“Yes, you do,” he says with a smirk.
The tables are perfect. The signage looks custom. The dunk tank is already drawing kids like it’s a magnet.
“I think we might actually pull this off,” she says.
I bump her shoulder. “We already did.”
We move like clockwork the next hour. She checks with the auction volunteers, I triple-confirm the fire safety waivers. She sweet-talks the espresso truck guy into offering two-for-ones. I fix the broken mic cable before the band’s sound check.
At one point, I find her by the dunk tank, arms crossed, lips twitching as she watches a seven-year-old try to hit the target with a tennis ball the size of his head.
“I don’t think he’s strong enough,” she murmurs.
“Think you are?” I ask, holding out a spare ball.
Addy takes it, winds up, and nails the target.
The firefighter in the tank splashes down, and the crowd erupts in laughter.
She does a mock bow, then turns to me, face flushed. “That felt good.”
“I’m just glad Gerald MacDonald isn’t here to see this.”
“Oh, he’s watching,” she says, voice low. “From his office. Through gritted teeth.”
“Let him.”
Just as Addison and I finish our first slow sweep of the event site, pie safely in place and guests starting to filter in, I spot trouble coming in the form of two familiar silhouettes striding toward us like they own the blacktop.
Morgan’s got that sparkle in her eye that says ‘I have questions and I will not be subtle about them’, and Leah’s smirking like she’s already halfway into a roast.
I sigh. “Brace yourself.”
Addison arches a brow. “For what?”
“Sisters. Multiplying.”
Morgan reaches us first, arms crossed, smile wide. “So. This is the famous Addison Bennett.”
“I told you not to call her famous,” I mutter.
“Too late,” Leah chimes in. “We’ve heard so much. Honestly, it was starting to feel like Dylan had invented a stunning, hyper-competent wedding planner just to get out of talking about his feelings.”
“I have feelings,” I protest.
“Yeah,” Morgan says. “Mostly about power tools and pecan pie.”
Addison laughs, full and unbothered. “I’ll take stunning and hyper-competent. That’s a first.”
Leah sticks out a hand. “Leah. I’m the nice one.”
Morgan scoffs. “I’m the cool one. You’ll like me better once I show you our group chat where Dylan asked seven times whether ‘fancy fairy lights’ and ‘practical fairy lights’ were the same thing.”
I feel my ears go red. “They weren’t, and you know it.”
Addison just smirks. “He takes lighting very seriously.”
“You should’ve seen him with the hummingbird arch,” Morgan says, eyes twinkling. “He was practically emotional. I thought we were going to have to write it a eulogy.”
