Southern Bombshell (North Carolina Highlands 5)

I’m nothing if not a doer. So I light the pumpkin chai candle beside my laptop, take a sip of my latte, and will myself to do.

Over the past couple of days, Thea and I made frantic calls to vendors across the southeast in an attempt to book what we could. I nabbed a tent, furniture, lighting, and an excellent band out of Savannah. I also booked Holly for a package of dance lessons, starting next week. Thea lined up a florist whose elegant, slightly boho style totally jives with Reese’s. She emailed my brother Samuel and his wife, Emma, too. As Blue Mountain’s food and beverage directors, respectively, they’ll be in charge of dinner and drinks.

Now for the actual design. For the ten or so weddings I do every year, I select two to four colors that will guide the palette for the entire event, from invitations to napkins to the bow ties and boutonnieres the groomsmen will wear. We use those colors as jumping-off points, selecting complementary fabrics and accessories that, in my not so humble opinion, really make a design stand out.

So Thea, Hadley, and I flip through the magazines and dog-ear what we like. I pull fabric and wallpaper samples from my collection, along with a Farrow & Ball paint deck, aiming for a soft palette of ivories and apricots. Farrow & Ball is a UK company famous for their clean, classic British sensibility, so their colors should be a perfect fit.

I pull a Clarence House chintz and put it up next to a paint color called Ammonite.

“Hm,” Thea says.

I purse my lips. “Ugh, that’s too gray. Fuck.” I try a Lewis & Wood wallpaper next, and match it to a white called Wevet. “Too mod, right?”

“Yes. But we’re getting closer,” Thea replies, and thumbs through the paint deck to some warmer whites. “What about this one? Wimbourne White.”

“Oooh, I like the yellow undertone,” Hadley says, standing to get a better look. “It’s the perfect off-white.”

I glance at the paint sample and see it: a ranunculus boutonniere in exactly that shade, the soft white an elegant counterpoint to the crisp black tux Nate will wear.

God, he’ll look good in a tux. Shoulders and arms filling out the jacket to perfection, slacks expertly tailored to show off his long, powerful legs. Or will he wear a kilt? His hair will be brushed back from his face—he’ll be clean-shaven for this—and he’ll fidget up at the altar as he waits for Reese to appear, clasping and unclasping his hands.

Those hands. The ones that craft the world’s best whiskey. That electrified my skin, my mind, every time he put them on me.

Slow hands. They did their job thoroughly. Worshipping. Giving.

Only to end up taking.

There’s that heaviness in my chest again. The one I said I did not have time to fucking feel.

I put one hand on the table, the other between my boobs, suddenly dizzy.

“You all right?” Thea asks, furrowing her brow.

“Tired—I didn’t sleep great.” I feel Hadley staring at me, so I gesture to Wimbourne White and manage a smile. “That’s the one. Try it with Pigeon. No, wait, that’s gonna read too teal against the off-white. What about Yeabridge green?” I wait for Thea to thumb to it. I grimace, frustrated. “Too spring-y. Bancha?”

“I’m thinking that’ll be too vibrant,” Thea says. “Why don’t we go for a more sage green? Like . . .”

“Breakfast Room Green,” I say.

“That’s the one,” Hadley replies approvingly, and I let out a silent sigh of relief. I don’t remember exactly when this part of the process got so painful. But here we are.

Thea marks Wimbourne White and Breakfast Room Green, holding them next to each other. “Damn that’s pretty.”

“That’s the easy part,” I say glumly. “Now we have to find our apricot.”

Thea takes a fortifying breath. “Oranges are killer, but we can do this.”

It takes us an hour to decide we don’t like any of Farrow & Ball’s oranges, so we hit up our Benjamin Moore deck next. We don’t like anything there either, so we head back to Farrow & Ball and find a deep, muted pink we all love called, mystifyingly, Crimson Red. I text snapshots to Reese, who enthusiastically agrees pink is the way to go.

I plan to decorate the bar with upholstered panels and have custom pillows made for the furniture we’re renting, so we move to fabrics next. No joke, it takes us three hours to find what we’re looking for. Schumacher’s Indian Arbre is an elegant, modern floral pattern that Reese goes apeshit for. It’s got pinks and greens and ivories and some brown too, which matches our paint palette perfectly. I have Hadley check the lead-time, and then Thea shows him how to place an order for 20 yards.

His eyes water at the price tag. “Two hundred bucks per yard?”