Don't Promise (Don't 3)

But there wasn’t anything Cole could do. My eyes closed.

Five days to plan a wedding was like trying to get a size ten foot in a size six shoe. It was impossible. But with Moira Thomas as my wedding coordinator, there was a chance we could accomplish the unthinkable.

It didn’t hurt that Sasha had flown in on the twenty-seventh. She was my closest friend in South Padre. As a recent bride, she had a lot of experience to share. I needed her and Mary Ellen to get me through the week.

Sasha drummed a pencil on the dining room table. “I think we have enough chairs and high-top tables.”

Mary Ellen clicked something on her phone. “And these guys who put up Christmas lights are dying to do the backyard. After this week they have no jobs until next year. I got a great price on it.”

Money wasn’t what I was worried about. Cole told me I could spend anything I wanted. He thought if he took on the cost, it might be an olive branch for my dad. But my father wasn’t impressed with Cole’s millions.

“Ok good. Good.” My mom sat in between them. “And Ryan is taking care of parking on the street.”

I nodded. They had everything under control. Other than put on the dress, I didn’t have anything to do but show up. That and worry every second of the day that Cole was safe. He’d been gone three days and I hadn’t heard from him.

“Does that work for you, Kaitlyn?” Sasha asked.

“Hmm?”

“If we carry red roses? Or is too cliché?”

“Sure. It’s fine.”

Mary Ellen leaned over. “We just thought at night in the garden with the snow they’d really stand out, but if you want a different color.”

“No. Red roses. Perfect.”

My mother sighed. “Is there anything you want?”

“Cole.”

“Two more days.” She smiled.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate everyone’s optimism, but I was barely hanging on by a thread. “I’m going to get some water. I’ll be right back.”

“I can get it for you, honey.”

“That’s ok.”

I scooted out of the room before I missed my chance to escape. I found Ryan in the kitchen.

“Hey. How’s the planning going?” he asked.

I poured a glass of water. “I think everything is done.”

“I’m impressed. Not that I doubted Mom, but really? They’ve got it covered?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” I asked defensively.

“I don’t know. Like when Pickles died.”

I glared at him. “You promised you’d never bring that bunny up again.”

“Then stop looking like that.”