casual, but Adriana caught the hint of vulnerability underneath. Jordan was showing her something real, something that mattered to her, and wanted to know if Adriana would appreciate it. It was the kind of gesture that revealed character—choosing authenticity over impression, substance over flash.

"It's perfect," Adriana said, meaning it. The space felt like Jordan somehow—thoughtful, comfortable, unpretentious but sophisticated. "What are you reading?"

Jordan held up the book—a mystery novel with a dog-eared cover and several bookmarks protruding from different chapters. The title was something about shadows and secrets, and the author's name was embossed in silver letters that had worn thin from handling.

"Guilty pleasure. I have a weakness for detective stories with complicated female protagonists."

"Complicated how?"

"Smart, stubborn, terrible at relationships, good at solving everyone else's problems." Jordan's smile was self-deprecating, and Adriana caught the hint of personal identification in her tone. "I may identify with the type."

Adriana felt something warm unfurl in her chest. There was something endearing about Jordan's admission, the way she could acknowledge her own flaws with humor rather than defensiveness.

"Terrible at relationships?"

"Historically speaking." Jordan gestured toward the small bar area where a bearded man was opening wine bottles behind a counter made from reclaimed wood. "Wine? Or are you more of a coffee person?"

"Wine sounds good."

While Jordan went to get drinks, Adriana looked around the space more carefully. The bookstore was clearly queer-friendly—rainbow flags hung discretely between shelves, LGBTQ+ fiction was prominently displayed near the entrance, and a community bulletin board was covered with flyers for book clubs, support groups, and social events. The café area felt like the kind of place where people could be themselves without explanation or apology.

She wondered if Jordan had chosen this place deliberately, if it was meant to signal something about her own identity or her assumptions about Adriana's. The thought made her nervous and curious in equal measure.

"They have an excellent selection of romance novels," Jordan said, returning with two glasses of red wine that looked generous by any standard. "Including a whole section dedicated to wedding planning romance, which I thought you'd find either hilarious or horrifying."

"Probably both," Adriana admitted, settling into the chair across from Jordan. The wine was better than she'd expected—something complex and earthy that tasted like it had been chosen with care rather than price point. "Let me guess—wedding planner falls for the groom's brother, chaos ensues?"

"Close. Wedding planner falls for the bride's sister, chaos ensues."

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks, suddenly very aware of the parallel Jordan was drawing. The coincidence felt too pointed to be accidental, too specific to be casual conversation.

"Ah."

"Too on the nose?"

"A little." Adriana took a sip of wine, grateful for something to do with her hands while she processed the implications of Jordan's comment. "Though I suppose life imitates art."

"Does it?" Jordan's voice was carefully neutral, but her eyes were watchful, attentive in a way that suggested Adriana's answer mattered.

Adriana realized she'd just walked herself into dangerous territory. They were sitting in a queer bookstore, talking about romance novels where wedding planners fell for their clients' family members, and she'd just implied that life was imitating art. The subtext wasn't exactly subtle.

"I meant... generally speaking," Adriana said weakly.

Jordan's smile was knowing but gentle, like she understood exactly what Adriana had meant and was willing to let her retreat if needed. "Of course. Generally speaking."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them like a question waiting to be answered. Adriana found herself studying Jordan's face in the soft light, noting details she'd been too professionally focused to appreciate before: the way her eyes crinkled slightly when she smiled, the small scar above her left eyebrow that gave her face character, the way she held her wine glass like she was used to savoring things rather than rushing through them.

"Can I ask you something?" Jordan said finally, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Sure."

"What made you want to plan weddings? The real reason, not the professional elevator pitch."

Adriana considered the question, swirling wine in her glass while she searched for an answer that was both honest and complete. She'd given the professional explanation so many times it had become automatic—combining her organizational skills with her love of design, creating meaningful experiences for couples, building a business around celebration and joy.

"I love love," she said finally, the words feeling both simple and profound. "I know that sounds naive, but I believe in it. The way two people can find each other and decide to build something together, to promise to take care of each other's hearts—it's beautiful."

Jordan leaned forward slightly, her expression encouraging. "But you don't want it for yourself?"

The question was gentle, but it hit something tender in Adriana's chest. It was the same question she'd been asking herself for months, the one that had been surfacing every time she watched couples exchange vows or share their first dance.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say you did, either."

Adriana looked down at her wine, feeling exposed under Jordan's perceptive gaze. This was the conversation she'd been avoiding—not just with Jordan, but with herself. The questions about what she wanted, what she was capable of, what kind of love was possible for someone like her.

"I want... something. I'm just not sure what it looks like for me."

"What do you mean?"

Adriana took a breath, feeling like she was standing at the edge of a confession she wasn't ready to make. But Jordan's expression was patient, open, without any trace of judgment or expectation.

"I think I experience things differently than most people. Relationships, attraction... it's complicated."

Jordan leaned forward, her expression growing more serious. "Complicated how?"

"I..." Adriana paused, the words feeling too big and too important for this moment. She thought about her conversation with her mother the night before, about Elena's acceptance and encouragement. But translating that family support into personal vulnerability with Jordan felt like a different kind of courage entirely.

"I'm still figuring it out."

Jordan nodded slowly, seeming to understand that Adriana had reached the edge of what she was ready to share. Her expression remained open, patient, without any trace of frustration or pressure.

"That's okay. Figuring things out is allowed."

"Is it? Because sometimes I feel like everyone else got a manual for how to do relationships and I missed the distribution day."

Jordan's laugh was warm, understanding, tinged with recognition. "Adriana, I've been on more failed first dates than I care to count. I once had a woman tell me I was 'too intense' before we'd even ordered appetizers. Trust me, none of us have the manual."

The casual reference to dating women sent a small jolt through Adriana's chest—confirmation of something she'd suspected but hadn't wanted to assume. It felt significant, like Jordan was offering information about herself that might help Adriana feel less alone in her confusion.

"Too intense?"

"Apparently asking about someone's five-year plan and their relationship with their family before the drinks arrive is considered 'a lot.'" Jordan's smile was rueful, self-aware. "I'm told I come on strong."

"You do have strong opinions."

"Is that a problem?"

Adriana considered this, thinking about all the ways Jordan's intensity had improved the wedding planning process. Her passionate advocacy for Priya had pushed Adriana to be more creative and thoughtful. Her willingness to challenge assumptions had made the final product better. Her attention to detail had caught things Adriana might have missed.

"No," Adriana said, the certainty in her voice surprising them both. "I think your intensity is... attractive."

The word hung in the air between them, more loaded than Adriana had intended. Jordan's eyes widened slightly, and Adriana felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and something that might have been relief at finally saying something honest about her feelings.

"Attractive," Jordan repeated, her voice careful, testing the weight of the word.

"I mean... professionally. Your passion for your work, for your friends—"

"Adriana."

Jordan's voice was gentle but firm, cutting through Adriana's rambling with the kind of directness that had characterized all their interactions. "Are we going to keep pretending this is just professional?"

Adriana met Jordan's eyes, seeing warmth and hope and something that looked like carefully controlled desire. The honest answer was no, they couldn't keep pretending. But the honest answer also required her to figure out what she wanted this to be instead.

"I don't know how to not pretend," Adriana said quietly. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?"

"At... whatever this is. Dating. Relationships that aren't about work or family or obligation."

Jordan reached across the small table and covered Adriana's hand with her own. Her touch was warm, gentle, grounding—the kind of contact that felt both natural and electric.

"What if we start with being honest?" Jordan said, her voice soft but clear. "I like you, Adriana. Not just professionally. I like the way you think, the way you care about details, the way you get this little line between your eyebrows when you're concentrating. I like spending time with you, and I'd like to spend more time with you outside of wedding planning meetings."

Adriana stared down at their joined hands, feeling like Jordan had just offered her something precious and fragile. The honesty was both terrifying and liberating—no pretense, no professional safety net, just genuine feeling expressed without apology.

"I like you too," she said softly. "But I don't know if I can be what you expect."

"What do you think I expect?"

Adriana looked up, meeting Jordan's eyes. "Someone who knows what they want. Someone who's confident about relationships and sex and all the things that are supposed to come naturally."

Jordan was quiet for a long moment, her thumb tracing gentle circles on Adriana's hand. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful, deliberate.

"Adriana, what if I told you that what I want is someone who makes me laugh? Someone who's passionate about their work, who cares about other people's happiness, who notices when I bring them their favorite coffee?"

"That's what you want?"

"That's what I want. Everything else... we can figure out as we go. If you want to figure it out with me."

Adriana felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen. Jordan wasn't asking for a roadmap or a five-year plan. She wasn't expecting Adriana to have all the answers or to fit into some predetermined shape. She was asking for a chance to discover what was possible between them.

"I'd like that," Adriana said, the words feeling like a small act of courage. "To figure it out with you."

Jordan's smile was radiant, transforming her entire face. "Good. Because I was really hoping you'd say that."

They spent the next two hours talking—about books and work and travel dreams and the worst dates they'd ever been on. Jordan told stories about her college years with Priya, about learning to play guitar to impress a girl who turned out to be straight, about the marketing campaign that had launched her career when she'd convinced a major brand to completely change their messaging strategy.

"I spent six months researching their target demographic and realized they were marketing to the wrong generation entirely," Jordan explained, gesturing with her wine glass. "They were trying to appeal to millennials with messaging that felt more like their parents' generation. So I proposed a complete overhaul—new imagery, new language, new platforms."

"And they went for it?"

"After I presented them with data showing they were losing market share to competitors who understood their actual audience, yes. It was terrifying and exhilarating and probably the reason I have a career in marketing today."

Adriana found herself sharing more than she usually did, talking about her family, her fears about never being good enough, the way planning other people's perfect days sometimes made her feel like she was watching life through a window. She told Jordan about her first wedding—a disaster that had involved a runaway groom, a burst pipe, and a bride who had handled the chaos with such grace that Adriana had known she'd found her calling.

"She actually thanked me at the end of the night," Adriana said, still amazed by the memory. "Everything had gone wrong, but she said I'd made her feel like someone was taking care of her when she needed it most. That's when I realized this wasn't just about pretty pictures or perfect events—it was about creating space for people to be vulnerable and joyful and completely themselves."

"I think that's the bravest thing about what you do," Jordan said, her voice warm with admiration. "You create these moments of pure joy for people, even when you're not sure what joy looks like for yourself."

"I'm starting to have some ideas," Adriana said, looking directly at Jordan.

"Yeah? Care to share?"

Adriana felt bold, buoyed by wine and conversation and the way Jordan had been looking at her all evening like she was something wonderful and unexpected. "I think it might look like this. Like sitting in a bookstore with someone who makes me want to be braver."

Jordan's expression went soft, tender. "Adriana..."

They were standing close together outside the bookstore, the night air cool against Adriana's skin. The Castro was busy even on a Thursday night—couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends heading to bars, the comfortable energy of a neighborhood where people felt free to be themselves.

Jordan was looking at her like she was something precious, and Adriana found herself leaning slightly closer, drawn by warmth and possibility and the way Jordan's presence made everything feel more vivid, more real.

"Can I kiss you?" Jordan asked softly.

The question sent panic shooting through Adriana's chest, sudden and sharp. She wanted to say yes—part of her desperately wanted to say yes—but the word stuck in her throat, tangled up with fear and confusion and the weight of things she couldn't explain.

She thought about all the times she'd been in similar situations with men, the way physical intimacy had always felt like performance rather than desire. The way she'd convinced herself that everyone felt awkward and disconnected, that passion was something other people experienced more intensely.

But this felt different. The attraction to Jordan was real, undeniable, but it was also unfamiliar territory that she didn't know how to navigate.

"I..." Adriana started, then stopped, seeing disappointment flicker across Jordan's face.

"It's okay," Jordan said quickly, stepping back to give Adriana space. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's not that." Adriana reached out, catching Jordan's hand before she could retreat completely. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just... complicated."

Jordan studied her face in the streetlight, her expression shifting from disappointment to concern to something that looked like understanding. "The same complicated as before?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know." Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, frustrated with her own inability to explain feelings that didn't fit into neat categories. "I'm sorry, Jordan. I know this doesn't make sense."

"Hey." Jordan's voice was gentle, understanding, free of any trace of frustration or judgment. "It doesn't have to make sense tonight. We have time."

"Do we?"

"As much time as you need." Jordan squeezed her hand, the contact warm and reassuring. "I meant what I said earlier. We can figure this out as we go."

Adriana felt some of the panic recede, replaced by overwhelming gratitude for Jordan's patience. Most people would have been frustrated by her inability to articulate her feelings, by her retreat from physical intimacy, by the complexity of whatever she was working through.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not making me feel broken."

Jordan's expression went fierce, protective, and she stepped closer again. "Adriana, you're not broken. You're just... you. And I happen to think you're pretty amazing."

The words hit Adriana with unexpected force. She'd spent so much time feeling like she was failing at being normal, at wanting the right things in the right ways. But Jordan was seeing her confusion as part of who she was rather than something to be fixed or overcome.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Adriana admitted.

"Neither do I. That's what makes it interesting."

As they walked to their cars, Adriana found herself thinking about her mother's words from the night before. The right person will love you for exactly who you are. Maybe Jordan could be that person. Maybe, with time and patience and enough honest conversations, Adriana could figure out how to let her.

"Same time next week?" Jordan asked as they reached Adriana's car.

"For wedding planning?"

"For whatever you want it to be."

Adriana smiled, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. "I'd like that."

"Good. And Adriana?" Jordan's voice was soft, serious. "Thank you for being honest with me tonight. For trusting me with the complicated parts."

"Thank you for making it feel safe to be honest."

As she drove home, Adriana caught herself humming along to the radio, her chest light with possibility. She didn't have answers yet—about herself, about what she could offer Jordan, about what a relationship between them might look like. But for the first time, she felt like maybe the answers could wait. Maybe the questions were just the beginning of something she'd been afraid to want.

When she got home, she found a text from Jordan waiting: Thank you for tonight. Sleep well.

Adriana typed back: Thank you for being patient with me.

Always, came the immediate response, followed by a heart emoji that made Adriana's chest flutter with warmth.

As she got ready for bed, Adriana realized that for the first time in years, she was excited about the uncertainty in her life rather than anxious about it. Jordan made her want to be braver, to figure out who she was when she wasn't performing or planning or trying to be what other people expected.

Maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like—not knowing all the answers, but wanting to discover them with someone who made the questions feel like adventures rather than problems to solve.

Chapter 8

Adriana should have known her good mood wouldn't last.

She'd arrived at the office that Friday morning still floating from her evening with Jordan, humming under her breath while she sorted through floral invoices and updated vendor contact lists. The bookstore date had left her feeling lighter than she had in months, despite—or perhaps because of—the complicated ending. There was something liberating about finally admitting her attraction to Jordan, even if she couldn't quite figure out what to do about it.

She was reviewing quotes for ceremony lighting when Kai appeared in her office doorway with an expression that immediately put her on alert. It was the same look he wore when vendors called with last-minute emergencies or when brides decided to change their entire color scheme two weeks before the wedding.

"Your mother called," he said without preamble, settling against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

Adriana looked up from her paperwork, immediately alert. Elena Abarca calling the office directly instead of Adriana's cell phone was never a good sign. It usually meant she had plans that she wanted to implement before Adriana could object.

"About what?"

"She wants to know if you're bringing Jordan to Sunday dinner this weekend."

Adriana set down her pen carefully, already feeling the familiar flutter of panic that accompanied her mother's well-intentioned interference. "I never said I was bringing Jordan to Sunday dinner."

"She seems to think you implied it. Something about wanting to meet this mysterious woman who makes you blush?" Kai's smile was carefully neutral, but Adriana could see the amusement he was trying to hide. "She also asked me to tell you that she's making extra enchiladas, just in case."

Adriana dropped her head into her hands, feeling the warm glow of her morning evaporate. "She's impossible."

"She's enthusiastic. There's a difference." Kai moved into the office properly and settled into the client chair, clearly prepared for a longer conversation. "So... are you bringing Jordan to Sunday dinner?"

"We've been on exactly one date. One date that ended with me panicking when she tried to kiss me. I'm not bringing her to meet my mother."

The words came out more forcefully than she'd intended, and Kai's expression shifted from amused to concerned. He'd been working with her long enough to recognize when her professional composure was hiding personal anxiety.

"Why did you panic?"

It was a reasonable question, and one Adriana had been avoiding thinking about too carefully. She'd spent the previous evening replaying the moment outside the bookstore, trying to understand her own reaction. She'd wanted Jordan to kiss her—at least, part of her had wanted it. The attraction was real, undeniable. But when the moment came, she'd felt overwhelmed, like she was standing at the edge of something she wasn't ready for.

"I don't know," Adriana said finally, though she suspected the answer was more complicated than simple uncertainty. "It just felt... fast."

"One kiss felt fast?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know, Kai." Adriana looked up at him, feeling frustrated with her own confusion. "Have you ever wanted something and been terrified of it at the same time?"

Kai's expression softened with understanding. "Constantly. It's called being human."

"This feels different. Like there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Kai said firmly, leaning forward in his chair. "Maybe you just need to take things at your own pace."

"What if my pace is too slow? What if Jordan gets tired of waiting for me to figure out what I want?"

"Then she's not the right person for you. But from what I've seen, she doesn't seem like someone who gives up easily."

Before Adriana could respond, the front door chimed, announcing their first appointment of the day. The sound cut through their conversation with the efficiency of a well-timed interruption, and Adriana felt both relieved and frustrated to have their discussion cut short.

"Priya and Marcus," Kai said, checking his tablet. "Cake tasting consultation."

"Is Jordan coming to this one?" Adriana asked, checking her own calendar while trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the possibility.

"She said she'd try to make it, but she had a client emergency this morning." Kai paused, studying her face. "Why? Disappointed?"

Adriana ignored the question and went to greet her clients, who arrived looking stressed and slightly frazzled. Priya was checking her phone obsessively, and Marcus looked like he hadn't slept well.

"I'm so sorry we're running behind," Priya said, setting down her enormous designer handbag with more force than necessary. "Jordan's having a crisis at work—some campaign launched wrong and now she's putting out fires with three different clients. She said to start without her and she'll catch up if she can."

"No problem," Adriana said, leading them to the conference room where she'd arranged cake samples from three different bakeries. The display looked professional and appetizing—small squares of cake arranged on white porcelain plates, each option labeled with elegant calligraphy cards. "We can catch her up on whatever we decide."

The cake tasting went smoothly at first, with Priya and Marcus working their way through the options with the systematic approach of people who took their dessert seriously. They discussed flavor profiles and texture preferences while Adriana took notes and Kai photographed their reactions for future reference.

"The vanilla bean is classic," Priya said, taking another bite of the first option. "Very traditional, very safe."

"Safe doesn't have to be boring," Marcus pointed out, though he looked uncertain. "This has good flavor."

"But do we want good or do we want amazing?" Priya asked, moving on to the chocolate option. "This is our wedding cake. Shouldn't it be memorable?"

They were debating the merits of raspberry versus lemon filling when Jordan burst through the front door, looking harried and apologetic. Her usually perfect hair was slightly mussed, she was carrying her blazer instead of wearing it, and there was a coffee stain on her white blouse that suggested her morning had been as chaotic as advertised.

"I'm so sorry," she said, slightly out of breath. "Conference call from hell, followed by three separate client meltdowns. One campaign had the wrong launch date, another had a typo in the headline that made it through three rounds of approval, and don't even get me started on the social media disaster I just spent two hours cleaning up. Did I miss everything?"

"Just the initial tasting," Priya said, gesturing to the samples still arranged on the table. "But we saved you everything. We're stuck between vanilla bean and chocolate."

Jordan slid into the empty chair next to Adriana, close enough that Adriana caught her familiar perfume mixed with the faint scent of stress and coffee. The proximity sent a small jolt through Adriana's system, a reminder of the evening before and the complicated feelings she was still trying to navigate.

"You're a lifesaver. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and that was just a protein bar grabbed from the vending machine." Jordan immediately reached for a fork and began sampling the options with the focus of someone who genuinely appreciated good food.

As Jordan tried the cake samples, Adriana found herself hyperaware of every small interaction—the way Jordan's shoulder brushed hers when she reached for a different plate, the little sound of appreciation she made when tasting the raspberry filling, the way she automatically offered Adriana a bite of the chocolate option without thinking about it.

"This is incredible," Jordan said, holding out the fork with a piece of the chocolate cake. "You have to try this."

Adriana hesitated for just a moment—sharing food felt oddly intimate after the previous night's almost-kiss—but took the bite anyway. Jordan was right; the chocolate was rich and perfectly balanced, with layers of flavor that developed as she chewed.

"Good choice," Adriana agreed, very aware that Jordan was watching her mouth as she spoke, her attention focused and intent.

"I vote for chocolate," Jordan announced to the group with the confidence of someone who had made an executive decision. "This is definitely the winner."

"But we already decided on vanilla bean," Marcus pointed out, looking confused by the sudden change in direction.

"You can change your mind," Jordan said, turning to face Priya directly. "It's your wedding. You should have the cake you actually want, not the cake you think you should want."

Priya looked between the samples, clearly torn between her original practical choice and the new option that had obviously impressed Jordan. "I do love the chocolate..."

Adriana jumped in before Jordan could completely derail their carefully considered decision. She'd seen this happen before—well-meaning family members who arrived late to tastings and threw doubt on choices that had taken hours to make.

"What if we compromise? Vanilla bean for the main cake, but chocolate for the groom's cake? Best of both worlds."

"Perfect," Priya said, relief evident in her voice. "See? This is why we hired a professional."

Jordan shot Adriana a grateful look that suggested she understood she'd been about to cause problems. "Smart solution. Sorry for complicating things."

"You didn't complicate anything," Adriana said, meaning it. "You just want them to be happy."

After Priya and Marcus left—with detailed notes about cake flavors and a timeline for final confirmations—Jordan lingered while Adriana cleaned up the tasting materials. They worked in comfortable silence, Jordan stacking plates while Adriana made notes about the final cake order and updated her vendor communications.

"Thank you," Jordan said finally, her voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude.

"For what?"

"For not making me feel like an idiot for questioning the vanilla bean decision. I know I have a tendency to overthink things, especially when I'm stressed about work."

Adriana looked up from her notes, studying Jordan's face. "You don't overthink. You care. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because sometimes it feels like the same thing."

"Caring means you want the best outcome for people you love. Overthinking means you create problems that don't exist." Adriana set down her pen and gave Jordan her full attention. "You were protecting Priya's right to choose what she actually wanted. That's not overthinking."

Jordan's smile was warm, grateful, and tinged with something that looked like relief. "How was your morning? Before the cake crisis?"

"Good. Quiet." Adriana hesitated, then decided to be honest. The conversation with Kai had reminded her that avoiding difficult topics didn't make them disappear. "My mother wants to meet you."

Jordan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh."

"I may have mentioned you to her yesterday. She's... persistent about my personal life."

"What did you tell her?"

"That you're important to me." The words came out before Adriana could edit them, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks at the admission. "I mean, to the wedding. To the planning process."

Jordan's smile was knowing but gentle, the expression of someone who understood exactly what Adriana had meant and was willing to let her retreat if needed. "Of course. The planning process."

"She invited you to Sunday dinner. Which is completely presumptuous and I told her it was too soon and you're probably busy anyway—"

"Adriana."

Jordan's voice cut through her rambling, calm and amused. "I'd love to have dinner with your family."

Adriana stared at her, genuinely surprised by the quick acceptance. "You would?"

"If you want me to. I mean, if you think it's too soon, I understand. But I'd like to meet the people who are important to you."

The simple statement made something flutter in Adriana's chest. Jordan wasn't just accepting an invitation—she was expressing genuine interest in becoming part of Adriana's life beyond their professional collaboration.

"It might be overwhelming. My mother has... opinions. And questions. Lots of questions about everything from your career to your family to your intentions regarding me."

"I can handle questions." Jordan's expression grew more serious, thoughtful. "But only if you want me there. I don't want to pressure you into anything you're not ready for."

Adriana thought about the conversation with her mother in the grocery store, about Elena's gentle pushing toward happiness and her acceptance of things Adriana had been afraid to voice. Her mother would love Jordan—her intensity, her loyalty to Priya, the way she cared about details and asked thoughtful questions. And maybe having Jordan there would take some of the pressure off Adriana to explain feelings she didn't fully understand yet.

"I want you there," Adriana said quietly, surprised by her own certainty. "If you're sure you can handle my mother's interrogation techniques."

"I survived four years of client presentations and a master's program in marketing. I think I can handle one mother." Jordan's smile was confident, but Adriana caught the hint of nervousness underneath. "What should I know? Dietary restrictions, topics to avoid, flowers to bring?"

"She loves white roses. She'll ask about your job, your family, your five-year plan, and probably your credit score if you give her the opportunity. She'll try to feed you too much and send you home with enough leftovers to last a week."

"Intentions regarding you?"

Adriana felt her cheeks burn at the directness of the question. "She's... traditional. In some ways. She believes in knowing where relationships are heading."

Jordan nodded slowly, processing this information. "And how do you want me to answer questions about my intentions?"

It was a fair question, and one Adriana wasn't sure how to answer. What were Jordan's intentions? What were her own? They'd been on one date that ended awkwardly, but they were planning to keep seeing each other. They worked well together professionally, but there was clearly something personal developing. Where was the line between friendship and romance, and what did Adriana want that line to look like?

"Honestly," Adriana said finally. "Whatever the truth is."

"The truth is that I like you," Jordan said simply, her voice steady and clear. "I like spending time with you, I think you're brilliant at what you do, and I'd like to keep getting to know you. I think you're funny and thoughtful and more interesting than you give yourself credit for. Is that the kind of truth your mother wants to hear?"

Adriana felt something warm and hopeful unfurl in her chest. Jordan's honesty was both reassuring and terrifying—direct enough to be meaningful, but open enough to allow for uncertainty and growth.

"It's exactly the kind of truth she wants to hear."

"Good. Then Sunday dinner it is." Jordan paused, her expression growing slightly more serious. "Should I prepare for any particular topics? Family traditions, cultural expectations, religious considerations?"

"She'll probably ask if you speak Spanish—you don't have to, but she'll be impressed if you try. She'll want to know about your family, your education, your career trajectory. She might ask about your dating history, but you can deflect that if you want."

"What about... us? How do you want me to describe what's happening between us?"

Adriana considered this carefully. "Honestly. We're getting to know each other. We enjoy working together. We're seeing where things go."

"And if she asks more specific questions about my intentions or our future?"

"Tell her we're taking things slowly and seeing how we feel." Adriana met Jordan's eyes directly. "Because that's the truth, isn't it?"

"It is." Jordan's smile was warm, understanding. "Slow is good. Slow means we can figure things out without pressure."

After Jordan left, Adriana called her mother to confirm the dinner plans, enduring Elena's excited questions about what to cook and whether Jordan had any allergies or dietary restrictions.

"White roses, you said? I'll pick some up from the garden. And I'll make the enchiladas with the green sauce—it's more impressive than the red, and I want to make a good impression." Elena's voice carried the excitement of someone planning a significant event. "What should I wear? Something nice but not too formal? I don't want to intimidate her."

"Mami, you're going to love her. Just be yourself."

"What does she do again? Marketing?"

"She's a senior marketing executive. She works with major brands, develops campaign strategies, that sort of thing."

"Smart. I like smart women. And she cares about Priya's wedding?"

"She cares about Priya, period. She's very protective of her friends."

"Good. That tells me about her character." Elena paused, and Adriana could practically hear her planning the evening's conversation topics. "Mija, I'm so proud of you."

"For what?"

"For taking a chance on something that makes you happy."

"We're just having dinner, Mami. Don't make it into more than it is."

"Sometimes dinner is just dinner. And sometimes dinner is the beginning of everything." Elena's voice was warm, knowing, filled with the confidence of someone who had seen enough of life to recognize significant moments. "I have a good feeling about this Jordan."

As Adriana hung up, she found herself hoping her mother was right. Because despite her fears and confusion and the lingering questions about what she could offer someone like Jordan, she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something wonderful.

The trick would be figuring out how to let it happen without letting her fears get in the way.

She spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about Sunday dinner, imagining Jordan at her mother's dining room table, trying to anticipate what questions Elena would ask and how Jordan would respond. The thought made her nervous and excited in equal measure—nervous because family dinners were always loaded with expectations and potential for awkwardness, excited because Jordan would get to see another part of her life, another piece of who she was beyond work.

By the time she locked up the office and headed home, Adriana had made a decision. She would approach Sunday dinner the way she approached wedding planning—with careful preparation, realistic expectations, and the hope that bringing together people she cared about would create something beautiful.

After all, if she could orchestrate perfect days for other people's families, surely she could manage one dinner with her own.

Chapter 9

Adriana changed her outfit four times before Jordan arrived for Sunday dinner, which was three times more than usual but two times fewer than she'd changed for their first date. Progress, she told herself as she settled on dark jeans and a burgundy sweater that Kai had once said brought out her eyes.

The first outfit—a dress that felt too formal for Sunday dinner but might have impressed her mother—had been discarded when she realized she was dressing for Elena's approval rather than her own comfort. The second, a casual blouse and slacks, had felt too impersonal, like she was trying to downplay the significance of the evening. The third, a different sweater that she'd worn to their bookstore date, had felt too loaded with meaning.

The burgundy sweater was perfect—comfortable enough for family dinner, nice enough to show she cared about making a good impression, and familiar enough that she felt like herself wearing it.

Her mother had been cooking since dawn, filling the house with the scents of cumin and cilantro and the particular kind of love that Elena Abarca expressed through food. The kitchen had been a symphony of sizzling pans and chopping knives for hours, punctuated by Elena's occasional calls for Adriana to taste something and provide feedback.

Adriana had tried to help and been banished from the kitchen after nearly burning the rice—her nerves had made her distracted, and she'd forgotten to lower the heat after the water had come to a boil. Elena had rescued the rice with the efficiency of someone who had been managing kitchen disasters for decades, then gently but firmly assigned Adriana to setting the table instead.

"You're too nervous to cook," Elena had observed, not unkindly. "Go make sure the dining room looks nice. Use the good china—the set with the roses."

"The good china? Mami, it's just dinner."

"It's not just dinner. It's the first time I'm meeting someone who makes my daughter smile like that." Elena had paused in her stirring to look at Adriana directly. "When you talk about Jordan, your whole face changes. That's worth the good china."

Now the dining room was set with Elena's wedding china—delicate porcelain with hand-painted roses that had been a gift from Adriana's grandmother. The table looked beautiful, elegant but welcoming, with white roses from the garden arranged in Elena's crystal vase and cloth napkins that had been ironed to crisp perfection.

"She's going to love you," Adriana had told Jordan when they'd talked the night before, though she'd been trying to convince herself as much as reassure Jordan. "But she's also going to ask approximately forty-seven personal questions and try to send you home with enough leftovers to feed you for a week."

"Sounds perfect," Jordan had replied, her voice warm with genuine enthusiasm. "I love personal questions and free food. Besides, if she raised you, she must be pretty wonderful."

The compliment had made Adriana's chest feel warm and tight, the way it did whenever Jordan said something that revealed how she really felt about her.

Now, waiting for Jordan to arrive, Adriana wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. What if her mother was too much? Elena had strong opinions and wasn't shy about expressing them. What if Jordan realized that dating Adriana meant dealing with Elena's enthusiastic involvement in every aspect of her personal life? What if the family dynamic—the questions, the assumptions, the immediate adoption of anyone Adriana brought home—scared her off before they'd figured out what they were doing?

The doorbell rang at exactly six o'clock, because Jordan was the kind of person who arrived precisely on time with flowers and a bottle of wine, looking effortlessly put-together in dark slacks and a green button-down that made her eyes look golden in the late afternoon light.

"White roses," Jordan said, holding out a beautiful bouquet that looked like it had been professionally arranged. "And a Pinot Grigio that the wine shop owner promised would pair well with Mexican food. I may have mentioned I was meeting my... friend's family for the first time."

The slight pause before "friend" sent a flutter through Adriana's chest, a reminder that they still hadn't quite defined what they were to each other.

"You didn't have to bring anything," Adriana said, accepting the flowers and trying not to notice how Jordan's fingers brushed hers during the exchange, how the simple contact sent warmth up her arm.

"I wanted to make a good impression."

"You will." Adriana found herself studying Jordan's face, noting the slight tension around her eyes that suggested she was more nervous than she was letting on. "You look beautiful, by the way."

Jordan's smile grew warmer, more genuine. "So do you. I love that color on you."

Before Adriana could respond, Elena appeared in the hallway, having apparently been watching from the kitchen window. She was wearing her best apron—the one with minimal food stains and delicate embroidery around the edges—and the bright smile she reserved for special occasions and particularly beloved guests.

"You must be Jordan," Elena said, opening her arms for an immediate hug that caught Jordan slightly off-guard but which she accepted gracefully. Elena was not a tentative hugger—she believed in full contact, the kind of embrace that conveyed instant acceptance and affection.

"I'm Elena. Adriana has told me so much about you."

"She has?" Jordan shot Adriana a meaningful look over Elena's shoulder, her eyebrows raised in amused curiosity.

"Only good things," Adriana said quickly, feeling heat flood her cheeks. "Mostly good things. Professional things."

Elena stepped back, studying Jordan with the intensity of someone conducting a job interview. Her gaze took in everything—Jordan's posture, her genuine smile, the way she held the wine bottle like she understood it was a gesture of respect rather than obligation.

"You're prettier than I expected."

"Mami," Adriana protested, mortification making her voice higher than usual.

"What? She is. And she has kind eyes. I like kind eyes." Elena's assessment was matter-of-fact, delivered with the confidence of someone who trusted her first impressions. "Come in, come in. Dinner is almost ready, and I want to hear everything about you."

Elena ushered them into the living room, where she'd set out appetizers and apparently prepared for a full interrogation. The coffee table was arranged with small plates of Elena's famous salsa verde, fresh guacamole, and homemade tortilla chips that were still warm from the oil. Everything looked perfect, welcoming, designed to put guests at ease while Elena gathered intelligence.

Adriana's father appeared from his study right on cue, greeting Jordan with the kind of warm handshake that suggested Elena had already briefed him thoroughly on the evening's importance.

"Carlos Abarca," he said, his English still touched with the accent he'd never quite lost despite forty years in California. "Welcome to our home."

"Thank you for having me. Your home is beautiful."

"Elena's work," Carlos said with obvious pride. "She has the eye for making everything look perfect."

"Like mother, like daughter," Jordan said, glancing at Adriana with a smile that made her father beam with approval.

"So, Jordan," Elena said once they were all settled with drinks—Jordan had accepted a glass of the wine she'd brought, which Elena pronounced "excellent" after a careful tasting—"Adriana tells me you work in marketing. What kind of marketing?"

"Digital campaigns, mostly for tech companies. Brand positioning, customer acquisition, strategic messaging." Jordan seemed relaxed despite the obvious examination, settling back in her chair with the confidence of someone comfortable being the center of attention. "It's a lot of problem-solving, which I enjoy. Figuring out how to tell stories that connect with people."

"And you're from San Francisco?"

"Originally from Portland, but I've been here about five years now. I moved for work and stayed for the weather and the food." Jordan's smile was self-deprecating. "Portland's great, but it rains approximately eleven months out of the year."

Elena nodded approvingly, as if Jordan's weather preferences indicated good judgment. "Family?"

"Two sisters, both younger. Sarah's a nurse in Seattle, and Emma just finished her master's in environmental science. She's saving the world one sustainable energy project at a time." Jordan's voice carried obvious affection for her sisters. "My parents are still in Portland—they're both teachers. My dad does high school English, my mom does elementary art."

"Teachers," Elena repeated with satisfaction, the way she might say "doctors" or "saints." "Important work. Noble work. And are you close with your family?"

"Very close. We try to get together for holidays, and I visit Portland every few months. My parents drive down here sometimes too—they love the wine country."

Adriana watched Jordan field her mother's questions with patience and humor, providing just enough detail to satisfy Elena's curiosity without seeming rehearsed or defensive. It was impressive, actually—Jordan managed to be charming without being fake, answering personal questions while somehow making the conversation feel natural rather than like an inquisition.

"Adriana tells me you're very involved in planning Priya's wedding," Elena continued, settling deeper into her favorite chair like she was preparing for the main event. "That's nice. Not everyone takes the maid of honor responsibilities so seriously."

"Priya's been my best friend since college," Jordan explained, her voice growing warmer when she talked about her friend. "She was there for me through some difficult times—breakups, job stress, family drama. She's the kind of person who shows up with ice cream and tissues when your life falls apart, you know? So I want her wedding to be perfect. Adriana's making that possible."

Elena's smile grew warmer, more genuine. "Adriana is very good at what she does. But she works too much, doesn't make time for her personal life."

"Mami," Adriana warned, recognizing the beginning of one of her mother's favorite lectures.

"What? It's true. You spend all your time creating perfect romantic moments for other people. When do you create them for yourself?"

Jordan glanced at Adriana, something soft and thoughtful in her expression. "I think Adriana creates beautiful moments all the time. She just doesn't always recognize them."

It was a diplomatic answer, but there was something more in Jordan's tone, something that made Adriana's chest feel warm and tight. Elena caught it too, her expression growing knowing and pleased.

"Dinner's ready," Elena announced, leading them to the dining room where she'd set the table with her good china and enough food to feed twice their number.

The dining room looked like something from a magazine—candles flickering in crystal holders, the roses from Jordan's bouquet arranged as a centerpiece, place settings that showed Elena had pulled out all the stops. The meal itself was a testament to Elena's culinary skills: enchiladas with green sauce that had been simmering all afternoon, Spanish rice with saffron that made it golden and fragrant, refried beans that were creamy and perfect, and fresh tortillas that Elena had made by hand.

"This is incredible," Jordan said after her first bite, and Adriana could tell her appreciation was genuine rather than polite. "The sauce—is that tomatillos?"

"Tomatillos, jalapeños, cilantro, and a few secret ingredients," Elena said, clearly pleased by Jordan's interest. "My mother's recipe, passed down from her mother."

"Would you be willing to share it? I love to cook, but I've never mastered Mexican cuisine."

Elena's face lit up with the expression she wore when someone showed proper respect for family traditions. "Of course! Adriana, you should bring Jordan over for a cooking lesson. I could teach you both."

The casual assumption that Jordan would be around for future cooking lessons sent a flutter through Adriana's chest. Her mother was already planning ahead, already incorporating Jordan into family traditions and future gatherings.

The meal continued with Elena asking about Jordan's cooking skills, her travel experiences, her opinions on everything from local politics to the best farmers markets in the city. Jordan answered each question thoughtfully, showing genuine interest in Elena's stories about immigrating from Mexico, about building a life in California, about raising a daughter who turned out to be so different from what she'd expected.

"When Adriana was little," Elena said as they were finishing the main course, "she used to line up her dolls and plan elaborate weddings for them. Hours and hours of arranging tiny flowers and making little dresses. I thought it was just playing, but even then she had an eye for making things beautiful."

"I can picture that," Jordan said, smiling at Adriana. "The attention to detail, the perfectionist streak."

"She gets that from me," Elena said proudly. "But the creativity, the ability to see what other people need—that's all her own."

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks at the praise, at the way Jordan was listening like these stories about her childhood were fascinating rather than embarrassing.

"So," Elena said as they were finishing dessert—flan that was silky and perfect, accompanied by coffee that was strong enough to keep them awake until midnight—"how long have you two been dating?"

Adriana nearly choked on her flan, coughing while her mother's directness sent panic shooting through her chest. They still hadn't defined what they were doing, hadn't labeled their evening at the bookstore or their plans to keep seeing each other.

"Mami, we're not—I mean, we haven't—"

"We're taking things slowly," Jordan said smoothly, reaching over to pat Adriana's back as she coughed, her touch warm and reassuring. "Getting to know each other."

"Smart," Elena nodded with approval. "Relationships should have good foundations. But not too slowly—you're both young and beautiful, life is short."

"Elena," Adriana's father said mildly, speaking up for the first time in an hour, "let them eat their dessert in peace."

"I'm just saying, when you find someone special, you shouldn't wait too long to appreciate what you have." Elena's gaze moved between Adriana and Jordan with the knowing expression of someone who had been married for thirty-five years and could recognize the signs of developing romance.

After dinner, Jordan insisted on helping with the dishes despite Elena's protests that guests shouldn't work. But Jordan was persistent, and soon she and Adriana were standing side by side at the kitchen sink, falling into an easy rhythm that felt both natural and significant.

"Your family is wonderful," Jordan said quietly, handing Adriana a clean plate to dry. "Your mother reminds me of my own—loving but not subtle about her opinions."

"She likes you," Adriana said, accepting the plate and trying to ignore how domestic this felt, how right it seemed to be doing simple tasks together in her family's kitchen. "I can tell."

"Good. I like her too." Jordan paused in her washing, looking at Adriana with an expression that was soft and considering. "And I like seeing you with them. You're more relaxed here."

"More myself, you mean?"

"More open. Less worried about being perfect." Jordan's smile was gentle, understanding. "You laugh more easily, you let yourself be teased, you don't monitor every word before you say it."

Adriana felt something vulnerable flutter in her chest. "I worry about being perfect a lot."

"I noticed." Jordan's voice was warm, affectionate rather than critical. "You don't have to be perfect with me, you know. I like you exactly as you are—including the parts you think need improvement."

Before Adriana could respond to that surprising statement, Elena appeared in the kitchen doorway with a concerned expression and several containers in her hands.

"Jordan, mija, I packed you some leftovers, but I forgot to ask—do you have any food allergies? Dietary restrictions? I don't want to send you home with something that will make you sick."

"No allergies," Jordan said, smiling at Elena's thoroughness. "And thank you for the leftovers. That's very kind."

"It's nothing. Food is meant to be shared." Elena paused, studying Jordan's face. "Adriana, show Jordan the garden while I finish packing the food. The roses are beautiful right now, and the jasmine is just starting to bloom."

Adriana led Jordan outside to the small backyard where Elena had spent decades cultivating a space that looked like something from Better Homes and Gardens. Every corner had been planned and tended with the same attention to detail that Adriana brought to wedding planning. Stone paths wound between carefully arranged flower beds, a small fountain provided gentle background sound, and the evening air was fragrant with jasmine and late-blooming roses.

"This is lovely," Jordan said, admiring Elena's careful landscaping. "I can see where you get your eye for beauty."

They walked slowly along the stone path, the comfortable silence of the evening settling around them like a soft blanket. The sun was setting, casting everything in golden light that made the garden look magical, otherworldly.

Adriana found herself thinking about Jordan's comment in the kitchen—about not having to be perfect. It was a foreign concept, the idea that someone might like her flaws as much as her strengths, that her nervous habits and perfectionist tendencies might be endearing rather than annoying.

"Jordan," Adriana said as they paused near the rose bushes, surrounded by the sweet scent of flowers and the gentle sound of the fountain, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When you said we're taking things slowly... what does that mean to you? Like, specifically?"

Jordan turned to face her fully, expression serious and thoughtful. "It means we go at whatever pace feels right for you. It means I don't make assumptions about what you want or what you're ready for. It means I follow your lead instead of pushing for things you might not be comfortable with."

"And if I don't know what I want?"

"Then we figure it out together." Jordan's voice was warm, patient, completely free of frustration or impatience. "Adriana, there's no timeline here. No expectations beyond what makes you comfortable."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by Jordan's patience and understanding. Most people would be frustrated by her uncertainty, by her inability to define what she wanted or move forward with confidence.

"I don't know why I'm so scared."

"Hey." Jordan stepped closer, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Being scared is okay. Starting something new with someone is always scary, especially when it matters."

"Is it? Or is it just scary for me because I'm..."

She trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Because she was what? Broken? Different? Unable to give Jordan what she probably wanted and deserved?

"Because you're careful," Jordan finished, her voice soft and certain. "Because you think things through before you act. Because you don't want to hurt anyone, including yourself."

Adriana looked up at Jordan, seeing nothing but warmth and acceptance in her expression. No judgment, no impatience, no expectation that she should be further along in figuring herself out.

"Is that what you think?"

"I think you're brave for trying, despite being scared. I think you're worth whatever time it takes to figure this out." Jordan paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "And I think maybe you're overthinking this."

"Probably."

"Definitely." Jordan's smile was soft, affectionate, the expression of someone who found Adriana's overthinking endearing rather than exasperating. "Adriana, what if we just... see what happens? No pressure, no expectations, no timeline. Just two people who enjoy each other's company, spending time together and seeing where it leads."

It sounded so simple when Jordan said it like that. So manageable and uncomplicated. Adriana found herself nodding before she'd fully processed the decision.

"I'd like that," she said, the words feeling like a small act of courage. "To see what happens."

"Good." Jordan's smile was radiant, transforming her entire face. "Because I have some ideas about what might happen, and they all involve you being exactly as wonderful as you are right now."

As they walked back toward the house, Adriana caught herself thinking that maybe her mother had been right after all. Maybe sometimes dinner really was the beginning of everything.

Elena sent Jordan home with enough leftovers for a week—containers of enchiladas, rice, beans, and extra sauce, plus a loaf of homemade bread and half a flan. She also extended a standing invitation to Sunday dinner anytime Jordan wanted to come, which made Adriana's heart flutter with something that might have been hope.

After Jordan left, Adriana helped her mother clean up while trying to avoid the inevitable post-dinner analysis.

"I like her," Elena announced as they wiped down the kitchen counters, her tone carrying the finality of a judicial decision. "She's good for you."

"We're taking things slowly, Mami."

"Slowly is fine. But not too slowly." Elena paused in her cleaning, studying Adriana's face with the intensity of someone who had been reading her daughter's expressions for thirty-one years. "She makes you happy. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you stand when she's near you."

Adriana couldn't deny that. Despite her fears and confusion, Jordan did make her happy. Made her feel seen and appreciated and like maybe, just maybe, she could have the kind of love story she spent her days creating for other people.

"Yeah," Adriana said softly, the admission feeling both vulnerable and liberating. "She does."

"Then that's all that matters," Elena said firmly, her voice carrying the conviction of someone who had learned to trust happiness when it appeared. "Everything else—the details, the definitions, the future plans—you figure out as you go."

As Adriana drove home that night, she found herself thinking about Jordan's words in the garden. See what happens. No pressure, no expectations. For someone who made her living planning every detail of the most important day in people's lives, the idea of letting things unfold naturally was both terrifying and liberating.

But maybe, for once, she could try trusting the process instead of trying to control it.

Maybe that was what love looked like for her—not a perfectly executed plan, but a willingness to step into the unknown with someone who made her feel brave enough to try.

As she pulled into her driveway, her phone buzzed with a text from Jordan: Thank you for tonight. Your family is wonderful, and dinner was incredible. Your mom packed enough food for a small army.

Adriana typed back: Thank you for being so patient with her questions. And for helping with dishes.

Thank you for trusting me with something important to you. Sleep well.

The message made Adriana's chest feel warm and full. Jordan understood that bringing her to family dinner had been significant, an act of trust and vulnerability that went beyond simple social courtesy.

As she got ready for bed, Adriana realized that for the first time in weeks, she wasn't anxious about what would happen next. Jordan's presence in her family's home had felt natural, right, like a piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

Maybe that was what she'd been looking for all along—not someone who fit her predetermined idea of what love should look like, but someone who fit naturally into her actual life, someone who made the complicated simple and the scary manageable.

Someone who made her want to see what happened next.

Chapter 10

Three weeks after the family dinner, Adriana found herself in Jordan's apartment for the first time, surrounded by takeout containers and wedding invitation samples, trying to convince herself this was still just professional collaboration.

The invitation had come naturally enough—they'd been debating invitation designs over text for days, going back and forth between three options that Priya couldn't decide between. Jordan had finally suggested they spread everything out somewhere with better lighting and more space than Adriana's office conference room, and somehow "somewhere" had turned into Jordan's living room on a Thursday evening with Thai food and a bottle of wine.

"I think the gold foil is too much," Jordan said, holding up one of the invitation options to catch the warm light from her table lamp. "It's beautiful, but it doesn't feel like them."

Adriana looked up from her laptop where she'd been tracking RSVPs from other events, cross-referencing guest lists and updating her master timeline. Jordan was sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, hair pulled back in a messy bun that should have looked careless but somehow managed to look effortlessly elegant. She wore yoga pants and an oversized sweater in a soft gray that made her eyes look more green than brown, and she had reading glasses perched on her nose that Adriana had never seen before.

The apartment was exactly what Adriana had expected and yet still managed to surprise her. It was warm and lived-in, filled with books and plants and the kind of comfortable furniture that invited you to stay for hours. The walls were painted in soft, complex colors—not the stark white of most rental apartments, but warm grays and muted blues that suggested Jordan had put thought into making the space feel like home.

Bookshelves lined one entire wall, packed with an eclectic mix that revealed Jordan's interests: marketing and business books mixed with literary fiction, mystery novels, biographies, and an entire shelf dedicated to cookbooks that looked well-used. Plants occupied every available surface—succulents on the windowsill, a fiddle leaf fig in the corner, trailing pothos hanging from the ceiling. The furniture was a mix of mid-century modern pieces and comfortable, overstuffed chairs that looked like they'd been chosen for reading rather than appearance.

"You're right," Adriana agreed, making a note on her planning spreadsheet. "The simple letterpress is more their style. Classic but not fussy."

"See? I'm learning your language." Jordan grinned and reached for another sample, adjusting her glasses as she studied the details. "Though I still think you're a miracle worker for getting all of this organized in six months."

"Seven months," Adriana corrected automatically. "And it helps when the maid of honor actually shows up to meetings and has opinions about everything."

"I always show up to meetings."

"You show up to meetings when you don't have work crises that require you to put out fires via conference call. There's a difference."

Jordan laughed, and the sound made something warm unfurl in Adriana's chest. It was a sound she'd become addicted to over the past few weeks—genuine, unguarded, the kind of laughter that made her want to say funnier things just to hear it again.

Over the past few weeks, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm of collaboration that felt both professional and personal in ways that Adriana had stopped trying to analyze too carefully. Jordan would stop by Adriana's office with coffee and questions about centerpieces, staying longer than necessary to chat about everything from vendor politics to their weekend plans. Adriana would text Jordan photos of flower options during vendor visits, sometimes calling for immediate consultations when decisions needed to be made quickly.

They'd started having working dinners—first at restaurants where they could spread out planning materials, then at Adriana's place when restaurant tables proved too small for all their samples and documents, and now here, in Jordan's space that smelled like coffee and books and that woodsy perfume Adriana was becoming addicted to.

"I brought dessert," Jordan announced, setting aside the invitations and disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with a white bakery box tied with string, the kind that came from expensive pastry shops rather than grocery store bakeries.

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks as she recognized the logo. "You went to Tartine?"

"You mentioned loving their chocolate tart when we were talking about dessert options for the wedding. I thought you might want to try it again." Jordan's voice was casual, but there was something more serious in her expression as she opened the box to reveal two perfect individual tarts. "Plus, I figured if we're going to spend the evening debating invitation fonts, we should have good dessert."

"You remembered that?" Adriana asked, though she was learning that Jordan remembered everything—not just the important details about Priya's wedding, but the small things Adriana mentioned in passing. Her favorite coffee order, the vendor who always made her laugh, the way she preferred to receive feedback on her work.

"I remember everything you tell me." Jordan's voice was still casual, but there was something underneath it that made Adriana's pulse quicken. "Especially the things that make you happy."

They'd been doing this for weeks—these small moments of intimacy wrapped in wedding planning, these careful steps toward something neither of them was quite ready to name. Jordan would bring Adriana her favorite coffee order without being asked, somehow having memorized the complicated combination of specifications. Adriana would text Jordan funny stories from difficult client meetings, finding herself wanting to share the small moments of her day. They'd started ending their planning sessions later and later, reluctant to separate once the work was done, finding excuses to extend their time together.

"Try this," Jordan said, offering Adriana a bite of chocolate tart on a silver fork that looked like it belonged to a proper tea service rather than takeout dinnerware.

Adriana accepted it automatically, only realizing afterward that sharing food had become natural between them, another small intimacy that had developed without her noticing. Jordan watched her taste the dessert with an expression that was becoming familiar—warm, attentive, like she was cataloging Adriana's reactions for future reference.

The tart was perfect—rich chocolate ganache with just a hint of salt, a buttery crust that dissolved on her tongue, the kind of dessert that made you close your eyes and savor each bite.

"It's perfect," Adriana said, meaning it.

"Good. I wanted to get something special." Jordan paused, seeming to consider her words carefully. "I have something to tell you."

Adriana felt her stomach clench with sudden anxiety. In her experience, "I have something to tell you" rarely preceded good news. "What?"

"Priya asked me if we're dating."

"Oh." Adriana set down her fork, not sure how to respond. The question wasn't surprising—she'd been wondering the same thing herself—but hearing it articulated made everything feel suddenly more real, more complicated.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her we're figuring it out." Jordan's voice was careful, watching Adriana's face for reactions. "Was that okay?"

Adriana considered the question. Were they figuring it out? They spent increasingly long evenings together, shared meals and inside jokes and comfortable silences. Jordan brought her flowers "for the office" and remembered her coffee order and listened when Adriana talked about her work frustrations with the patience of someone who genuinely cared about the details of her day. They sat closer together than strictly necessary during planning meetings and found excuses to text each other throughout the day about things that had nothing to do with wedding planning.

But they'd never defined what they were doing. Never talked about whether this was friendship or courtship or something in between. Adriana had been grateful for the ambiguity, but she was starting to realize that the uncertainty was creating its own kind of pressure.

"It's okay," Adriana said finally. "That's accurate."

"Good. Because I didn't want to assume anything about how you see this." Jordan moved the invitation samples aside and turned to face Adriana directly, her expression serious but not anxious. "But I also didn't want to pretend this is just about wedding planning anymore."

Adriana felt her heart speed up. They were approaching the conversation she'd been both wanting and dreading for weeks. "What is it about?"

"You know what it's about." Jordan's voice was gentle but direct, the tone of someone who was ready to be honest even if it was uncomfortable. "The question is whether you're ready to talk about it."

Adriana looked around Jordan's apartment—at the bookshelves filled with mysteries and romance novels, at the guitar in the corner that explained the callus on Jordan's finger, at the photos of friends and family that spoke to someone who built deep connections and maintained them carefully. She thought about the past few weeks, about how natural it had felt to spend time with Jordan, how much she looked forward to their meetings, how safe she felt in Jordan's presence.

"I like you," Adriana said quietly, the words feeling both inadequate and terrifying. "More than I expected to. More than I know what to do with."

Jordan's smile was soft, relieved, like she'd been holding her breath waiting for this admission. "I like you too. A lot."

"But I'm scared," Adriana continued, needing to get all of it out before she lost her nerve. "About what you expect, about what I can give you, about messing this up."

"What do you think I expect?"

It was a fair question, and one Adriana had been avoiding thinking about too carefully because the answers felt too vulnerable to examine. "I think you expect someone who's confident about relationships. Someone who knows what they want and isn't afraid to go after it. Someone who can be... normal about physical intimacy."

Jordan was quiet for a moment, processing this. "Adriana, what if I told you that what I want is exactly this? These conversations, these evenings together, the way you get excited about finding the perfect centerpiece. What if I told you that watching you work, seeing how much you care about making people happy, listening to you talk about your day—what if that's exactly what I want?"

"Is it? Really?"

Jordan shifted closer, close enough that Adriana could see the earnestness in her expression, the complete absence of doubt or uncertainty.

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't feel attracted to you in every way possible," Jordan said honestly. "But what I want most is to spend time with you. To be the person you call when you have good news or bad news. To bring you coffee when you're stressed and celebrate with you when things go well. To know that at the end of a long day, I get to see you and hear about what happened and share the small moments that make up a life."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in Jordan's voice. "That sounds like a relationship."

"It sounds like the beginning of one. If that's what you want."

Adriana looked at Jordan—really looked at her, taking in the genuine expression, the patient waiting, the way she was offering something precious without demanding anything in return. This was what her mother had meant about the right person loving you for exactly who you are.

"I want to try," Adriana said, the words feeling like jumping off a cliff. "To have a relationship with you. But I need you to know that I might not be good at it."

"Why do you think you won't be good at it?"

Adriana hesitated, still not sure how to explain the tangle of feelings and fears she carried. "I think I experience things differently than most people. Physical things, intimate things. I don't want to disappoint you or make you feel like you're missing something important."

Jordan moved closer, close enough that Adriana could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, could smell her perfume and the faint scent of the coconut shampoo she used.

"Adriana, what if I told you that the physical stuff isn't the most important part for me? What if I told you that what I love most about being with you is the way you listen when I talk, the way you notice details that other people miss, the way you care about creating beautiful moments for people?"

"But what about... I mean, don't you want..."

"I want what feels right for both of us," Jordan said simply. "I want to hold your hand and bring you flowers and cook dinner together and fall asleep next to you. If that leads to other things, wonderful. If it doesn't, or if it takes time, that's wonderful too."

"You'd be okay with that? With taking things slowly?"

"I'd be more than okay with it. I'd be grateful." Jordan's voice was sincere, certain, without any trace of the frustration or impatience Adriana had expected. "Adriana, I've dated people who were ready for everything physical on the first date but couldn't be bothered to remember my middle name or ask about my work or notice when I was having a bad day. What you're offering—real connection, genuine intimacy—that's rare."

Adriana felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen, like a knot she'd been carrying for years was finally starting to unravel. "So we're doing this? We're trying?"

"If you want to."

"I want to." The words came out stronger than Adriana had expected, with more certainty than she'd felt in weeks. "I want to try having a relationship with you."

Jordan's smile was radiant, transforming her entire face. "Good. Because I've been hoping you'd say that for weeks."

"You have?"

"Adriana, I've been falling for you since our first consultation meeting. Watching you work, seeing how much you care about getting every detail right, the way you listen to what people really want instead of just what they say—it's been impossible not to fall for you."

They spent the rest of the evening talking—about what they wanted from a relationship, about their fears and hopes, about practical things like how to balance work and personal time. Jordan talked about her past relationships, about learning to recognize the difference between passion and compatibility, about wanting something steady and real. Adriana found herself sharing more than she'd expected, talking about her confusion about her own desires, her fear of not being enough, her hope that maybe she could figure out how to be loved and how to love someone back.

It felt like the most important conversation Adriana had ever had, and also the most natural. Jordan listened without judgment, asked thoughtful questions, offered reassurance without dismissing Adriana's concerns.

"What happens with Priya's wedding?" Adriana asked as they were cleaning up the takeout containers and invitation samples. "Do we tell her?"

"We tell her whatever you're comfortable telling her," Jordan said. "She's going to be thrilled, by the way. She's been not-so-subtly hinting that she thought we'd be good together since about a week after she hired you."

"She has?"

"She kept saying things like 'Jordan would love this venue' and 'you should ask Jordan's opinion about that.' I thought she was just being inclusive, but looking back, I think she was matchmaking."

Adriana laughed, imagining Priya's satisfaction at her successful setup. "She's going to be insufferable about this."

"Probably. But also happy. She wants us both to be happy."

When it was time for Adriana to leave, Jordan walked her to the door, the evening feeling charged with possibility and new beginnings. The hallway outside Jordan's apartment was quiet, lit by soft overhead fixtures that made everything feel intimate and significant.

"So," Jordan said as they lingered in the doorway, neither quite ready to end the evening, "what happens now?"

"Now we figure it out as we go," Adriana said, echoing Jordan's words from weeks earlier. "Together."

"I like the sound of that."

Jordan leaned in, and for a moment Adriana thought she might try to kiss her again. Her heart raced with anticipation and anxiety in equal measure. But instead, Jordan pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, warm and soft and perfect—intimate without being overwhelming, affectionate without demanding more than Adriana was ready to give.

"Sweet dreams, Adriana," Jordan whispered against her ear, her breath warm and her voice soft with contentment.

As Adriana drove home, she found herself thinking about the conversation, about Jordan's patience and understanding, about the way it felt to finally admit what she wanted. For the first time in her adult life, she was in a relationship that felt like it might actually work—not because she was performing the right role or meeting someone else's expectations, but because Jordan seemed to genuinely want exactly what Adriana was capable of offering.

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

But as she pulled into her driveway, Adriana realized that for once, she was more excited than scared. Because whatever came next, she wouldn't be figuring it out alone. She had Jordan—patient, understanding Jordan who brought her perfect desserts and remembered the small things and made her feel like her careful, overthinking, perfectionist self was not just acceptable but actually lovable.

And maybe that was what love looked like—not having all the answers, but being willing to search for them with someone who made you feel brave enough to try.

As she got ready for bed, Adriana's phone buzzed with a text from Jordan: Thank you for tonight. For being honest, for trusting me with this. I'm excited about us.

Adriana typed back: Me too. Sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams, girlfriend, came the immediate reply, followed by a heart emoji.

Adriana stared at the word "girlfriend" for a long moment, testing how it felt. It felt right, she realized. Scary but right, like stepping into a role she'd never thought she'd be able to play but was discovering fit her perfectly.

For the first time in years, Adriana fell asleep excited about what tomorrow might bring.

Chapter 11

Adriana's phone rang at 6:47 AM on a Tuesday, which could only mean one thing: wedding emergency.

She'd been dreaming about centerpieces—an occupational hazard that had increased since she'd started her own business—when the shrill ringtone cut through her sleep like a fire alarm. The number on her screen made her stomach clench with immediate dread: Priya's cell phone, calling at an hour when only disasters warranted contact.

"Adriana, thank god," Priya's voice was tight with barely controlled panic, the kind of hysteria that Adriana had learned to recognize from years of managing wedding crises. "The venue coordinator just called. There's been a flood in the main ballroom."

Adriana sat up in bed, instantly alert despite having been deeply asleep moments before. Her mind immediately shifted into crisis assessment mode, running through contingency plans and damage control protocols.

"How bad?"

"Bad. Like, ankle-deep water, ruined flooring, completely unusable bad. A pipe burst in the kitchen overnight and flooded half the building. She's saying they might not have it fixed for another month, maybe longer depending on water damage to the subfloor."

Adriana closed her eyes, calculating rapidly. She could picture the venue in perfect detail—the elegant ballroom with its crystal chandeliers and marble floors, the outdoor terrace where they'd planned cocktail hour, the bridal suite where Priya was supposed to get ready. All of it unusable, just three weeks before the wedding.

"Okay." Adriana's voice was calmer than she felt, drawing on years of experience managing the impossible. "When's your wedding again?"

"Three weeks, Adriana. Three weeks. Twenty-one days." Priya's voice was climbing toward genuine hysteria. "We sent invitations months ago. People have booked flights, made hotel reservations. My dress is being altered to fit that specific venue's lighting. The florist has already ordered flowers based on the room's color scheme."

Adriana was already reaching for her laptop, her mind spinning through backup plans and vendor networks. Three weeks to find a new venue, coordinate with all existing vendors, potentially redesign the entire event flow. It was possible, but it would require miracles and possibly actual magic.

"Don't panic," Adriana said, opening her emergency vendor database and backup venue files—documents she hoped she'd never need but kept updated religiously. "I have backup venues. We'll figure this out."

"But all our deposits, the decorations we ordered for that specific space, the timeline we spent months perfecting—" Priya's voice broke slightly. "Adriana, what if we can't find anything? What if we have to postpone?"

"Priya." Adriana's voice was calm, authoritative, the tone she'd perfected for exactly these moments. "This is what you hired me for. Trust me, okay? I'm going to make some calls and I'll have options for you by this afternoon."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs. We're going to fix this." Adriana was already scrolling through her contacts, mentally prioritizing calls. "I need you to take a deep breath, maybe have some coffee, and try not to spiral. I'll call you back in two hours with a plan."

After Priya hung up, Adriana stared at her phone for exactly thirty seconds, allowing herself a moment of pure panic before switching into professional mode. She had three weeks to pull off a miracle. No pressure.

She spent the next two hours in a caffeine-fueled frenzy of phone calls and internet research. The first call was to her mentor, Patricia, who had twenty years of experience and a network of contacts that could work actual miracles. The second was to every venue coordinator she'd ever worked with, calling in favors and checking availability. The third hour was spent researching unconventional spaces—museums, restaurants, private estates—that might be available on short notice.

By 9 AM, she had a list of possibilities, none of them perfect, all of them requiring significant adjustments to their original plans.

She was deep into venue capacity calculations and vendor coordination when her doorbell rang. Adriana answered it to find Jordan standing on her doorstep with coffee and a concerned expression, wearing business attire that suggested she'd been on her way to work when she'd decided to make this detour.

"Priya called me," Jordan said without preamble, holding out a cup from Adriana's favorite coffee shop. "How bad is it?"

"On a scale of one to ten? About a fifteen." Adriana accepted the coffee gratefully, noting that Jordan had somehow remembered her exact order despite the early hour and obvious crisis. "But I've handled worse."

"Have you?"

Adriana considered this honestly. She'd managed outdoor weddings during unexpected storms, vendor no-shows on wedding mornings, family drama that threatened to derail entire celebrations. But a complete venue loss three weeks before a major wedding?

"No. I haven't. This might actually be the worst crisis I've ever faced."

Jordan stepped inside, taking in the chaos of Adriana's living room, which had been transformed into a war room complete with laptop, printed vendor lists, floor plans, and budget spreadsheets spread across every available surface. Adriana's usually pristine space looked like a hurricane had hit it.

"What can I do?" Jordan asked, setting down her own coffee and surveying the organized chaos with the eye of someone ready to help.

"Nothing. This is my job—" Adriana started automatically, the response ingrained from years of handling crises independently.

"Adriana." Jordan's voice was gentle but firm, cutting through Adriana's reflexive self-reliance. "What can I do to help?"

Adriana looked at Jordan, standing in her disaster of a living room, offering help without being asked, and felt something tight in her chest loosen slightly. For years, she'd handled crises alone, priding herself on being the calm professional who could solve any problem. The idea of accepting help felt foreign and vulnerable, but also... appealing.

"I need to visit potential backup venues today," Adriana said slowly, testing the words. "But I also need to call vendors about timeline changes and coordinate with the photographer about new lighting requirements and figure out how to transport decorations and redesign the entire floor plan and—"

"I'll come with you to the venues," Jordan interrupted, her voice decisive. "You can make vendor calls in the car between locations. And I can take notes, ask questions, be an extra set of eyes."

"You have work—"

"I called in sick." Jordan's smile was determined, and Adriana could see that she'd already made this decision before arriving. "Priya's my best friend, and you're my..." She paused, seeming to search for the right word. "You're important to me. Let me help."

Three hours later, they were driving to their fourth potential venue of the day, Adriana's stress level approaching dangerous heights. The first location had been double-booked for that weekend—apparently their booking system had failed and they'd accidentally confirmed two weddings for the same space. The second had terrible acoustics that would turn any speech into an echo chamber. The third was beautiful but cost twice their budget, even with the crisis discount the coordinator had offered.

"Okay," Jordan said from the passenger seat, reading from the detailed notes she'd been taking all morning. "What about the historic mansion in Sausalito? The one with the garden ceremony option?"

"Booked for that weekend. I already called." Adriana navigated another turn, her hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly. "This is a disaster, Jordan. I'm going to have to tell Priya that I can't fix this. That maybe they should postpone."

"Hey." Jordan's voice was calm, soothing, a counterpoint to Adriana's rising panic. "We're not giving up yet. We still have two more places to see."

"What if they don't work either? What if we've run out of options?" Adriana could feel tears of frustration building behind her eyes. "I've never not been able to solve a problem before. Priya trusted me to handle anything."

"Then we'll find other options. We'll think outside the box. We'll call in favors." Jordan reached over and briefly touched Adriana's hand on the steering wheel, the contact warm and grounding. "Adriana, you're brilliant at this. We're going to figure it out."

The fifth venue was a restaurant with a private event space that was available but felt completely wrong for Priya and Marcus's vision. It was too small, too casual, too much like a corporate dinner rather than a romantic wedding celebration. Adriana walked through the space trying to imagine how to make it work while fighting back tears of frustration.

"This isn't right," she said to Jordan as they stood in the main dining area, surrounded by burgundy leather banquettes and sports memorabilia. "It's not what she wanted. It's not special enough for someone like Priya."

"What did she want? Originally?"

Adriana closed her eyes, picturing Priya's original vision from months of planning meetings. "Something elegant but warm. Indoor-outdoor flow for cocktail hour. Space for 120 guests without feeling crowded. Natural light for photos—she specifically wanted that golden hour glow. A feeling of romance and intimacy despite the size."

Jordan was quiet for a moment, thinking. "What about unconventional spaces? Museums, libraries, galleries? Places that aren't traditional wedding venues but could be transformed?"

"Most require booking months in advance, sometimes years—" Adriana started, then stopped as an idea began to form. "Wait. The botanical conservatory."

"Which botanical conservatory?"

"The one in Golden Gate Park. They do private events, and they might have last-minute availability because it's expensive and..." Adriana was already pulling out her phone, her fingers moving quickly across the screen. "Jordan, you're a genius."

The conservatory was not only available—they'd had a cancellation for that exact weekend and were eager to fill it. The event coordinator, a woman named Sarah who sounded genuinely excited about the possibility, offered to meet them immediately.

Forty-five minutes later, Adriana and Jordan stood in the main conservatory hall, surrounded by soaring glass ceilings and tropical plants that created natural cathedral architecture. The space was stunning—dramatic and romantic in a way that would make any photographer weep with joy. Shafts of natural light filtered through the glass ceiling, creating exactly the kind of golden illumination Priya had dreamed of.

"It's perfect," Priya breathed when they video-called her from the conservatory, Jordan holding the phone so she could see the full scope of the space. "It's actually better than the original venue. More unique, more us."

Adriana felt relief flood through her chest as she watched Priya's face light up on the screen. "The logistics will be tricky," she warned, though she was already mentally redesigning the entire event. "We'll need different linens to complement the natural setting, new lighting plan to work with the glass ceiling, adjusted timeline for vendor load-in because of park regulations..."

"But you can do it?" Priya's voice was hopeful, trusting.

Adriana looked around the space, seeing the possibilities unfold in her mind like a complex puzzle clicking into place. "I can do it. We can do it."

That evening, Adriana and Jordan sat in Adriana's living room, surrounded by revised floor plans and vendor contracts, eating Chinese takeout while finalizing the new timeline. The crisis had transformed into an opportunity—the new venue was actually better suited to Priya and Marcus's personalities, more dramatic and unique than the traditional ballroom they'd originally chosen.

"I can't believe we pulled that off," Adriana said, updating the final vendor agreement and feeling the satisfaction that came with solving an impossible problem.

"You pulled it off," Jordan corrected, looking up from the catering timeline she'd been helping to revise. "I just provided moral support and note-taking services."

"You provided more than that." Adriana looked up from her laptop, seeing Jordan clearly in the lamplight—hair mussed from the long day, sleeves rolled up, completely focused on helping make everything perfect. "You kept me from falling apart when I thought we'd have to disappoint them."

"You wouldn't have fallen apart. You're tougher than you think."

"Maybe. But it's nice not to have to be tough alone."

Jordan's expression went soft, understanding. "You don't have to do anything alone anymore. Not if you don't want to."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning that went beyond wedding crises. Adriana realized that somewhere in the chaos of the day, something fundamental had shifted. She'd let Jordan help her, relied on her support, allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of someone else. And instead of feeling weak or unprofessional, she felt stronger.

"Jordan," Adriana said quietly, setting aside her laptop and turning to face her fully, "thank you. For today, for being here, for..." She paused, struggling to find words adequate for what she was feeling. "For being exactly what I needed."

"Always," Jordan said simply, her voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

They were sitting close together on Adriana's couch, the laptop balanced between them, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of solved problems. Adriana found herself studying Jordan's profile in the lamplight, noting the concentrated expression she got when focused on something important, the way her hair had escaped its ponytail over the course of the long day, the small smile of satisfaction she wore when reviewing their successful timeline adjustments.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," Adriana said before she could stop herself.

The words came out quietly but clearly, hanging in the air between them like a confession and a revelation combined. Jordan's head turned quickly, eyes wide with surprise and something that looked like hope and joy.

"You think?"

Adriana felt her cheeks burn, but she didn't look away. She'd spent so much of her life being careful with words, measuring responses, maintaining professional distance. But this felt too important for careful language.

"I know. I am. Falling in love with you."

Jordan's smile was radiant, transforming her entire face with pure happiness. "Good. Because I'm already there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Have been for weeks, probably. Maybe since that first venue visit when you made me see that caring about details and caring about people were the same thing." Jordan shifted closer, her voice growing softer. "Watching you work today, seeing how you handled this crisis, how you never gave up on finding something perfect for Priya—I've never seen anything more beautiful."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by the rightness of the moment, by how natural it felt to say the words she'd been carrying in her heart without fully recognizing them. "I love you too. Present tense."

"I love you too," Jordan said softly, her voice full of wonder. "So much."

They leaned toward each other simultaneously, and this time when Jordan's lips met hers, Adriana didn't pull away. The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, then deeper as Adriana allowed herself to sink into the moment. It felt different from any kiss she'd ever experienced—not performative or obligatory, but genuine and wanted and perfectly right.

When they separated, Adriana felt like something fundamental had shifted in her world, like all the careful walls she'd built around her heart had quietly dissolved.

"Was that okay?" Jordan asked quietly, her forehead resting against Adriana's.

"More than okay," Adriana whispered, her voice slightly breathless. "Perfect."

They spent the rest of the evening curled together on the couch, talking softly about the day, about the wedding, about nothing important and everything that mattered. Adriana felt a peace she hadn't experienced in years, a sense of being exactly where she belonged.

"I keep thinking about how Priya's face lit up when she saw the conservatory," Jordan said, playing absently with Adriana's hair. "She looked so happy, so relieved."

"That's what I love most about this job," Adriana said, settling more comfortably against Jordan's shoulder. "Those moments when everything clicks into place and you can see that you've created something that will make people happy for the rest of their lives."

"Is that what you want? For the rest of your life?"

"Creating perfect days for other people? Definitely."

"I meant... this. Us."

Adriana lifted her head to look at Jordan, seeing vulnerability and hope in her expression. "Do you?"

"I want everything with you," Jordan said simply. "All of it. The ordinary days and the crisis days and everything in between."

As Jordan prepared to leave that night, gathering her jacket and purse while Adriana watched from the doorway, Adriana caught her hand at the door.

"Stay," Adriana said impulsively, then immediately felt her cheeks burn. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to, I just thought—"

"I'd love to stay," Jordan said gently, setting down her purse. "But only if you're sure."

Adriana thought about it—about sharing her space, about waking up next to someone, about all the small intimacies that came with letting someone stay the night. It felt big and scary and completely right.

"I'm sure," Adriana said, surprised by her own certainty. "I want you to stay."

They moved through Adriana's evening routine together with surprising naturalness. Jordan borrowed pajamas and a toothbrush, and they took turns in the bathroom like they'd been sharing space for years instead of hours. When they finally settled into bed together—Jordan in borrowed pajamas that were slightly too small, Adriana hyperaware of every point of contact—it felt both monumental and completely normal.

"This is nice," Jordan said softly, settling into the pillows.

"Better than nice," Adriana agreed, marveling at how right it felt to have Jordan in her space, in her bed, in her life.

They talked quietly in the dark, sharing stories and dreams until they drifted off to sleep. Adriana's last conscious thought was how safe she felt, how completely at peace.

Adriana woke the next morning to find Jordan still there, hair spread across the pillow, looking peaceful and beautiful in the early light filtering through the curtains. For the first time in her life, waking up next to someone felt like coming home instead of like a performance she needed to navigate.

"Good morning," Jordan said softly, eyes still closed but smiling.

"Good morning," Adriana replied, feeling shy and happy and completely content.

This was what love looked like, Adriana realized. Not the grand gestures or perfect moments she created for her clients, but the quiet intimacy of crisis weathered together, of support offered without being asked, of two people choosing to build something beautiful in the midst of chaos.

She was still scared about some aspects of their relationship, still uncertain about navigating physical intimacy, still learning how to be vulnerable with another person. But lying there in the morning light, watching the woman she loved wake up peacefully beside her, Adriana felt hopeful about figuring it out together.

After all, they'd just saved a wedding in 24 hours. How hard could love be?

Chapter 12

The answer, as it turned out, was: harder than Adriana had anticipated.

Two weeks later, she was sitting in her office trying to focus on floral arrangements for the conservatory wedding while her mind kept circling back to the growing tension in her relationship with Jordan. Everything should have been perfect. They'd said they loved each other. Jordan had been staying over more nights than not. They'd fallen into an easy domestic rhythm of shared meals and comfortable conversation that felt natural and right.

But there was an undercurrent of expectation that Adriana could feel building, a sense that Jordan was waiting for something Adriana wasn't sure she could give. It wasn't anything Jordan had said explicitly—she was too considerate for that—but Adriana could feel it in the careful way Jordan ended their kisses before they could go further, in the way she'd grown quieter during their more intimate moments, in the small sighs she tried to hide when Adriana pulled away from touches that felt too overwhelming.

The worst part was that Adriana could see Jordan blaming herself, trying to figure out what she was doing wrong, when the truth was that Jordan was doing everything right. It was Adriana who couldn't seem to bridge the gap between loving someone and wanting them in all the ways that love was supposed to include.

"You're spiraling," Kai observed from his desk, not looking up from his computer where he was updating vendor timelines. "I can hear you thinking from here."

"I'm not spiraling. I'm processing."

"You've been 'processing' the same centerpiece options for forty-five minutes. That's spiraling."

Adriana set down the floral catalog and rubbed her temples, feeling the tension headache that had become a constant companion over the past week. "Jordan's been... patient. Really patient. But I can tell she's getting frustrated."

"Frustrated with what?"

"With me. With the fact that we've been together for weeks and I still panic whenever things get too physical."

Kai finally looked up, his expression carefully neutral in the way that meant he was choosing his words carefully. "Define 'too physical.'"

Adriana felt heat rise in her cheeks, embarrassed by her own inability to navigate what should have been natural progression in a relationship. "Kissing is fine. Great, actually. I love kissing her. But when she tries to... when things start to go further, when her hands move to places that should feel good, I freeze up. And I can see her trying to figure out what she's doing wrong, but it's not her. It's me."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"How do I explain something I don't understand myself?" Adriana's voice was frustrated, defeated by weeks of trying to make sense of her own reactions. "How do I tell someone I love that I want to be with them but I might not want all the things that are supposed to come with being together?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with confusion and self-doubt. Adriana had been wrestling with it for weeks, trying to understand why someone who felt so right emotionally could feel so overwhelming physically.

Kai was quiet for a moment, considering. "Adriana, can I ask you something personal?"

She nodded, though she had a feeling she wasn't going to like the question.

"When you think about having sex with Jordan, how does it make you feel?"

Adriana stared at him, the direct question hitting something vulnerable and confused in her chest. She'd been avoiding thinking about it too specifically, but Kai's question forced her to examine feelings she'd been trying not to analyze.

"I... I don't know. Scared? Overwhelmed? Like I'm supposed to want something I'm not sure I actually want?" She paused, struggling to articulate something she'd never put into words. "Like there's this script everyone else got about how relationships are supposed to work, and I'm missing pages."

"And when you think about the emotional stuff? The intimacy, the closeness, being in love with her?"

"Perfect. Right. Like I could spend forever just talking to her and holding hands and falling asleep next to her." Adriana felt her voice grow warmer as she talked about the parts of their relationship that felt natural and easy. "When we're just being together—cooking dinner, watching movies, working on wedding stuff—it's exactly what I want. It's when expectations about... other things come up that I start to panic."

"And you don't think Jordan would be satisfied with that? With the emotional intimacy without the physical?"

"I don't know. Maybe for a while, but eventually..." Adriana trailed off, seeing something in Kai's expression. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I think you might want to do some research. About different ways people experience attraction and relationships."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe what you're experiencing has a name. And maybe understanding it would help you explain it to Jordan."

Before Adriana could ask what he meant, the front door chimed, announcing Jordan's arrival for their lunch meeting about final wedding details. Adriana felt her stomach clench with a familiar mixture of joy and anxiety—the happiness of seeing Jordan complicated by the growing pressure of unspoken expectations and unresolved tension.

"Hey," Jordan said, appearing in the office doorway with takeout bags and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I brought sandwiches from that place you like."

There was something careful in Jordan's manner, a professional distance that hadn't been there in weeks. She looked beautiful as always—dark jeans and a blue sweater that brought out her eyes—but there was a tension around her mouth that suggested she'd been thinking as much as Adriana had.

"Perfect. Let me just grab my notes."

They settled in the conference room with their lunch and wedding planning materials, but Adriana could feel the tension humming between them like a live wire. Jordan was professional, engaged, asking all the right questions about timeline and vendor coordination. But there was a careful distance in her manner that felt like emotional armor.

"The photographer wants to do some couple shots in the tropical room before the ceremony," Jordan said, checking her notes with more focus than the simple scheduling detail required. "Something about the light being perfect around four PM."

"That works with our timeline," Adriana agreed, making a note while trying to read Jordan's mood. "We'll have the space from three to seven for setup and photography."

"Great." Jordan made her own note, then looked up at Adriana with an expression that was both loving and resigned. "Everything looks good. Priya's going to have the wedding of her dreams."

"Thanks to you. If you hadn't suggested the conservatory—"

"Adriana." Jordan's voice was gentle but firm, cutting through the professional small talk. "I think we need to talk."

Adriana's stomach dropped, recognizing the tone. "About what?"

"About us. About what's been happening between us lately."

Adriana set down her pen, her hands suddenly shaky. This was the conversation she'd been dreading, the one where Jordan would finally admit that Adriana's limitations were too much, that love wasn't enough to overcome fundamental incompatibility.

"Jordan, if this is about the other night—"

"It's not about one night. It's about the pattern." Jordan's voice was careful, kind, but there was hurt underneath that she wasn't quite managing to hide. "Every time we get close, really close, you pull away. And I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm pushing you into something you don't actually want."

"That's not true," Adriana said quickly, panic rising in her chest. "I do want... I want to be with you."

"But do you want all of being with me? Because I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong, and I'm starting to feel like maybe the problem is that I want things you're not comfortable giving."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that her confusion and hesitation would hurt Jordan, would make her feel unwanted or rejected or like she was somehow inadequate.

"You're not doing anything wrong," Adriana said quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears. "It's me. I'm the problem."

"You're not a problem, Adriana. But I think maybe we want different things from this relationship."

"What do you mean?"

Jordan was quiet for a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully, like someone trying to express something painful without causing more hurt.

"I think you want companionship. Someone to share meals with, to talk to, to be close to emotionally. And those are beautiful things, important things. I love that we have those things."

"But?"

"But I think I want more than that. Physical intimacy, sexual connection—it's important to me in a relationship. It's part of how I express love, how I feel connected to someone." Jordan's voice was gentle but clear. "And I'm starting to realize that maybe it's not important to you in the same way."

Adriana stared at Jordan, feeling like she was watching something precious slip away between her fingers. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying maybe we should take a step back. Figure out what we both actually want before we hurt each other more."

The words hit Adriana like a physical blow. "I don't want to take a step back," she said, panic making her voice higher than usual. "I love you, Jordan. I want to be with you."

"I love you too. But love isn't always enough if two people want fundamentally different things." Jordan's voice broke slightly on the words. "And I'm starting to think that maybe we do want different things, and maybe that's not either of our faults."

"So what? We just give up?"

"We take some time to think. To figure out if there's a way to make this work that doesn't leave either of us feeling like we're settling for less than what we need."

After Jordan left, Adriana sat alone in her conference room, staring at the wedding planning materials scattered across the table. The irony wasn't lost on her—she'd spent her career creating perfect love stories for other people, but she couldn't figure out how to make her own work.

The sandwiches Jordan had brought sat untouched on the table, growing cold while Adriana tried to process what had just happened. The woman she loved had essentially asked for a break because Adriana couldn't give her what she needed. Because Adriana was broken in some fundamental way that made normal relationships impossible.

Kai appeared in the doorway with a cup of tea and a concerned expression, taking in Adriana's red-rimmed eyes and defeated posture.

"That didn't sound like it went well," he said gently, setting the tea in front of her.

"She wants to take a break," Adriana said, her voice hollow. "To figure out if we're compatible."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Like I'm losing the best thing that's ever happened to me because I can't figure out how to be normal."

Kai sat down across from her, his expression serious and thoughtful. "Adriana, there's nothing abnormal about experiencing attraction differently than other people. But you might want to understand what you're experiencing before you try to explain it to someone else."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe it's time to do some research about asexuality."

Adriana looked up at him, the word hitting something deep in her chest like recognition she wasn't ready to acknowledge. "What?"

"Asexuality. It's a sexual orientation where people experience little to no sexual attraction. But they can still experience romantic attraction, still want relationships, still want emotional intimacy."

The words seemed to hang in the air, settling into Adriana's consciousness like puzzle pieces clicking into place. She'd heard the term before, probably, but had never considered it might apply to her.

"Are you saying you think I'm..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"I'm saying that from everything you've told me about how you experience relationships, it might be worth exploring. There are different ways to be asexual, different relationship models that work for ace people."

"Ace people?"

"Short for asexual. Adriana, there's a whole community of people who experience relationships the way you do. You're not broken, and you're not alone."

That evening, Adriana canceled her dinner plans and sat in her apartment with her laptop, researching everything she could find about asexuality. She started with basic definitions and found herself falling down a rabbit hole of articles, blog posts, and personal stories that felt like reading her own inner monologue written by strangers.

Romantic attraction without sexual attraction. The distinction between wanting emotional intimacy and wanting physical sexuality. The difference between aesthetic attraction—finding someone beautiful—and sexual attraction—wanting to have sex with them.

She read about different types of asexuality: people who experienced no sexual attraction at all, people who experienced it only under specific circumstances, people who enjoyed physical intimacy without sexual desire, people who were sex-positive or sex-neutral or sex-repulsed.

She read about romantic asexuals who wanted partnerships and emotional intimacy. About ace people in relationships with allosexual—non-asexual—partners, and the various ways they made those relationships work.

With every article, every personal story, every definition, Adriana felt pieces of herself clicking into place. The confusion she'd felt about her own desires, the way physical attraction had always felt theoretical rather than visceral, the disconnect between loving someone and wanting them sexually—it all made sense in the context of asexuality.

She thought about her past relationships, the way she'd always felt like she was performing rather than experiencing genuine desire. The way she'd convinced herself that everyone must feel awkward about sex, that passion was something that developed over time, that her discomfort was normal and would fade with the right person.

But Jordan was the right person, and the discomfort hadn't faded. If anything, it had become more pronounced because the stakes felt higher, because disappointing Jordan felt like a betrayal of something precious.

By midnight, Adriana was crying—not from sadness, but from relief. For the first time in her life, she had words for what she'd been feeling, a framework for understanding why relationships had always felt complicated, why she'd always felt like she was missing something everyone else seemed to have naturally.

She wasn't broken. She was asexual.

The realization felt both liberating and terrifying. Liberating because it meant there was nothing wrong with her, that her experience was valid and shared by others. Terrifying because it meant she had to figure out how to navigate a world—and relationships—that often assumed sexual attraction was universal.

She thought about Jordan, about the hurt and confusion in her voice during their lunch conversation. About the careful way Jordan had been touching her lately, the questions in her eyes when Adriana pulled away from more intimate contact.

The question now was whether Jordan could love her exactly as she was, or whether this revelation would be the end of everything they'd built together.

But at least now she had words to explain what she'd been struggling to understand. And maybe, if she was brave enough to use them, she and Jordan could figure out a way forward together.

Adriana spent the next few days reading everything she could find about asexual relationships. She learned about communication strategies, about compromise and accommodation, about the difference between sexual activity and sexual attraction. She read stories from ace people who had found happiness with allosexual partners, and stories from those who hadn't.

The research was both hopeful and sobering. Some couples made it work through open communication, creative solutions, and mutual understanding. Others discovered incompatibilities that couldn't be bridged, no matter how much love existed between them.

She also learned about the importance of self-acceptance, about not trying to force herself to be something she wasn't just to maintain a relationship. The idea was both empowering and frightening—if she couldn't change who she was, then any relationship would have to accept her as she was.

By Thursday, Adriana had made a decision. She needed to talk to Jordan, to explain what she'd learned about herself, to see if there was a way to make their relationship work with this new understanding.

She just hoped Jordan would be willing to listen, and that love would be enough to build a bridge across the gap between their different needs.

But first, she needed to finish planning Priya's wedding. Because if she'd learned anything from her research, it was that love came in many different forms, and helping other people celebrate theirs was still one of the most meaningful things she could do.

Even if she was still figuring out what love looked like for her.

Chapter 13

Adriana spent the next three days reading everything she could find about asexuality, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she was reading about herself.

The stories were familiar in ways that made her chest tight with recognition: people who loved deeply but didn't experience sexual attraction the way their partners did. People who wanted romance and emotional intimacy but felt confused or overwhelmed by physical expectations. People who had spent years thinking they were broken before discovering that asexuality was a valid, normal way of experiencing the world.

She found forums and blog posts, academic articles and personal memoirs. She read about coming out as asexual, about the challenges of explaining an invisible orientation to a world that often equated love with sexual desire. She learned about the discrimination ace people faced, the erasure and misunderstanding, but also about the community and support networks that existed.

She read about different types of asexuality—gray-asexual people who experienced sexual attraction rarely or under specific circumstances, demisexual people who only felt attraction after forming deep emotional bonds, and asexual people who enjoyed physical intimacy even without sexual attraction. The spectrum was broader and more nuanced than she'd ever imagined.

She learned about romantic orientations that existed separately from sexual ones, about asexual people who identified as heteroromantic, homoromantic, biromantic, or panromantic. About ace people who had fulfilling relationships with allosexual partners, who navigated the complexities of mixed-orientation relationships with communication and compromise.

Most importantly, she learned that she wasn't alone, and she wasn't broken.

The realization was both liberating and overwhelming. For thirty-one years, she'd been trying to fit herself into a framework that didn't quite work, assuming that everyone felt the disconnect she experienced between romantic love and sexual desire. Learning that her experience had a name, that there were others who shared it, felt like finally having permission to be herself.

But it also raised new questions. What did this mean for her relationship with Jordan? For her future relationships? How did she navigate a world built on assumptions about sexual attraction when that attraction simply wasn't part of her experience?

By Thursday morning, Adriana felt like she had a vocabulary for her experience, but she still didn't know what to do with the information. Jordan hadn't called or texted since their conversation, respecting the space she'd asked for, but Adriana could feel the weight of unfinished business hanging over everything she did.

"You look better," Kai observed when she arrived at the office, noting something different in her posture, her expression. "More settled."

"I think I understand myself better now," Adriana said, settling at her desk with her coffee and opening her laptop to review the final details for Priya's wedding. "The question is whether understanding is enough to fix things with Jordan."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Not yet. I'm scared that what I learned might be the thing that ends it for good." Adriana's voice carried the weight of her fears—that Jordan would see asexuality as incompatibility, that love wouldn't be enough to bridge the gap between their different experiences of attraction.

Kai looked up from his computer, his expression thoughtful. "Or it might be the thing that saves it. You won't know until you try."

"What if she can't handle it? What if she needs things I can't give her?"

"Then you'll know that too. But Adriana, from everything I've seen of how Jordan looks at you, how she talks about you, I think she cares more about understanding you than about fitting you into some predetermined box."

Before Adriana could respond, her phone rang. Elena's name on the caller ID made her stomach clench—her mother's timing was, as always, impeccable and potentially complicated.

"Mija, you sound tired," Elena said without preamble, the way she always did when she sensed something was wrong. "Are you eating enough? Getting enough sleep? You're not getting sick, are you?"

"I'm fine, Mami. Just busy with wedding season." Adriana tried to inject normal energy into her voice, but she could hear the flatness that would immediately alert her mother's parental radar.

"Hmm. And how is Jordan? I haven't seen her at Sunday dinner lately. Is she traveling for work?"

Adriana closed her eyes, not ready to explain the situation to her mother, not sure how Elena would react to the news about asexuality or the relationship troubles it had revealed.

"She's been busy with work."

"Adriana." Elena's voice carried the particular tone that meant she wasn't buying the deflection, the same voice she'd used when Adriana was a teenager trying to hide bad grades or broken curfews. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

"Adriana Maria Abarca, I've been your mother for thirty-one years. I know when you're lying to me, and I know when you're hurting. What happened?"

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by her mother's intuition and her own desperate need to talk to someone who loved her unconditionally, who would support her regardless of what she revealed about herself.

"Jordan and I are taking a break," Adriana said quietly, the words feeling like a confession. "To figure some things out."

"What kind of things?"

Adriana hesitated, not sure how to explain asexuality to her traditional mother, not sure if Elena would understand or accept this part of who she was. Her mother had been so accepting when Adriana had brought Jordan to dinner, so enthusiastic about their relationship. How would she react to learning that her daughter was part of a sexual minority she might not even have heard of?

"Relationship things. Compatibility things."

"Are you fighting? Did she hurt you? Because if she hurt you, I'll—"

"No, Mami, nothing like that. We're not fighting. We just... we want different things, maybe."

Elena was quiet for a moment, and Adriana could practically hear her mother's mind working, trying to understand the situation from the limited information she'd been given.

"Mija, do you love her?"

The question was simple, direct, cutting through all the complexity to the heart of the matter.

"Yes. More than I've ever loved anyone."

"And does she love you?"

"I think so. Yes. She told me she did."

"Then whatever the problem is, you figure it out. Love like that doesn't come along often, especially love that's real and honest and makes you both better people."

Elena's voice carried the conviction of someone who had experienced both love and loss, who understood the rarity of genuine connection.

"But what if the problem can't be fixed? What if we're just too different?"

"Mija, your father and I were different in a hundred ways. He was quiet, I was loud. He liked to stay home, I wanted to go out. He was practical, I was a dreamer. But we loved each other, and we figured out how to make our differences work for us instead of against us."

Adriana thought about her parents' marriage, about the way they'd complemented each other, supported each other's strengths and compensated for each other's weaknesses.

"This feels bigger than personality differences, Mami."

"Maybe it is. But if you love each other, you owe it to yourselves to try to work it out. And if you can't, at least you'll know you tried everything."

After hanging up, Adriana stared at her phone, thinking about her mother's words. Love like that doesn't come along often. Elena was right—what she and Jordan had was rare and precious. But was love enough to bridge the gap between their different needs?

She spent the rest of the morning trying to focus on work, reviewing vendor contracts and finalizing timeline details for Priya's wedding. But her mind kept wandering to Jordan, to the conversation they needed to have, to the uncertainty of whether understanding herself better would help or hurt their relationship.

That afternoon, Adriana found herself driving to the conservatory where Priya's wedding would take place in just three days. She told herself she was there for a final site check, to make sure everything was ready for the vendors who would begin setup the next day. But really she needed to be somewhere beautiful while she figured out what to say to Jordan.

The conservatory was stunning in the afternoon light, tropical plants creating cathedral spaces filled with golden sunshine that filtered through the glass ceiling in shifting patterns. Adriana walked through the space slowly, envisioning how it would look with Priya's decorations, with white chairs arranged in perfect rows, with 120 guests celebrating love and commitment.

She checked the power outlets for the sound system, confirmed the placement for the floral arrangements, and reviewed the photographer's shot list. But mostly she just walked, letting the beauty and peace of the space calm her racing thoughts.

She was standing in the main atrium, surrounded by exotic blooms and the gentle sound of water features, when her phone buzzed with a text from Jordan: Are you at the conservatory? I saw your car in the parking lot.

Adriana's heart rate spiked, her pulse quickening with a mixture of hope and anxiety. Jordan was here, or nearby. This could be the conversation they needed to have, or it could be another painful attempt at connection that ended in misunderstanding.

Yes. Final site check for Saturday.

Mind if I join you? I was driving by and thought I'd check on the space too.

Adriana typed and deleted several responses, weighing honesty against self-protection, hope against fear. Finally she settled on: Of course.

Jordan appeared a few minutes later, looking cautious but hopeful. She was wearing jeans and a soft gray sweater that made her eyes look silver in the filtered light, and Adriana felt her chest tighten with how much she'd missed her. Even after just a few days apart, Jordan's presence felt like coming home.

"It's beautiful," Jordan said, looking around the space with genuine appreciation. "Priya's going to be so happy."

"She is. You saved her wedding by suggesting this place."

"We saved her wedding," Jordan corrected gently. "We make a good team."

The words carried weight beyond their literal meaning, a reminder of how well they worked together, how naturally they complemented each other's strengths and perspectives.

They walked through the space together, discussing logistics and timeline details with the easy professionalism they'd developed over months of collaboration. Jordan asked about vendor load-in procedures, Adriana pointed out potential issues with guest flow, and they both noted details that would need attention on the wedding day.

But Adriana could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them like a heavy curtain. The professional conversation felt like a careful dance around the personal issues that had driven them apart.

Finally, as they reached the ceremony area where Priya would say her vows in three days, Jordan stopped walking.

"Adriana," Jordan said quietly, her voice carrying a note of vulnerability that made Adriana look up from her clipboard, "I've been thinking about our conversation."

"Me too."

"I don't want to lose you. But I also don't want either of us to be unhappy in a relationship that doesn't work for both of us."

Jordan's honesty was both painful and appreciated. She wasn't trying to sweep their problems under the rug or pretend that love alone could solve everything.

Adriana took a breath, feeling like she was standing at the edge of something that would change everything. The research she'd done, the understanding she'd gained about herself—it all led to this moment of truth.

"Jordan, I need to tell you something. About me, about why I've been so confused about physical intimacy."

Jordan's expression grew serious, attentive, her full focus shifting to Adriana in the way that made her feel seen and heard. "Okay."

"I think—no, I know—that I'm asexual."

Jordan was quiet for a moment, her face thoughtful rather than shocked or disappointed. She seemed to be processing the information, considering what it meant rather than rejecting it outright.

"Asexual," she repeated slowly, testing the word.

"It means I don't experience sexual attraction the way most people do. I can be romantically attracted to someone, I can love them deeply, I can want emotional and even physical intimacy. But the sexual component... it's just not there for me the way it is for other people."

Adriana watched Jordan's face carefully, looking for signs of rejection or disappointment, bracing herself for the moment when Jordan realized that this was an incompatibility they couldn't overcome.

Instead, she saw something that looked like understanding beginning to dawn.

"That explains a lot," Jordan said softly.

"Does it?"

"The way you'd get overwhelmed when things got physical, even though you clearly cared about me. The way you kept apologizing for not being what I expected, like you thought you were failing at something." Jordan stepped closer, her voice growing warmer. "Adriana, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I didn't know. I didn't have words for what I was experiencing until a few days ago. I just knew that I felt different, broken somehow. Like everyone else had gotten instructions about how to be in relationships and I'd missed the memo."

"You're not broken." Jordan's voice was firm, certain, without any trace of doubt or pity. "You're just... you."

Adriana felt tears start to fall, overwhelmed by Jordan's immediate acceptance. She'd been preparing for rejection, for disappointment, for the conversation where Jordan explained that she needed more than Adriana could give.

"But what does this mean for us? I love you, Jordan. I want to be with you. But I might never want sex the way you do, and that's not fair to you."

Jordan was quiet for a long moment, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved. Adriana could see her thinking, processing, weighing options and possibilities.

"Can I ask you some questions? About what you do want, what kinds of physical intimacy feel good to you?"

Adriana nodded, grateful for Jordan's direct approach, for her willingness to understand rather than assume.

"Do you like kissing me?"

"I love kissing you."

"Do you like being close to me? Cuddling, holding hands, that kind of thing?"

"Yes. That all feels perfect."

"And sexual intimacy—is it that you don't want it at all, or that you don't experience the desire for it the way I do?"

Adriana considered the question carefully, thinking about the research she'd done, about the spectrum of asexual experiences she'd learned about.

"I think... I think I could enjoy physical intimacy with you because I love you, because it would be another way of being close to you, another way to show you how I feel. But I wouldn't seek it out on my own, and I might not always want it even when you do."

Jordan nodded slowly, processing this information without judgment. "And what would you need from me to feel comfortable exploring that? To feel like there's no pressure?"

"I'd need to know that it's okay if I'm not always interested. That my worth in the relationship isn't tied to how often I want sex. That emotional intimacy and romance are just as important to you as physical intimacy."

"Adriana." Jordan stepped closer, taking her hands in a gesture that felt both intimate and reassuring. "What if I told you that emotional intimacy has always been the most important part for me? That the reason I've struggled in past relationships is because the physical stuff felt empty without a real emotional connection?"

"Is that true?"

"It's completely true. The sex I want is the kind that comes from being deeply in love with someone, from knowing them completely and feeling known by them. And if that someone experiences desire differently than I do, we figure out what works for both of us."

Adriana felt hope begin to bloom in her chest, fragile but real. "So you're not... disappointed? That I'm asexual?"

"I'm grateful that you figured it out and trusted me enough to tell me. And I'm hopeful that we can build something that works for both of us."

Jordan's smile was warm, genuine, full of love and possibility. "Adriana, I don't want anyone else. I want you, exactly as you are. And if that means learning about asexuality and finding ways to be intimate that feel good for both of us, then that's what we'll do."

Adriana started crying in earnest then—tears of relief and gratitude and overwhelming love for this woman who saw her clearly and chose to stay anyway. The fear she'd been carrying for days, the certainty that her asexuality would be the end of their relationship, dissolved in the face of Jordan's acceptance.

"I love you," Adriana said through her tears. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Jordan said, pulling her into a gentle embrace that felt like coming home. "All of you. Including the parts you were scared to show me."

They stood together in the conservatory, surrounded by blooming plants and golden light, holding each other while Adriana felt pieces of herself settling into place. For the first time in her life, she felt completely known and completely loved.

"So what happens now?" Adriana asked when they finally separated.

"Now we figure it out together," Jordan said, echoing words from weeks earlier. "We talk about what we both need, we take things at your pace, and we build something beautiful."

"That sounds perfect."

"Good. Because I have some research to do about asexuality, and I suspect you have more questions than answers at this point."

Adriana laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "I do have a lot of questions."

"Then we'll find the answers together. We've got time."

"What about Priya's wedding? Should we tell her what happened?"

"We'll tell her that we worked things out, and that we're happy. The details are ours to share or not share as we choose."

As they walked back to their cars, Adriana found herself thinking about the wedding they'd be coordinating in a few days, about Priya and Marcus promising to love each other through whatever came. She'd spent her career believing that love looked one specific way, but now she was learning that it could take as many forms as there were people to experience it.

"Jordan," Adriana said as they reached their cars, "thank you. For listening, for understanding, for not making me feel like I'm asking for too much."

"You're not asking for too much. You're asking to be loved for who you are, and that's the bare minimum anyone deserves in a relationship."

"I know this might be complicated sometimes. Learning how to navigate this together."

"The best things usually are complicated," Jordan said with a smile. "Besides, we're pretty good at solving complicated problems together."

Her love with Jordan might not look like anyone else's, but it would be theirs. Built on understanding and acceptance and the willingness to create something new together.

And maybe that was the most romantic story of all.

As Adriana drove home, she felt a peace she hadn't experienced in weeks. She had a name for who she was, words to explain her experience, and someone who loved her exactly as she was. The future was still uncertain—they would need to navigate the complexities of a mixed-orientation relationship, learn to communicate about needs and boundaries, figure out what intimacy looked like for them.

But for the first time since she'd started questioning herself, Adriana felt hopeful about the answers they would find together.

Chapter 14

Adriana woke up on Priya's wedding day at 5:30 AM, her phone already buzzing with vendor check-ins and last-minute questions. The sound should have sent her into immediate stress mode—wedding days were notorious for their chaos and unexpected crises—but for the first time in months, the pre-wedding orchestration felt manageable rather than overwhelming. Having Jordan back in her life, and more importantly, having Jordan understand who she really was, had restored a sense of balance she hadn't realized she'd lost.

"Morning, beautiful," Jordan's voice was soft and sleepy from the pillow next to her, still rough with sleep but carrying warmth that made Adriana's chest flutter with contentment. "Big day today."

"The biggest," Adriana agreed, rolling over to face Jordan in the early morning light filtering through her bedroom curtains. Jordan's hair was mussed from sleep, and she had the kind of natural beauty that made Adriana grateful to wake up next to her. "Ready to pull off a miracle?"

"With you? I'm ready for anything."

They'd spent the past two days talking—really talking, in a way they hadn't been able to before Adriana had the vocabulary to explain her experience. They'd discussed asexuality, what it meant for their relationship, what Adriana needed to feel comfortable and safe. Jordan had done her own research, reading articles and forums with the same thoroughness she brought to her marketing campaigns, asking thoughtful questions that showed she was genuinely trying to understand rather than just accommodate.

The conversations hadn't been easy. There had been moments of uncertainty, of trying to navigate new territory without a roadmap. But they'd also been liberating—Adriana finally felt seen and understood in a way she'd never experienced before, while Jordan seemed relieved to finally understand why certain aspects of their relationship had felt confusing or strained.

They'd talked about physical intimacy, about what forms of closeness felt good to Adriana and what felt overwhelming. They'd discussed boundaries and communication, the importance of checking in with each other, the difference between accommodation and genuine desire. It wasn't solved overnight, but they had a foundation now, a vocabulary for navigating their relationship with honesty and understanding.

By 7 AM, they were at the conservatory overseeing vendor setup, both dressed in professional black attire that would allow them to blend into the background while managing the day's logistics. Adriana felt the familiar pre-event energy crackling through her as she coordinated florists, lighting technicians, and caterers, but this time Jordan was beside her, handling logistics with the calm efficiency that had made her so successful at managing marketing campaigns.

The conservatory was already bustling with activity. The catering team was setting up the kitchen area, the florists were arranging the ceremony arch, and the lighting technicians were adjusting the ambiance to complement the natural sunshine streaming through the glass ceiling. It was controlled chaos, but the kind Adriana thrived in.

"The arch is perfect," Jordan said, checking items off their shared timeline on her tablet. "And the florist says the late blooms came in even better than expected."

Adriana looked at the ceremony space, now being transformed with white and burgundy flowers, trailing greenery, and the kind of romantic lighting that made everything look like a fairy tale. The tropical plants of the conservatory provided a lush backdrop that felt both intimate and grand, exactly the balance Priya had hoped for.

"It's beautiful," Adriana said, feeling the satisfaction that came with a vision perfectly executed. "Priya's going to cry when she sees it."

"Happy tears, though."

"The best kind."

The morning flew by in a blur of final touches and vendor coordination. Adriana was everywhere at once—adjusting the placement of tea lights along the aisle, confirming the timeline with the photographer, checking that the sound system was properly calibrated for the acoustic properties of the glass-enclosed space. Each task was small, but together they created the seamless experience that guests would remember as effortless magic.

Jordan moved through the space with equal purpose, her marketing background making her naturally good at logistics and people management. She coordinated with the catering staff about beverage service timing, ensured the musicians had everything they needed for both ceremony and reception, and handled the steady stream of vendor questions that could have derailed Adriana's focus.

Around 10 AM, Kai appeared with coffee and a concerned expression that immediately put Adriana on alert.

"The bride's party is asking for you," he said, handing her a cup that smelled like salvation. "Priya's having a moment."

Adriana sighed, recognizing the tone. Pre-wedding moments were as predictable as they were intense—usually a combination of excitement, terror, and the sudden weight of making a life-changing decision in front of everyone you cared about.

She found Priya in the bridal suite, a small room in the conservatory's administrative building that they'd converted into a getting-ready space. Priya was surrounded by bridesmaids and partially done hair, looking beautiful and terrified in equal measure. Her makeup artist was working on her eyes while her hair stylist added the final touches to an elegant updo that incorporated the small pearl pins that had belonged to her grandmother.

"Adriana, thank god," Priya said, reaching for her hands with the desperate gratitude of someone who needed an anchor. "Tell me this is going to be perfect. Tell me I'm not making a huge mistake."

"You're not making a mistake," Adriana said firmly, settling beside her on the small couch they'd brought in for this exact purpose. "But talk to me. What's got you scared?"

"What if we're too young? What if we don't know each other well enough? What if I'm a terrible wife?" The words tumbled out in a rush, typical pre-wedding panic amplified by the magnitude of the day and probably too much caffeine. "What if Marcus realizes he could do better? What if I can't make him happy?"

Adriana had heard variations of this speech from dozens of brides over the years. The fears were always the same—am I enough, is this right, what if I fail? It was the vulnerability that came with promising forever to another person.

"Priya," Adriana said gently, taking her hands and making eye contact in the way that always helped ground anxious brides, "do you love Marcus?"

"More than anything."

"Do you want to build a life with him?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Do you trust him to take care of your heart?"

"I do." Priya's voice grew stronger with each answer. "I really do."

"Do you believe he feels the same way about you?"

"Yes. He tells me every day."

"Then you're ready. Everything else—how to be married, how to navigate challenges, how to grow together—you figure out as you go." Adriana squeezed her hands. "And for what it's worth, I've watched you two together for months. You're perfect for each other."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. You balance each other, you make each other better, and you both show up for the hard stuff. That's what makes a marriage work."

Priya's smile was radiant, the panic fading from her eyes as she remembered why she was here. "Okay. You're right. I'm being ridiculous."

"You're being human. Every bride has this moment. It means you understand how important today is."

After calming Priya's nerves and ensuring the bridal party was back on track, Adriana returned to the main space to find Jordan directing the placement of guest seating with military precision. She was consulting with the venue coordinator about sight lines and accessibility, making sure elderly family members would have clear views and easy access to restrooms.

"Crisis averted?" Jordan asked, looking up from her tablet where she was reviewing the seating chart.

"Standard pre-wedding panic. She's fine now." Adriana checked her watch, automatically calculating the remaining tasks against available time. "Guests start arriving in an hour. How are we looking?"

"Perfect. Actually perfect. I think we might have pulled off the impossible."

The ceremony space was indeed stunning. The afternoon light streaming through the conservatory's glass ceiling created a natural spotlight on the altar area, where white and burgundy flowers created a romantic backdrop against the tropical greenery. White chairs were arranged in perfect rows with burgundy ribbon accents, and the aisle was lined with small arrangements of roses and greenery that would photograph beautifully.

They spent the next hour handling last-minute details—adjusting lighting fixtures to compensate for changing sun angles, coordinating with the photographer about timeline and positioning, ensuring the musicians had everything they needed for both processional and recessional music. Adriana felt the familiar rush of an event coming together flawlessly, but this time she had Jordan beside her, anticipating needs and solving problems before Adriana even noticed them.

"String quartet is ready," Jordan reported, checking items off their shared list. "Photographer has confirmed all the family photo groupings. Catering is on schedule for cocktail hour service."

"Perfect. You're incredible at this."

"I had a good teacher."

As guests began arriving, Adriana and Jordan positioned themselves at discrete vantage points to monitor the ceremony and handle any issues that might arise. The conservatory filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the rustle of elegant attire, the space glowing warm and golden in the afternoon light. Family members found their seats, friends greeted each other with the particular joy that came with celebrating love, and everything felt exactly as it should.

"They look happy," Jordan observed, watching Marcus greet guests with a nervous but radiant smile. He was positioned near the front of the seating area, shaking hands and accepting congratulations while clearly trying to manage his pre-ceremony nerves.

"He looks terrified and ecstatic. Perfect groom energy."

"How are you feeling? Watching all this?"

Adriana considered the question. Usually at this point in a wedding, she was too focused on logistics to have emotional reactions. But today, with Jordan beside her and her heart feeling settled in a way it hadn't in months, she found herself genuinely moved by the celebration.

"Happy. Grateful. Like we're about to witness something really beautiful."

The ceremony itself was flawless. The processional began with the grandmothers being escorted to their seats—a touch Adriana always recommended because it honored family while creating a gentle emotional opening. The bridesmaids followed, moving at the pace they'd practiced, their burgundy dresses complementing the floral arrangements perfectly.

Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for. The doors at the back of the conservatory opened, and Priya appeared with her father, looking luminous in a dress that caught the light perfectly. The collective intake of breath from the guests was audible, that moment of recognition that something sacred was beginning.

Priya walked down the aisle with grace and confidence, her face glowing with joy when she saw Marcus waiting for her at the altar. His expression when he saw her was everything Adriana loved about weddings—pure, unguarded love and wonder, the look of someone seeing their future walking toward them.

The officiant, a family friend who had known both families for years, spoke about love and commitment with the kind of personal touch that made the ceremony feel intimate despite the large guest count. But it was the vows that made Adriana's chest tight with emotion.

"I promise to be your partner in all adventures," Priya said, her voice strong and clear, carrying across the conservatory with confidence. "To support your dreams and challenge your assumptions. To love you not just when it's easy, but especially when it's hard."

Adriana felt Jordan's hand find hers as they watched from the back of the space, fingers intertwining naturally. The gesture was subtle, invisible to the guests, but it grounded her in the moment and in their own relationship.

Marcus's vows were equally heartfelt. "I promise to notice the small things that make you happy and remember the big things that matter to you. To be proud of who you are and excited about who you're becoming. To choose you every day, not just today."

When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, when Marcus and Priya kissed as the string quartet launched into the recessional music, the conservatory erupted in cheers and applause that seemed to make the glass walls ring with joy. Adriana felt tears on her cheeks, overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment and the knowledge that she'd helped create it.

"We did it," Jordan whispered, squeezing her hand.

"We did."

The transition from ceremony to cocktail hour was seamless—guests moved naturally from the ceremony space to the reception area, where servers were ready with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The photographer was capturing family photos in the ceremony space while guests enjoyed drinks and conversation in the tropical garden area of the conservatory.

Adriana and Jordan moved through the cocktail hour like choreographed dancers, monitoring service, checking on vendors, ensuring that every guest felt welcomed and attended to. The catering was exceptional—elegant small bites that photographed beautifully and satisfied even the most discerning palates. The bar service was efficient and friendly, and the ambient music created the perfect backdrop for conversation and celebration.

"Everything's running perfectly," Jordan observed as they met up near the bar during a brief lull. "The guests are happy, the timeline is on track, and I haven't seen a single problem."

"Don't jinx it," Adriana laughed, though she felt the same satisfaction. "But yes, it's going beautifully."

The reception was equally perfect. Dinner service began precisely on time, with guests moving from cocktails to their seats for the first course. The conservatory's evening lighting created an magical atmosphere—warm and intimate despite the large guest count, romantic without being too dim for conversation.

Adriana found herself able to enjoy the celebration rather than just manage it, secure in the knowledge that every detail had been handled with care. She watched guests laugh and chat over expertly prepared food, saw family members from both sides bonding over shared stories, witnessed the kind of joy that made wedding planning feel like the most meaningful work in the world.

The toasts were perfect—heartfelt without being too long, funny without being inappropriate. Priya's father spoke about watching his daughter grow into the woman she'd become, Marcus's best man shared stories about their friendship that made everyone laugh, and Jordan's maid of honor speech was everything Adriana had hoped for—loving, personal, and beautifully delivered.

"Dance with me," Jordan said as the band launched into their first slow song after dinner service ended.

"I should monitor the cake cutting—"

"The cake cutting isn't for another hour. Dance with me."

Adriana let Jordan lead her onto the dance floor, among the other couples swaying to the music. The band was excellent—a quartet that could handle everything from jazz standards to contemporary favorites, creating exactly the right energy for each part of the evening.

It felt natural to move together like this, Jordan's arms around her waist, Adriana's hands linked behind Jordan's neck. They fit together well, moving in easy synchronization to the music.

"Thank you," Jordan said softly as they danced, her voice just loud enough for Adriana to hear over the music.

"For what?"

"For trusting me with who you really are. For letting me be part of this with you."

Adriana felt her chest warm with love and gratitude. "Thank you for staying. For wanting to figure it out with me."

"Always. Whatever comes next, we figure it out together."

Around them, other couples danced—Priya and Marcus in the center of the floor, looking blissfully happy; elderly relatives moving slowly but steadily to music that probably reminded them of their own wedding days; younger guests swaying with the easy confidence of people who felt free to enjoy themselves.

As they swayed together in the golden light of the conservatory, surrounded by the celebration of Priya and Marcus's love, Adriana felt a deep sense of rightness. This was what love looked like for her—not the grand passion of romance novels, but something steadier and more sustainable. Partnership, understanding, the willingness to grow and change together.

The rest of the evening flowed seamlessly. The cake cutting was perfect—a beautiful three-tier creation that photographed gorgeously and tasted even better. The band transitioned smoothly from dinner music to dancing, keeping the energy exactly right for guests of all ages. The late-night snack service was timed perfectly for when people needed a second wind.

Later, as they were overseeing the final cleanup—vendors packing equipment, decorations being carefully preserved for Priya to keep, the conservatory slowly returning to its daytime appearance—Priya approached them both, still glowing with wedding day happiness despite the late hour.

"I can't thank you enough," she said, pulling Adriana into a hug that smelled like flowers and joy. "This was everything I dreamed of and more."

"You're welcome. I'm so happy for you both."

"Seriously, Adriana, this was perfection. Every single detail was exactly right. The flowers, the timing, the food, everything. You're a miracle worker."

"And Jordan," Priya turned to her best friend with tears in her eyes, "thank you for being the most amazing maid of honor. For caring so much about every detail, for being my voice when I couldn't find my own, for making sure everything was perfect."

"Thank you for letting me be part of it," Jordan replied, hugging her tightly. "For trusting me to help make your day special."

"You two make an incredible team," Priya said, looking between them with a knowing smile that suggested she'd noticed how well they worked together, how naturally they complemented each other's strengths. "I hope you know how lucky you are to have found each other."

As they drove home that night, the wedding successfully completed and their vendors paid and thanked, Adriana felt a contentment she rarely experienced after events. Usually she was exhausted and slightly melancholy, coming down from the high of creating someone else's perfect day while returning to her own ordinary life. But tonight, with Jordan beside her humming along to the radio, she felt fulfilled rather than empty.

"I love you," she said as they pulled into her driveway, the words coming easily in the peaceful aftermath of a successful day.

"I love you too," Jordan replied, reaching over to take her hand. "So much."

"I'm glad we figured it out."

"We're still figuring it out," Jordan corrected gently. "But we're doing it together, and that makes all the difference."

As they walked into Adriana's house together, both still dressed in their wedding day attire but finally able to relax, Adriana found herself thinking about the vows Priya and Marcus had exchanged. About promises to love each other through whatever came, to choose each other every day, to be partners in all adventures.

She and Jordan might not be ready for marriage vows yet, but they had something just as precious—the commitment to build a relationship that worked for both of them, exactly as they were. The understanding that love wasn't about fitting into predetermined roles, but about creating something new together.

And maybe that was what happily ever after looked like in real life—not a perfect ending, but a perfect beginning, and the promise to keep choosing each other every day after that.

Chapter 15

Adriana woke up on a Saturday morning in March to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jordan humming in the kitchen. Six months after Priya's wedding, their relationship had settled into a rhythm that felt both comfortable and exciting—a perfect balance of routine and discovery that Adriana had never thought possible.

The past half year had been a period of gentle exploration and growing confidence. They'd learned each other's rhythms, navigated the complexities of building a life together while honoring both their needs. There had been challenges—moments when they'd had to communicate about boundaries, times when Adriana's asexuality intersected with social expectations in ways that required patience and understanding from both of them.

But there had been so much joy too. Sunday dinners with Elena, who had officially adopted Jordan as a second daughter and never missed an opportunity to express her approval of their relationship. Lazy weekend mornings like this one, where they could be completely themselves without performance or pretense. The kind of easy domesticity that Adriana had never thought she'd want but now couldn't imagine living without.

Their life together had developed its own unique texture. They'd figured out what physical intimacy looked like for them—lots of touching and cuddling, kissing that could last for hours, the kind of closeness that satisfied both their needs for connection. They'd learned to communicate about desire and boundaries with an honesty that felt both vulnerable and empowering.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Jordan said as Adriana appeared in the kitchen, hair messy and wearing one of Jordan's sweaters that hung oversized and comfortable on her frame. "I made your favorite."

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, evidence that Jordan had been up for a while preparing something special. She was still in her pajamas—soft cotton pants and a tank top—but she'd clearly been busy.

"You spoil me," Adriana said, accepting the perfectly prepared coffee and stealing a kiss that tasted like vanilla and promise.

"Someone has to. Besides, we're celebrating today."

"Celebrating what?"

Jordan grinned and handed her a tablet displaying a glowing review from a prominent wedding blog. "Priya and Marcus's wedding made the 'Top 10 Most Romantic Weddings of the Year' list. With specific mention of the 'innovative venue choice and flawless execution by Ever After Events.'"

Adriana felt her chest warm with professional pride as she read the review, which praised everything from the unique venue selection to the seamless coordination of vendors. It was exactly the kind of recognition she'd been working toward for years.

"Really?"

"Really. And that's not all. Kai told me you're booked solid through next spring, with a waiting list that extends into the following year. You're officially one of the most sought-after wedding planners in the city."

It was true. The conservatory wedding had generated exactly the kind of publicity Adriana had always dreamed of—inquiries from high-profile clients, features in wedding magazines, and the kind of word-of-mouth reputation that money couldn't buy. She'd even had to hire an additional assistant to help manage the increased workload.

But success felt different now that she had someone to share it with. The professional achievements were satisfying, but they were enhanced by having Jordan there to celebrate the victories and provide support during the challenges.

"We should do something special to celebrate," Adriana said, settling beside Jordan on the couch with her coffee.

"Actually, I have an idea about that." Jordan's voice carried a hint of nervousness that made Adriana look at her more closely. There was something different in her expression—excitement mixed with anticipation and just a touch of anxiety. "But first, I have something to give you."

Jordan disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a small wrapped box that made Adriana's heart skip with panic. The size and shape were unmistakable, and despite how happy she was with Jordan, the idea of traditional engagement rituals still felt overwhelming.

"Jordan, if that's what I think it is—"

"It's not a ring," Jordan said quickly, sitting back down and noting Adriana's obvious relief. "Though we should probably talk about that at some point. I mean, not marriage necessarily, but what we want our future to look like, what kind of commitment feels right for us. But no, this is something else."

Adriana opened the box to find a delicate necklace with a small pendant in the shape of interlocking hearts—one outlined in silver, one filled with purple and gray enamel that caught the morning light beautifully.

"It's the asexual pride colors," Jordan explained softly, her voice carrying the careful tone she used when giving gifts that had emotional significance. "I thought... I wanted you to have something beautiful that represents who you are."

Adriana felt tears prick at her eyes as she lifted the necklace from the box. Over the past six months, she'd grown more comfortable with her identity as an asexual person. She'd read books and memoirs, connected with online communities, learned that there were many ways to be ace and many ways to structure relationships that honored everyone's needs.

The necklace was beautiful—elegant enough to wear professionally, meaningful enough to feel like a celebration of her identity. It was exactly the kind of gift that showed how well Jordan understood her.

"It's perfect," Adriana whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Will you put it on me?"

As Jordan fastened the necklace around her neck, her fingers gentle against Adriana's skin, Adriana felt a sense of completion that had nothing to do with jewelry and everything to do with being known and accepted completely.

"There's something else," Jordan said, returning to sit beside her but maintaining the nervous energy that suggested this conversation was heading somewhere significant. "The celebration I mentioned. I was thinking we could have a party."

"What kind of party?"

"A commitment ceremony. Not a legal wedding, just... a celebration of us. Of what we've built together, of the promises we want to make to each other."

Adriana stared at her, feeling her heart race with possibility and terror in equal measure. It wasn't marriage in the traditional sense, but it was a formal acknowledgment of their relationship, a public declaration of their commitment to each other.

"Jordan..."

"I know it's big," Jordan said quickly, reading the uncertainty in Adriana's expression. "And I know we haven't talked about it before. But I love you, Adriana. I love our life together, I love the way we balance each other, I love that we figured out how to make this work for both of us in a way that feels authentic and sustainable."

"I love you too," Adriana said softly, her voice carrying all the certainty she felt about their relationship. "But are you sure? Really sure? Because I'm always going to be asexual. I'm always going to need things to be different than they are for most couples."

Jordan took her hands, her expression serious and certain. "Adriana, what we have is better than anything I've ever experienced with anyone else. You're my best friend, my partner, the person I want to come home to every day. The person I want to share my successes and failures with, who I want to travel with and build a life with and grow old with."

Jordan paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "The fact that you experience the world differently doesn't make our relationship less—it makes it ours. Unique and honest and built specifically for who we actually are instead of who we think we should be."

Adriana felt tears spilling over, overwhelmed by love and gratitude and the magnitude of what Jordan was offering. A formal recognition of their relationship, a celebration that honored what they'd built together.

"What would a commitment ceremony even look like?"

"Whatever we want it to look like. Small and intimate, just family and close friends. Maybe in your mother's garden, or at the conservatory where we figured everything out. Promises that are meaningful to us, vows that reflect who we actually are rather than generic statements about forever."

Jordan's enthusiasm was growing as she spoke, her vision clearly something she'd been thinking about for a while. "We could have your mom's enchiladas instead of a formal dinner, or maybe a brunch celebration instead of an evening event. Whatever feels like us."

"Would you want me to plan it?"

Jordan laughed, the sound bright and joyful. "God, no. You plan everyone else's perfect days. Let someone else plan ours. Let me plan ours, with input from you about what you want and need."

Adriana thought about it—about Jordan planning their celebration with the same care and attention she'd brought to understanding Adriana's asexuality, about making promises to each other surrounded by people who loved them, about officially acknowledging what they'd built together.

The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. It would mean coming out more publicly, explaining their relationship to people who might not understand. It would mean defining their commitment in their own terms rather than following traditional templates.

"Okay," Adriana said, the word coming out stronger than she'd expected.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Let's do it. Let's have a commitment ceremony and celebrate what we have."

Jordan's smile was radiant, transforming her entire face with joy and relief. "Really?"

"Really. But I have one condition."

"Anything."

"I want to help plan it. Not professionally, just... as your partner. I want us to create it together."

"Deal," Jordan said, pulling her into a kiss that tasted like coffee and forever.

They spent the rest of the morning talking about possibilities—guest lists and venues, the kind of promises they wanted to make, whether they wanted music or flowers or just the simplest possible celebration of their love. Adriana found herself getting excited in a way she never had about her own life events, energized by the prospect of creating something meaningful with Jordan.

"I'm thinking maybe fifty people maximum," Jordan said, making notes on her tablet. "Close family, our best friends, the people who really matter to us."

"Kai will want to help with logistics," Adriana said, already envisioning how touched her assistant would be to be included. "And Priya will probably cry when we tell her."

"Happy tears, though."

"The best kind."

They discussed venues—Elena's garden was beautiful but small, the conservatory was meaningful but might feel too much like work for Adriana. They talked about timing—spring would be lovely, but summer might be more practical for outdoor celebrations.

"I want to tell people," Adriana said as they were cleaning up breakfast dishes, the decision forming as she spoke. "About the ceremony, but also about being asexual. I'm tired of people assuming things about our relationship, and I want our families to understand who I really am."

"Are you sure? You don't have to come out to anyone for my sake."

"I want to. For my sake. For our sake." Adriana paused, considering the implications. "I think coming out will actually make the ceremony more meaningful, because people will understand that we're celebrating something we built specifically for ourselves."

"Who do you want to tell first?"

"I think I want to start with my mother."

That afternoon, they drove to Elena's house for an impromptu visit. Adriana's mother was, as always, delighted to see them, immediately setting out food and asking about their week with the kind of maternal attention that made Jordan feel welcomed and loved.

Elena's house always felt like a warm embrace—filled with family photos, comfortable furniture, and the lingering scents of whatever delicious meal she'd most recently prepared. It was the kind of home that invited people to stay and share their news.

"Mami," Adriana said as they settled in the living room with coffee and homemade cookies, "Jordan and I have some news to share."

Elena's face lit up with anticipation, her expression shifting to the focused attention she gave to important announcements. "Oh?"

"We're going to have a commitment ceremony. A celebration of our relationship, our promises to each other."

"Like a wedding?" Elena's voice was carefully neutral, and Adriana could see her trying to navigate unfamiliar territory with the delicacy she'd learned to apply to her daughter's non-traditional choices.

"Like a wedding, but not legally binding. Just... a way to celebrate what we have with the people we love."

Elena looked between them, her expression thoughtful and assessing. "And this is what you both want?"

"It is," Jordan said firmly, her voice carrying the conviction that had convinced Adriana to say yes. "I love your daughter, Mrs. Abarca. I want to spend my life with her."

"Good," Elena said, her face breaking into a smile that transformed her entire expression. "Then we plan a beautiful party."

"There's something else," Adriana said, her heart racing as she prepared to share something she'd never articulated to her mother. "Something I want you to understand about me, about our relationship."

She took a breath and explained asexuality to her mother—what it meant, how it affected her relationships, why it had taken her so long to understand herself. Elena listened with the focused attention she gave to important things, asking thoughtful questions and nodding with understanding rather than judgment.

"So you can love someone romantically but not feel sexual attraction?" Elena asked, working to understand concepts that were outside her personal experience.

"Exactly. I love Jordan deeply, completely. I want to build a life with her, share everything with her. But I don't experience sexual attraction the way most people do."

"And this is why relationships were always hard for you," Elena said finally, pieces clicking into place. "You were trying to be something you're not."

"Yes. But with Jordan, I can be exactly who I am."

Elena turned to Jordan with the serious expression she used for important conversations, the look that had intimidated Adriana's high school boyfriends but now felt like protective love. "And you understand this about Adriana? You're okay with this?"

"I'm more than okay with it," Jordan said simply, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "I love Adriana exactly as she is. We've figured out what works for us, and it's beautiful."

Elena nodded slowly, processing this information with the care she applied to understanding anything that mattered to her daughter. Then she stood up and pulled them both into a fierce hug that smelled like vanilla and unconditional love.

"Then I'm happy for you. Both of you. Love is love, mija. It doesn't matter what form it takes."

"You're not disappointed? That I'm different from what you expected?"

"Disappointed?" Elena held Adriana at arm's length, her expression incredulous. "Mija, I'm proud of you. For figuring out who you are, for finding someone who loves you completely, for being brave enough to be yourself."

As they drove home that evening, Adriana felt lighter than she had in years. Coming out to her mother had been easier than she'd expected, and Elena's immediate acceptance had removed the last barrier to feeling completely authentic in her relationship.

"One down," Jordan said, squeezing her hand as they navigated the familiar route home. "How do you feel?"

"Free," Adriana said honestly, the word carrying months of suppressed anxiety finally released. "Like I can finally stop pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Good. Because I love who you really are."

They spent the evening calling friends and family to share their news. Kai was delighted and immediately started making lists of vendors who could help with the celebration. Priya cried happy tears over FaceTime and insisted on flying in from her honeymoon destination to help plan. Jordan's family was equally supportive, her parents expressing their love for Adriana and their excitement about the commitment ceremony.

Each conversation felt like another step toward authenticity, another layer of pretense stripped away. Adriana found herself explaining asexuality multiple times, and each explanation felt easier, more natural. She was beginning to understand that visibility mattered—not just for her own peace of mind, but for other people who might be struggling with similar questions about their own identities.

That night, as they lay in bed talking about their ceremony plans, Adriana found herself thinking about all the weddings she'd planned over the years. She'd spent her career creating perfect moments for other people, but she'd never imagined what her own perfect moment might look like.

Now she knew. It would look like this—honest conversation in the dark with someone who saw her completely, the promise to keep choosing each other every day, the commitment to build something beautiful and uniquely theirs.

"Jordan," Adriana said softly, her voice carrying all the love and gratitude she felt.

"Mmm?"

"I love you. All of you. Including the parts that challenge me to be braver."

"I love you too," Jordan replied, pressing a kiss to her temple that felt like a benediction. "Forever and always, exactly as you are."

As Adriana drifted off to sleep, she thought about the future they were planning together—not just the ceremony, but the life beyond it. It wouldn't look like anyone else's love story, but it would be theirs. Built on understanding and acceptance, on the willingness to create something new, on the knowledge that love could take as many forms as there were people to experience it.

She thought about the other couples she'd worked with, about all the different ways love manifested in the world. Some relationships were built on passion, others on companionship. Some couples needed constant physical connection, others thrived on intellectual intimacy. What mattered wasn't fitting a template, but finding someone who complemented your own way of loving.

And maybe that was the most beautiful thing of all—not finding a love that fit the template, but creating a template that fit their love.

In the morning, they would start planning their celebration in earnest. They would choose a venue, select a date, decide what promises they wanted to make to each other. They would create something that honored both their relationship and their individual identities, something that celebrated love in all its diverse forms.

But tonight, Adriana was content to fall asleep next to the person who had seen her clearly and chosen to stay, who had helped her understand that there was nothing broken about her way of loving. Tomorrow would bring new adventures, new challenges, new opportunities to build something beautiful together.

For now, this was enough. This was everything.

Epilogue

One year later

Adriana stood in her mother's garden on a perfect October afternoon, wearing a simple cream dress that Elena had helped her choose and the asexual pride necklace Jordan had given her, watching their friends and family take their seats among Elena's prize-winning roses. The garden had been transformed into something magical—not with the elaborate decorations of her professional events, but with the kind of intimate beauty that came from love and attention to meaningful details.

White wooden chairs borrowed from the church were arranged in a loose semicircle around a small arch that Kai had constructed from branches found in Golden Gate Park, wound with white roses and trailing greenery from Elena's own garden. Mason jars filled with wildflowers and baby's breath sat on small tables, creating a rustic elegance that felt both celebratory and authentically them.

The guest list was exactly what they'd envisioned—fifty people who truly mattered to them. Elena sat in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and looking prouder than Adriana had ever seen her. Jordan's parents had flown in from Portland, her father already pulling out his phone to take pictures while her mother tried to discreetly restrain him. Priya and Marcus were there, glowing with newlywed happiness and holding hands like they still couldn't quite believe their good fortune.

In a few minutes, she and Jordan would exchange the vows they'd written together over months of careful conversation—promises that reflected who they really were and what they'd built together, words that honored both their love and their individual identities.

"You look beautiful, mija," Elena had whispered when she'd helped Adriana get ready that morning, fastening the pearl earrings that had belonged to Adriana's grandmother. "Radiant. Like someone who knows exactly where she belongs."

And Adriana did know. After years of feeling like she was performing a role that didn't quite fit, she was finally, completely herself.

The past year had been a journey of continued discovery and growth. Their relationship had deepened as they'd navigated the complexities of building a life together that honored both their needs. They'd had difficult conversations about the future—about whether they wanted children, how they would handle well-meaning family members who didn't understand their relationship, what legal protections they could put in place without traditional marriage.

They'd also had wonderful conversations—about travel dreams and career goals, about the kind of home they wanted to create together, about the ways they wanted to support each other's growth and happiness. Adriana had watched Jordan pursue a promotion at work with the same intensity she brought to everything that mattered to her, while Jordan had celebrated every milestone in Adriana's increasingly successful business.

Professionally, Adriana had indeed become one of the most sought-after wedding planners in the Bay Area. The publicity from Priya's wedding had led to features in major publications, inquiries from celebrity clients, and the kind of reputation that allowed her to be selective about the events she took on. But more importantly, she'd begun to incorporate her own experience into her work, becoming known as a planner who could create meaningful celebrations for all kinds of couples, including those whose relationships didn't fit traditional molds.

She'd worked with older couples celebrating second marriages, same-sex couples navigating family acceptance, and even another asexual couple who had found her through online communities and wanted someone who understood their specific needs. Each event had reinforced her belief that love was endlessly diverse, and that her job was to honor whatever form it took rather than forcing it into predetermined templates.

Kai appeared at her elbow with a boutonniere and his characteristic knowing smile. Over the past year, he'd become not just her business partner but one of her closest friends, someone who understood both her professional perfectionism and her personal journey toward authenticity.

"Ready for this?" he asked, adjusting the small spray of white roses and baby's breath on her dress.

"More than ready," Adriana said, meaning it completely. There was none of the nervous energy she usually felt before big events, none of the anxiety about whether everything would go according to plan. Today felt different—not like an event to manage, but like a celebration to experience.

"Good. Because Jordan looks about ready to combust with happiness over there."

Adriana followed his gaze to see Jordan at the other end of the garden, surrounded by her family and looking beautiful in a navy dress that brought out her eyes. She was carrying a small bouquet of white roses from Elena's garden, and her face was glowing with the kind of joy that made Adriana's chest tight with love.

The ceremony began with music—not a string quartet or professional musicians, but Jordan's youngest sister playing guitar, performing an acoustic version of "At Last" that felt both traditional and personal. As the opening notes filled the garden, conversations quieted and attention turned to the simple altar where they would make their promises to each other.

Jordan began walking first, moving slowly down the simple aisle between the chairs. Her steps were measured and confident, her smile radiant as she made eye contact with family and friends. When she reached the altar, she turned to wait for Adriana with an expression of such love and anticipation that several guests reached for tissues.

Then it was Adriana's turn. She had chosen to walk alone—not as a statement about independence, but because this journey had been hers to make, this decision hers to own. As she moved through the garden where she'd played as a child, past the roses her mother had tended for decades, toward the woman who had helped her understand herself, Adriana felt overwhelmed by the rightness of the moment.

Every step felt intentional, meaningful. This wasn't a performance or a professional event—it was the most authentic moment of her life.

"Hi," Jordan said softly when they met in the center of the garden, reaching for Adriana's hands with the natural ease that characterized all their interactions.

"Hi yourself," Adriana replied, taking her hands and feeling instantly grounded by the familiar warmth of Jordan's touch.

The officiant was a friend of Jordan's family, a woman who had taken the time to understand their relationship and craft a ceremony that honored their specific journey. She spoke about love in all its forms, about the courage it took to build something new, about the beauty of relationships that were created rather than assumed.

"Adriana and Jordan have chosen to write their own vows," she said, "words that reflect not just their love for each other, but their commitment to building a life that honors who they really are."

Jordan went first, pulling a folded piece of paper from her bouquet and unfolding it with slightly shaking hands.

"Adriana," she began, her voice strong and clear, "when I first met you, I thought I knew what love was supposed to look like. I thought it followed rules and timelines and looked the same for everyone. But you taught me that love isn't one-size-fits-all—it's custom-made, crafted specifically for the people experiencing it."

She paused, looking directly into Adriana's eyes. "You taught me that the most important question isn't 'how should we love,' but 'how do we love best.' And the answer, for us, is with honesty and patience and respect for each other's authentic selves."

Adriana felt tears start to fall as Jordan continued. "I promise to love you exactly as you are, not as I think you should be. I promise to keep learning about asexuality and what it means for our relationship. I promise to communicate my needs while respecting your boundaries. I promise to celebrate our differences as strengths rather than seeing them as obstacles."

Jordan's voice grew stronger, more confident. "I promise to be your partner in building a life that works for us, regardless of what anyone else thinks it should look like. I promise to support your dreams, challenge your fears, and remind you of your worth when you forget it yourself."

She folded the paper carefully. "Most of all, I promise to keep choosing you, every day, not because it's expected but because loving you is the best decision I've ever made."

When it was Adriana's turn, she found her voice steady despite the emotions flooding through her. She'd written and rewritten her vows dozens of times, trying to capture everything she felt, everything she wanted to promise.

"Jordan," she began, "for most of my life, I felt like I was missing something essential, like everyone else had received instructions about love that I'd somehow missed. I spent years trying to fit myself into shapes that weren't mine, thinking that the problem was with me rather than with the expectations."

She took a breath, feeling the support of everyone gathered around them. "But you saw me clearly before I saw myself clearly. You loved me authentically before I knew how to be authentic. You made space for me to discover who I really was, and then you celebrated that person instead of trying to change her."

Adriana's voice grew stronger as she continued. "I promise to keep growing in self-understanding and to share that growth with you. I promise to communicate honestly about my needs and to listen carefully to yours. I promise to appreciate the ways we're different instead of seeing them as problems to solve."

She looked around the garden, at the faces of people who loved them, then back to Jordan. "I promise to build a life with you that honors both our identities—your passion and my thoughtfulness, your spontaneity and my planning, your way of loving and mine. I promise to keep learning what partnership looks like for us specifically."

Her voice broke slightly with emotion. "Most importantly, I promise to trust that love doesn't have to look like anyone else's love to be real and beautiful and enough. I promise to believe that what we have is not just valid but wonderful, not just acceptable but extraordinary."

As they exchanged the simple silver bands they'd chosen—not traditional wedding rings, but symbols of their commitment to each other—Adriana felt a deep sense of completion. The rings were custom-made, engraved inside with coordinates marking the conservatory where they'd first said they loved each other.

"By the power vested in me by two people who love each other very much," the officiant said with a smile, "I now pronounce you committed partners in life. You may kiss each other."

The kiss was gentle and sweet, full of promise rather than passion, perfect for who they were and what they meant to each other. The garden erupted in cheers and applause, but Adriana barely heard it. She was focused entirely on Jordan, on the moment, on the overwhelming rightness of what they'd just done.

The celebration that followed was exactly what they'd wanted—intimate and joyful, full of good food and heartfelt toasts and the kind of dancing that came from pure happiness rather than obligation. Elena had indeed made her famous enchiladas, along with enough other food to feed twice their number. Jordan's father gave a toast about the courage it took to love authentically, while Priya cried through a speech about friendship and acceptance that left half the guests reaching for tissues.

Kai had surprised them with a wedding cake—simple but beautiful, decorated with white roses that matched Elena's garden and topped with two figures that he'd commissioned from an artist who specialized in custom cake toppers for non-traditional couples.

As the sun began to set, Adriana found herself on the small dance floor they'd created on Elena's patio, swaying with Jordan to music from the playlist they'd carefully curated together. Around them, their friends and family celebrated with the kind of joy that came from witnessing real love.

"No regrets?" Jordan asked softly as they danced.

"None," Adriana said firmly. "This is perfect. We're perfect."

"Not perfect," Jordan corrected with a smile. "Just perfect for each other."

As the evening wound down and guests began to leave with containers of Elena's leftovers and promises to get together soon, Adriana felt a deep sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought them here. The confusion and fear had been real, but they'd led to understanding and acceptance and this moment of pure happiness.

"Thank you," she said to Jordan as they stood in the garden where they'd just promised to love each other forever.

"For what?"

"For seeing me. For staying. For helping me figure out who I am and then loving that person completely."

"Thank you for trusting me with who you really are. For letting me be part of your story."

This was her love story—not the one she'd thought she wanted when she'd started planning other people's weddings, but the one she'd needed all along. Built on truth and acceptance, on the courage to be authentic, on the revolutionary act of loving someone exactly as they were.

And as they walked into Elena's house together, still wearing their ceremony flowers and glowing with happiness, Adriana knew that this was just the beginning. They had a whole lifetime ahead of them to keep figuring it out together, to keep building something beautiful and uniquely theirs.

She couldn't wait to see what they'd create next.

But tonight, surrounded by the lingering scents of roses and celebration, holding hands with the person who had helped her understand that love came in as many forms as there were people to experience it, Adriana was perfectly content to simply be present in this moment of complete happiness.

They had found each other, they had chosen each other, and they had promised to keep choosing each other every day going forward. In a world that often insisted love should look one particular way, they had created something entirely their own.

And it was beautiful.