CHAPTER 1
MILLIE
SEPTEMBER
“It’s official,” I said to my sister over the phone. “I’m cursed.”
Winnie laughed. “You’re not cursed.”
“Oh no?” I walked over to my hotel room window and peeked out at the city lights, blurred by sheets of rain. Manhattan was under siege. “Let’s add things up. A hurricane pummels the East Coast the day I’m supposed to fly home, and my flight is canceled.”
“Lots of flights were canceled, not just yours.”
“I had to spend a lot of money to stay one more night in this expensive hotel.”
“One more night at a four-star hotel is not a curse, it’s an unexpected gift. And you can write it off—you’re in New York on business. I want to hear how it went today, by the way.”
“It was fine,” I said grudgingly. “The usual wedding planner expo—noise and chaos. But I did get a few new ideas. Cottagecore weddings are supposedly going to be the trend for a while, and that’s a vibe that suits Cloverleigh Farms.” I frowned. “But the fashion show bothered me, it was not size-inclusive at all.”
“Seriously?”
“Same old, same old. The models were beautiful, but they didn’t look like any of the real brides I’ve ever worked with. Why can’t there be some curvy girls in these shows, or short girls, or top-heavy girls, or brides with bigger butts?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. Because archaic beauty standards still abound in fashion, and the wedding industry is no exception.”
“So do something about it.”
“I would, but I’m very busy explaining to you why I’m cursed.”
My sister sighed loudly.
“My ex-boyfriend is getting married next month, and I had to plan the wedding.”
“You introduced them!”
“I know, but it’s still sort of humiliating.”
“Think of it as a compliment, Mills.” Winnie could always find a bright side when I saw doom and gloom. “Even though they knew it might be slightly awkward, they still chose you.”
“They chose Cloverleigh Farms because the bride works at the winery and got a discount,” I corrected. “I just happened to be the event planner there. They couldn’t have one without the other.”
“Still, discount or not, a lot of brides would have gone with another venue altogether rather than let her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend handle the most important day of her life. I think the trust she placed in you is a testament to your professional reputation.”
“I guess.” I turned away from the window and sprawled across the bed on my belly. “But this is the third ex of mine who’s gone on to propose to the very next girl he dated after me. The third, Winnie.”
“So you’re a good luck charm, not a curse!”
“A good luck charm for them. What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing! Be honest, Millie. Did you really want to be Mrs. Mason Holt?”
“No,” I admitted. “He’s cute, but he was too young for me. I didn’t think the four-year age gap would matter that much, but after a few weeks, I knew it was never going to work.”
“You knew after a few weeks? You dated Mason for months!”
“I know, but the spark wore off fast. Our relationship was strictly platonic by the end.”
“Why didn’t you break it off sooner?”
“Because I felt sorry for him. His mom had recently died, his stepdad was out of the picture, he never knew his real father . . . He seemed so vulnerable.”
Winnie laughed. “This is your problem. You date lost puppies.”
“I can’t help it. Lost puppies are so cute. So loving and needy.”
“Too needy.”
“I like being needed. It makes me feel good.” Rolling onto my back, I sighed. “It’s just really frustrating that I’m thirty-two and still haven’t found the one yet. Honestly, I thought I’d have like three kids by now.”
“You don’t need a man to have a kid, Mills. You just need some genetic material, and I think there’s an app for that.” She giggled.
“Be serious,” I told her, although I’d secretly googled sperm banks near me like ten times in the last few months and then immediately deleted my search history.
“I am being serious. You’d be an amazing mom, and if that’s what you want, you should go for it.”
“I want a family,” I clarified. “I want a dad for my kids, not just someone’s genetic material. And I’d like to grow old with someone. You and Felicity managed to find the one. Why can’t I?”
“Finding the one isn’t something you manage, like a project or an event. It takes time. I might be younger than you, but I kissed a lot of frogs before I met Dex. And even he sort of seemed like a frog at first—twelve years older than me, divorced with two young daughters, grumpy as hell and positive he’d never want to be in a relationship.”
I snorted. “That didn’t last long.”
“No, but it wasn’t easy. And look at Felicity.”
Our middle sister had recently spoken her vows in the orchard at Cloverleigh Farms, after a whirlwind courtship that had involved a fake engagement to her best friend from high school—the one who’d loved her all along. “That should have been easy, but they made it complicated.”
“So complicated,” Winnie agreed with a laugh. “But my point is, there are some things you just have to leave up to fate. You can’t rush them. And you can’t plan them.”
“So that’s it?” Cranky, I got off the bed and headed for the minibar. “I just while away my days waiting for lightning to strike? That’s not me, Winnie. I’m a doer, not a waiter.”
“But you keep doing the wrong thing. You just have a pattern—you choose guys that need fixing, you solve their problems, part ways with them, and then they go on to meet the love of their lives because you helped them get over their baggage. You need to get out of that rut.”
“You’re not helping,” I told her, perusing the tiny bottles of booze and overpriced snacks in the fridge.
“Want my advice?”
“Maybe,” I said, wondering if I had to feel bad that the little sister was the one handing out wisdom to the big sister. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Seemed like yesterday she was wearing footie pajamas and had syrup in her hair. It actually made me smile, thinking about those frantic school mornings where our dad, who’d raised the three of us on his own after our mother left, would scramble to get out the door on time.
We’d lived that way for a few years before he married Frannie, our amazing stepmom, who’d been more of a mother to me in every way than my biological mom. It was from watching my dad and Frannie that I’d learned to believe in real love, the kind that lasts.
I just didn’t know where to find it.
“My advice,” Winnie went on, “is to change your luck. Get off the hamster wheel.”
I shut the minibar door. “How do I do that?”