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Chapter 1
Chapter One: Eggs at Nine
Paige Whitaker built her life on what could be stapled to a clipboard. She loved bullet points. She respected a timeline. She could wrangle a three-city pop-up event and still make dinner on Tuesday. So when her kid sister, Jasmine, texted, We left the veil at Mom’s. Please bring it? Paige said yes with the calm of someone who had once moved a cake and a harp through a crowded elevator.
It was supposed to be simple: pick up the veil and a box of mason-jar lights, drive them to the wedding in Springfield, Missouri, and enjoy a weekend without having to manage the DJ, the florist, or the universe. She would practice “not micromanaging.” She would let Theo drive. She would “chill.” She had written CHILL on the top of her packing list.
Theo Cruz, at the curb outside Paige’s apartment, lifted the veil box with both hands and whistled like he’d just been handed a live swan. “So this is the crown jewel.”
“It’s tulle,” Paige said. “Not a jewel. And please don’t tilt it.”
“I would never,” he said, tilting it slightly to his shoulder so he could open the door. He wore his favorite T-shirt, the one with a cartoon dinosaur stopping for snacks. He was tall and sunny, a human vacation slideshow. “I will also, for the record, be handling navigation. To prove,” he added, waggling his eyebrows, “that I can do one adult task without turning it into a circus.”
Paige swallowed a grin. “You really don’t have to.”
“I want to. I can do serious. I can do efficient. I can—”
Her phone chimed. Aunt Ruth in the family thread, voice-to-texting per usual: “Springfield Emma Exit nine red barn behind the church.” Then again: “eggs at nine.”
Paige read it once, twice, and her brain fixed the missing pieces. Springfield—MA, not MO—made sense to her ear after Aunt Ruth’s “Emma.” She opened her maps app. Springfield, M—there were several Springfields. She clicked the first suggestion. Massachusetts.
She hesitated, then saw Jasmine’s reply, someone reacting with a thumbs-up to “MO,” which turned the O into an emoji bubble. Her screen showed only “Springfield M.” Paige nodded to herself. That must be it. It must be right. Family weddings were a cloud of helpful chaos. This was what happened in clouds.
“Springfield, M,” she said. “Exit nine. Red barn behind the church.”
Theo glanced over, his hand already on the steering wheel. “Massachusetts? Are we—”
“It says M,” she said, proud of how relaxed her voice sounded. Look at me, she thought. Letting go. “Let’s just go. We’ll be early. We’ll get a coffee. It’ll be fun.”
“I love fun,” he said, and kissed her cheek. He tapped the GPS. “All right. Two states, a friendly turnpike, and a red barn behind a church. Easy.”
The car pulled away. Paige tucked the veil box between her knees like a happy cat.
If later anyone asked about the first sign, she would say it didn’t look like a sign at all. It looked like joy.
Giant Fiberglass Duck, Two Miles.
“Detour,” Theo said, already signaling.
Paige laughed. “No.”
“It’s only ten minutes off,” he said, beaming. “We can do ten minutes. It’s a duck.”
She looked at his grin. She looked at the road. She looked at the word CHILL at the top of her list. “Fine. Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes became a very large duck on a very small pond and a photo of Theo hugging its leg while Paige squinted at the sky and wondered if ten minutes could ever actually be ten minutes.
By the time they got back on the highway, the GPS had rerouted. A new line, crisp and northern, threaded through cities Paige wasn’t thinking about. The new route matched the assumption that had settled in her chest. Neither of them questioned it. They turned up the radio and drove.
