Page 63 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“That is a valid planning objective.”

Puck noses the notebook.

Daisy pulls it out of his reach. “Not you. You always sound brilliant.”

“He licked a pumpkin today.”

“Research.”

I sit back. “So, have you heard from Whitcomb?”

Her mouth tightens for half a second, and she frowns. “The gossip already hit Boston?”

“No.”

“Your mom knows a lot more than I do sometimes,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “How do you know about Principal Whitcomb?”

I shrug.

“Wolfcraft.”

“You first,” I cross my arms. “Why in the world are you coordinating a dinner while working two jobs and planning a nightmare wedding?”

She blows out a breath and drops into the chair across from me like gravity finally made a convincing argument. “Because my mother called, Gloria quit, the vineyard is apparently one seating chart away from collapse, and if I’m going to be there the first week of November anyway, I might as well help with the other event too.”

“You could’ve said no.”

She laughs.

Not amused.

More like she’s five minutes away from losing her shit and politely scheduling the breakdown for later because she’s Daisy Thorn, and apparently even emotional collapse requires calendar availability.

I wouldn’t be surprised if her eye starts twitching.

I also wouldn’t blame it.

Mine would’ve left my face by now.

“You don’t know my mother. I said I’d think about it, and five minutes later, the principal texted me to discuss her vision.”

“She has a vision?”

Daisy groans and opens the notebook. “She likes micromanaging and harvest ambience. It’s delightful to deal with her when I’m not dealing with Carla. Or Carla’s mother. Or Liam’s mother. Or my own mother deciding I am both a daughter and a rentable crisis service.”

Then she frowns. “They’re interviewing coaches that week,” she says. “Hockey coaches.”

“I’m one of the prospective coaches.”

Her eyes narrow. “One of?”

“Apparently.”

“Are there many of you?”

“Enough for them to call it a process.”

“That sounds ominous.”