Page 2 of The Grump Next Door
I breathe anyway.
This isn’t what I reserved. Not even close. What I reserved was a sleek, all-electric, whisper-quiet SUV that would glide into the Hudson Valley like a glossy, capable adult woman. What I got was a suspiciously sticky Subaru hatchback with a cracked Bluetooth screen and a backseat full of unidentified crumbs.
Still smiling.
I crank down the windows, because the air freshener smells like meat. I tell myself it’s fine.
It’s fine. Being fired could even turn out to be a good thing.
Right?Right?!
My phone rings again. It’s CeCe. My best friend, moral support system, and the only person I’ve ever met who’s better at dealing with bridal parties than I am.
“Did you know?” I demand.
“Poppy—”
“Did. You. Know?”
A pause. “She called me ten minutes ago. And offered me your job.”
My stomach drops through the floorboard. “And?”
“I told her to get bent, obviously.” Relief floods through me. “Did you tell Ivy?” she asks immediately.
“Tell her what? That I’m unemployed? That I’m about to show up at her wedding with no team, no resources, and no backup?” My laugh sounds unhinged. “Yeah, I’ll just text her real quick. ‘Hey girl! Fun update—your wedding might be a disaster!’”
“Poppy—”
“I can’t lose this wedding, CeCe. I can’t.” My voice cracks. “This was supposed to beit. The one that launched everything.”
“So what’s the plan?”
I glance at my shoes. Eight-hundred-dollar-Louboutins that took me three months to pay off. The red soles that screamI belong herewhen everything else about me whispersfake.
“Fake it till I make it,” I say. “What else is there?”
“With what team? Poppy, this is insane—”
“I’ll figure it out.” The words come out harder than I mean them to.
CeCe’s quiet for a second, which is slightly unsettling, because of all the things CeCe is, quiet has never been one of them.
“Are you okay?”
“That depends,” I say. “If you count being fired, a crappy rental car, a matcha incident, a group chat implosion…” I tell her everything. By the time I get to the linen mix-up and a bizarre email about live butterflies, CeCe is openly laughing.
“This is going to beyourstory wedding,” she says. “The one you tell future clients to prove you can handle anything.”
Always looking on the bright side, this one.
“I was kind of hoping that story wouldn’t begin with me being canned.”
CeCe makes a noise of encouragement. “You’ve got this. You’re a freaking ninja with a clipboard. You once ran a beach wedding during a hurricane and still managed to keep the flower girl’s curls intact.”
“True.” I smirk.
“You’re a professional. A magician. A beacon of calm under pressure. And also… slightly terrifying when pushed.”
