CURTISSLYNN PUBLISHING

Liz adjusted the final wedding centerpiece with precision, her practiced eye ensuring that every detail was flawless. The roses were a beautiful blend of cream and peach, soft as lovers' whispers. Sprigs of baby's breath spilled from the silver-edged vase like champagne froth. Eucalyptus leaves added a texture reminiscent of enchanted forests and fairy tales. Delicate tendrils of ivy were woven throughout, evoking timeless elegance and the enduring nature of love. Lavender sprigs brought a calming presence, while crystal droplets sparkled like miniature stars suspended among the blooms.
As she stepped back to admire her handiwork, her gaze fell upon the rows of grapevines, a radiant mosaic of deep purples grapes, emerald, green leaves and twisted golden vines against the blush-colored sky. She’d spent months organizing this event at Starlight Winery, ironing out all the kinks to deliver the luxurious dream wedding her clients wanted.
Her gaze was suddenly drawn to the man emerging from the shadows of the winery. It was Mark, the owner. She felt her cheeks flush as he caught her staring at him. Despite being thirty-two and never considering herself a marriage-minded woman, her romantic nature couldn't help but imagine a future with someone like Mark.
Liz’s heart raced as she ran her fingers through her hair. He approached with a glass of red wine in hand, the sunset casting orange highlights in his dark hair. As he drew near, an electric energy surged between them, heightening the moment.
Over the last few weeks, as they collaborated on planning her client's wedding, the attraction between them had steadily intensified. Liz couldn't help but notice the gentle way Mark smoothed out the creases from the table covers, a tenderness in his hands that belied his otherwise rugged appearance. When he caught her watching, he'd shoot her a lopsided grin, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and sent a flurry of butterflies dancing in her stomach.
Every conversation with him added a new layer of intrigue and attraction. His velvety baritone seemed to touch a chord of infatuation within her. As they’d discussed vendor access and lighting, she couldn't help but lean in, drawn to the faint scent of sandalwood that surrounded him.
Perfect. Everything was perfect—except for her inability to stop staring at the winery owner.
"You know," a velvet baritone said from directly behind her, "most wedding planners don't fall in love with their own centerpieces. Should I be jealous?"
The word 'jealous' sent her heart into overdrive, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "Only if you're threatened by baby's breath and eucalyptus. Which honestly would be a little sad."
Mark Castello appeared at her elbow with two glasses of wine and that insufferable grin that had been haunting her dreams for weeks. "Sad? Or self-aware?"
Mark's eyes, a deep shade of blue reminiscent of the twilight sky just before stars make their shy appearances, seemed to hold conversations of their own. Liz would often find herself entranced, lost in the gentle ebb and flow of those cerulean tides. There was an earnestness to his eyes that whispered secrets not yet spoken aloud, secrets that she yearned to understand.
"There's a difference?" She accepted the wine he offered, trying to ignore how her fingers brushed his and sent sparks racing up her arm.
"Huge difference." Those twilight-blue eyes held hers with dangerous intent. "One makes me pathetic. The other makes me honest."
"Huge difference." Those twilight-blue eyes held hers with dangerous intent. "One makes me pathetic. The other makes me honest."
Liz's throat went dry. She took a sip of wine to cover her reaction—blackberries, dark cherry, oak, and something dangerously smooth. Like him. "And which one are you?"
"With you? Honestly pathetic." His smile went lopsided, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I've spent six weeks finding excuses to discuss table linens and lighting fixtures just to be near you."
"Table linens are important," she said weakly.
"Liz. I own a winery. I couldn't care less about thread count."
"You should. High-quality linens reflect—"
"See, you're doing it again." He stepped closer, bringing that sandalwood scent that had been slowly driving her insane during every planning meeting. "Deflecting with professionalism whenever I get too close to the truth."
"Which is?"
"That you've been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you." He paused. "Or am I completely misreading this?"
The man was bold.
Her heart performed a gymnastic routine worthy of Olympic gold. She could lie. She could deflect again. She could maintain the careful professional distance she'd spent six weeks constructing between them.
Or she could be honest.
"You're not misreading it," she admitted quietly.
His exhale sounded like relief and hope tangled together. "Thank God. I was starting to think I'd imagined every lingering look, every accidental touch, every conversation that lasted twenty minutes longer than it needed to."
"You noticed those too?" The words escaped before she could stop them.
"Noticed?" He laughed, low and warm. "Liz, I've been mentally cataloging every interaction we've had like a desperate teenager. You chew your pen cap when you're concentrating. You organize your planner with tabs color-coded by priority. You get this little line between your eyebrows when someone suggests something that won't work, but you're too polite to say so immediately."
"That's—" Creepy? Flattering? Completely overwhelming? "—very observant."
"I'm a vintner. We're trained to notice the subtle things." His gaze traveled from her eyes to her lips and back again. "The things that matter."
The sunset didn't just paint—it transformed. Gold leaf and crushed rose petals, melted amber and wild honey, all spilling across the sky in opulent layers. The vineyard shimmered beneath it, each element touched by alchemy: purple grapes darkening to garnets, green leaves burnished to antique bronze, the twisted vines becoming rivers of old gold. Light pooled in the wine glasses, glowed through the silk table runners, kissed the cream petals of her roses until they blushed peach. The world had softened into something luminous and impossible. Liz felt like she was standing in one of the fairy tales she created for other people. Except this time, she was the bride in the story. Or could be. Maybe.
"Mark," she started, then stopped. What was she even trying to say? That she was terrified? That she'd spent thirty-two years being practical and organized and in control, and he made her want to be reckless? That she'd orchestrated eighty-seven happy endings but couldn't imagine her own until him?
"You don't have to say anything," he said gently, reading her struggle. "I just needed you to know. Before tonight ends and you disappear back to your perfectly organized life, I needed you to know that this—" He gestured between them. "—isn't just me."
"It's not," she confirmed, her voice barely a whisper.
"So, what do we do about it?"
Liz glanced toward the gathering guests, the ceremony space she'd spent months perfecting, the love story she'd stage-managed for someone else. "I'm working. This is my client's dream wedding. I can't—"
"I know." He didn't touch her, but she felt the heat of him anyway. "Which is why I've been waiting for the right moment to ask. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Just dinner?" she asked, trying for casual and landing somewhere near breathless.
"Well, dinner and possibly some highly inappropriate conversation about how much I want to kiss you right now."
Her pulse jumped. "That would be unprofessional."
"Extremely."
"And inappropriate timing."
"The worst."
"And yet..." She looked up at him through her lashes, feeling bold and terrified and alive. "I really want you to."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the vineyard went still, as if the grapes themselves were waiting.
"Liz." Her name on his lips was a prayer and a promise. His hand settled on her waist, warm through silk. "If I kiss you right now, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."
"Someone should probably stop you," she whispered.
"Probably." He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips. "But I'm really hoping it's not you."
When his lips met hers, it felt like the first sip of something extraordinary—a vintage you'd search for your whole life without knowing it existed. Soft and certain, tender and achingly real. The kiss tasted of wine and waiting, of six weeks of tension finally finding release.
The world didn't explode. It didn't spin. It simply... settled. Like finding a piece you didn't know was missing.
When they finally parted, Mark rested his forehead against hers, both breathing a little too fast, smiling a little too wide.
"So," he said, his voice deliciously rough. "Dinner tomorrow?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. Then, because she was still Liz and couldn't help herself: "But I'm picking the restaurant. You clearly have no sense of appropriate timing."
He laughed, full and genuine. "There she is. I was wondering when the bossy wedding planner would come back."
"I prefer 'director with executive authority.'"
"Even your corrections are hot."
She shook her head, fighting a smile. "You're impossible."
"I'm smitten," he corrected, taking her hand. "There's a difference."
As they walked toward the ceremony space where her clients were about to exchange vows under string lights and stars, Liz felt something shift in her carefully organized world. She had the wedding. She had the wine. And walking beside her, hand warm in hers, she just might have found Mr. Perfect.
Starlight Vineyard had hosted eighty-seven weddings.
And maybe, just maybe, it would host its eighty-ninth.