The storm barrels in with freight-train speed. Rain pelts leaves. I sprint to the generator box, flip breakers — nothing. Wind roars; the fairy strands thrash like trapped birds. Meredith calls my name, voice thin in the squall.
Then, lightning strikes.
A sound like timber snapping — loud, violent — shatters the night. I whirl. The center post of the arch lists drunkenly, fairy lights whipping off it in bright arcs. High above, the hummingbird keystone, Dylan’s carefully carved flourish, teeters, then cracks clean, tumbling through the air. It slams into sod with a mute thud, beak buried, wings splintered.
“No, no, no!” I race forward, mud sucking at my flats. The arch groans, tips another inch, lights rasping free. Rain catches the bulbs; half of them fizzle in tiny pops.
Mr Langford shields Meredith with his coat. Gina’s stare is full of accusation. “This is exactly what happens when professionalism takes a back seat to flirtation,” she snaps.
I drop to my knees beside the ruined keystone, fingers splaying across the raw cedar wings. The arch teeters, holds — barely.
Suddenly, headlights sweep the aisle, and Dylan’s truck fishtails onto the wet grass. The door slams, and he vaults out, toolbox in one hand, ratchet straps coiled over his shoulder like a fire hose. His T-shirt is soaked through in seconds, hair plastered, yet he looks carved from purpose.
“Addison!” He jogs over and kneels beside me. “You okay?”
I nod, mute, because shame clogs my throat. He sets a steady hand on my shoulder, then takes in the fallen bird and the swaying frame.
He rises, voice pitched to cut wind. “Mr Langford, can you help me brace that post while I anchor new straps?”
He blinks, unused to orders, but something in Dylan’s calm sparks obedience. He hands Meredith off to Gina and strides toward the arch. Dylan shouts for extra hands. Two orchard crews, lingering near the barns, sprint over. Instantly, Dylan’s delegating: ropes, sandbags, temporary wedge blocks. He may as well be wearing turnout gear.
Gina edges in. “Touching tableau, Ms. Bennett. Tell us — what is the payment arrangement between you two?”
My cheeks burn hotter than the lightning flash. My mouth opens, but no sound emerges. Rain pours down the back of my collar.
Meredith’s gaze swings from Gina to me, eyes wide with shock and doubt. That breaks something fragile inside.
Thunder cannons directly overhead. Lightning rips violet across the clouds, throwing the whole scene — Dylan setting ladder feet, Meredith’s dad muscling a brace — into a freeze-frame of chaotic brilliance.
I can’t breathe fast enough. The arch might fall, the wedding might implode, and TikTok already owns my reputation. I’m the planner who promised perfection and delivered a headline.
I lean toward Dylan, voice shredded. “I — I need a minute.”
He turns, eyes anchoring me. Rain streaks his jaw, but his expression is steady. “Addy, stay with me. We’ve got this.”
Another TikTok ping buzzes in my pocket — viewer count over fifteen thousand.
Fight or flight? Flight wins.
I back away. Dylan reaches for me but misses as I pivot. “Addy!”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but I don’t know if he hears over the roar. I run, binder thumping, rain needling my scalp. The orchard tilts, and the fairy bulbs behind me sputter out one by one like dying satellites.
My worst nightmare has come true. Giving in to my desire has led to my professional demise.
I fumble keys and yank the Civic door open. The interior already smells of damp fear. Wind blows the door wide as I haul it shut, sealing me in a coffin of my own heartbeat.
Through the blurred windshield, I see Dylan bracing the arch, Mr Langford grappling a rope, Meredith gripping a ladder rung with bare fingers. Gina’s waiting on the side, observing the chaos.
The engine sputters but catches. My wipers smear storm across the glass, my hands shaking so hard the steering wheel dances.
I thought I was the one who held things together — lists, plans, contingency grids. Yet there Dylan stands, shoulder to cedar, keeping the dream upright while I sit here leaking mascara and professional credibility.
I put the car in reverse, ease my foot off the brake. Then get a grip.
Get a grip of yourself, Addy.
I put the car in park.
