***
Since Peach moved out last December, I’ve hated going home to my empty condo.
I let myself in and sigh at the dreary sight before me. The place is dimly lit by the Christmas lights I’ve strung from the ceiling but is otherwise bare of decoration. I’m a fashionista all day long, but have no idea how to interior design.
I don’t bother with flicking on a light. The ambiance matches my mood.
No one should be able to see me cry, even when I’m all alone.
Christmas is only a few weeks away, but I haven’t gotten a tree. There just isn’t any point when I’m the only one who’s going to see it.
Especially since it’s been nearly a year since I’ve brought a man home for a night of fun. I love men and casual sex. I love any kind of sex, any time, anywhere. But for a long time, it’s done nothing but make me feel lonelier.
“Ugh,” I groan aloud. “Get your shit together, Porter.” Even I’m sick of listening to myself complain. Not that I complain to anyone else. I keep that shit inside where it belongs.
I’m just in a rut. For months, I’ve figured Peach will move back in with me. At the very least, I’ve been sure she and Nick would break up and she’d have more time for me. Now, she’s marrying him and I’m going to have to accept it might be years before I get her back.
It must be something about this town. It convinces people love is real and Christmas lasts all year.
Not me, though. I’ll never lose sight of the truth. People only care about themselves, first and foremost, and men are guaranteed to let you down. The only people you can really trust or count on are yourself and maybe a sister, a cousin, and a friend or two. That’s it.
I plop onto the couch and pull off my boots. One plus to living alone is that I can just toss my boots in the vicinity of the door and there’s no one here to complain or trip over them.
My phone dings in my hand as I’m pulling it out of my purse and some of my hurt eases at the sight of Peach’s name. She’s sent me the name of the venue. She didn’t send me anything else. Clearly, she’s still worried about me meddling. I’ll get the names of the vendors out of her. I’ll just have to operate discreetly.
I change into my comfiest clothes and settle onto the couch for an evening of research.
From the website, Peach’s venue looks lovely. All green grass, wildflowers, and mountain views. There’s even a large house where guests can stay right there on the property.
There are only ten bedrooms, though. I hope Peach and Nick noticed that. It will be a disaster if they invite too many guests to stay.
I hit Peach’s contact, but stop myself before I make the call. She’ll get suspicious if I bother her with a bunch of questions. Or is that a normal thing a sister would do?
Gah. I hate having to change my entire personality to make everyone else happy.
Instead, I do a thorough analysis of the venue and it takes me nearly an hour to find a negative post on social media. It’s from a woman who got married at Peach’s venue just three months ago. Not only was the place filthy, but a staff member gropedone of her guests, and three people got food poisoning from the breakfast the venue provided.
This is not the place for Peach’s wedding. Again, I scroll to her contact information, but I stop myself a second time. I can’t tell her what I’ve found. She’ll say I don’t trust her to do things on her own.
Which is ridiculous. I just know how busy she is with her bakery and her torrid love affair and the demands of our mother she still only sometimes ignores. I’m doing what any sister would do.
This is all Nick’s fault. Just because I didn’t like the guy in the beginning and warned Peach to stay away from him, she’s decided I need to back off.
So what if I also threatened Nick, more than once? I wasn’t wrong to be suspicious. He played hot and cold with her for way too long before they got together. How was I supposed to know he’s actually a good guy?
She just needs time to realize everything I did for her, apologize, and ask me to go back to being there for her in the ways a good sister should.
I spend the next couple of hours finding the perfect venue for Peach’s wedding. It’s about an hour outside Sugar Valley, and I can’t find anyone saying a bad word about it. It’s got a lot more room for guests, and it’s way up in the mountains with amazing views.
Now, I just need to figure out how to tell her about it without telling her about it.
I get up and pace, phone gripped in one hand.
Maybe I could mention it randomly when she’s around?
No, she’ll see right through that.
I need someone else to tell her about it, someone she’d never in a million years suspect. Someone she’d never be able to claim heard it from me.
