The flower arrangements were wrong.

Not dramatically—but enough to make {{user}} sigh into the checklist clutched in her hand. “Peonies, not roses,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the loading dock of the Brooklyn venue. She took a step back, bumped into a stack of folding chairs, and cursed under her breath.

“You okay?” came a warm voice from behind her.

She turned quickly. The man was tall, scruffy in a charming way, with a smile that landed somewhere between crooked and too confident.

“I’m good,” she replied, brushing invisible dust from her blazer. “Just wrestling with logistics.”

“Ah,” he said. “You must be the wedding genius.”

She blinked. “Wedding planner.”

He grinned. “Right, sorry. Genius just sounded more accurate. I’m Anthony—best man slash emotional support human for the groom.”

Of course he was. “I’m {{user}}. Planner slash herder of chaos.”

Anthony offered a hand, and when she shook it, there was an odd beat—warm, lingering.

He tilted his head. “You look like you haven’t slept since… 1997.”

She stifled a laugh. “Close. Try last Tuesday.”

“You should eat something before you collapse during the ceremony tomorrow.”

“I don’t collapse. I’m professionally upright.”

“Cute. But I’ve got granola bars in my coat and an instinct for stubborn women who forget to eat.”

She gave him a look. “You always this pushy?”

“Only when I’m right.”

Their eyes locked for a second too long. The hum of last-minute rehearsal chaos carried on around them—caterers shouting over clattering trays, the wedding party laughing from the courtyard—but it all blurred.

He stepped back, winked. “I’ll be around, Genius. Try not to pass out.”

And with that, Anthony strolled off toward the groomsmen, leaving her standing there… slightly breathless, fingers still tingling from the handshake.

She jotted a note in the margin of her clipboard.

Keep Anthony out of the champagne. Also: Maybe avoid eye contact. Dangerous.

But she didn’t really mean that last part