Chapter Text
When it comes to taking on a new wedding client, Will has five rules that he refuses to waive on:
1) Don’t skimp on floral arrangements—brides and grooms alike love an extravagant floral centrepiece. If they’re hesitant, explain to the couple that, yes, they’re expensive and an investment, but they’re incredibly worth it. Show them various arrays of previous setups, explaining that if they want a more timeless look, to aim for white tulips—but if they want something more romantic, something more sultry, red roses always do the trick.
2) The lighting in a venue makes all the difference, so anything less than spectacular is not good enough. Whether that is to set the mood or to make Jonathan’s life easier when photographing the event itself, the overall vibe is determined by the brightness, position, and type of lightbulb used in the overhead lights and in the small mood lighting placed throughout the venue.
3) Use the official cake testing as a form of ‘reward’ for the couple. If things are not running smoothly, provide samples of all available cake flavours and buttercreams as an alternative to the more complicated decisions made during the planning stage, allowing them to make a quick decision to gain confidence. Once they have decided on the flavour of their cake, it will feel like a bigger feat, providing some relief and leaving time and room to make other important decisions. Positive reinforcement, if you will.
4) Judge the family members. Sure, it sounds harsh—but Will is in the business of ensuring that the bride and groom are the ones satisfied by his service. Any overbearing parents, whether mother or father, are not to be in the room while decisions are being made unless both members of the future married couple give explicit permission.
5) Avoid arguments at all costs. Mediate when necessary by offering small, relevant suggestions to reach a compromise. He is there to make their journey to the altar smooth and worry-free, not to cause rifts among couples who are not even married yet. That said, it is crucial to remain as professional as possible. With his reputation and business on the line, he knows better than to be in the middle of a PR crisis that Jonathan has to clean up.
“I just… don’t understand, Evan. Why can’t we have seven violinists?” The bride huffs, crossing her arms and turning to her groom. “Do I have to remind you that you were the one who told me I could have whatever was necessary to make this night as special as possible, to make it like a fairytale?”
This is Will’s sixth time meeting the couple, and it never gets any easier. Though they have already booked a venue, both the bride's dress and the groom's suit have been purchased and sent to the seamstress for tailoring—this couple is nothing if not indecisive, changing their minds every time they meet.
“I don’t think seven violinists are a necessary expense, my love.” The groom sighs, running a hand over his forehead. “There’s just a lot going on already, you know? The cost for one violinist is almost double what we have left in our expense fund. We still have to consider the music, the vendors…”
“Why can’t we just do it all?” She pushes, to which Will winces from where he’s sitting across the table. “I mean, we’ve been saving up for this for years, Evan. Years! We both know that I hate settling. I don’t want to.”
Will clears his throat, knowing that it’s officially time for him to intervene, not wanting to sit and watch them argue. “While I understand that seven might’ve been your dream, Emily, may I suggest a small compromise?”
“Of course,” Evan nods, eager to find a way to please not only his future wife but also to adhere to the budget.
Will lets out a small breath of relief, flipping the binder in front of him to face the couple. “I’ve been looking at the numbers, and yes, we can all acknowledge that while your available funds are… dwindling, there are still steps we can take to ensure your desired outcome without sacrificing your preset budget.”
“There are?” Emily asks, eyes glued to the binder in front of her.
He smiles slightly, knowing there’s nothing that makes him happier than giving people what they want, what they dream of for their wedding, even though he will never be able to get married himself. He takes pride in being the person who makes everything work out.
“There’s always a solution,” Will explains, sending a smile toward the bride. “I do agree with Evan that seven violinists might be a bit excessive budget-wise, but if we go with this vendor for food,” he points to a printed profile of one of his most trusted affiliates, “and this vendor for music, we can manage three violinists—with enough money left over for a sufficient safety net. Not to mention that the photographer is included in my general fee, so there’s no need to worry about carving out an extra expense for that.”
He tries his best to be as accommodating as possible—knowing that client reviews are detrimental to his business and that one negative review can cause other couples to lose trust in him to create the perfect wedding. Even if what they want is unrealistic, there are ways Will can bring the dream back to reality while keeping the core the same.
“That… that would be amazing,” Evan nods his head eagerly, looking over at Emily. “Honey, what do you think? Seven wouldn’t work, but three sounds amazing. It’s a middle ground.”
“Three violinists…” She mumbles, eyes still fixed on the binder in front of her. She reaches for her glass of champagne, as though mulling over all the options presented to her. “I do like that food vendor the most. Do they have vegan options? Or would that be extra?”
“I can ring in a favour so it doesn’t affect the overall price of the food.” Will smiles, knowing he’s got them exactly where he wants them. “If you choose the vendor that I suggested, of course.”
Emily looks over at her soon-to-be husband, pursing her lips. Running a hand through her hair, she begins to nod. “You have a deal.”
୨ᰔ୧
“You’re telling me that they’re flying you out to New York for a consult?” Max’s voice echoes throughout their small, but shared apartment. Sitting on the couch, she shakes her head. “Jesus Christ, Will. Have they never heard of, like, a phone call or something?”
“The bride insists that we meet face-to-face first,” Will sighs as he runs a hand through his half-messy hair, not having the time (or the energy) to properly style it today. He continues to flip through his three-inch, colour-coded binder—the one he uses to organize absolutely everything related to his New York specific clients, stopping on a page that lists venues in the city within their proposed budget (that he’s approved, of course). “Says she prioritizes a hands-on approach.”
“That’s brutal.” Max turns from her spot, reaches for one of their throw pillows, and wraps her arms around it. Lifting her eyebrows, she asks: “Think she’s gonna be a bridezilla?”
Will tilts his head, thinking about it. “Not sure. She seemed pretty nice over the phone during our first conversation. No different from most of the other brides I’ve had to deal with, honestly.”
“What about the bride from last month?” Max questions, wrapping her finger around a strand of her red hair. “Did she end up getting the six-tiered cake?”
“What do you think?” Will replies, lifting his eyebrows. “I mean, I tried to see if it was possible. I literally called like, seven different bakeries in the city, and they all told me that it would cost upwards of five thousand.”
“For a wedding cake?” Max’s voice laces with disbelief, shaking her head. “How is that even possible? Isn’t it just… batter and icing?”
“Yeah, Max.” Will nods, as though it’s obvious. “Clients often forget to budget for those. They’re one of the most expensive things of the night.”
Max, still caught up on a cake costing over five thousand dollars, “You’re losing me, Will. How the hell can it cost that much?”
Will flips through his binder to the section with previous cakes he catered for other weddings. He knows that wedding cakes are egregiously expensive, but he doesn’t have much of a choice—brides and grooms often have expectations of what their dream wedding cake looks like, making it difficult for them not to rack up an extensive bill.
“Labor, mainly? I mean, the costs of ingredients aren’t cheap. It also kinda depends on where you order it, and what you want. Like, if you order a one-tier cake from Oak Mill Bakery, that’ll run you about a thousand…”
“A thousand?” Max asks, as though she doesn’t believe a word coming from Will’s mouth. “For a sheet cake?”
“It’s not just about the sheet cake, Max.” Will replies, sending a look of slight disagreement to his friend, though they both know it’s delicate in nature. His eyes fall back onto the pages of his binder, various cakes of all kinds, different shapes, tiers, and flavors of his past clients. His eyes can’t help but linger on a small picture in the corner—a light blue, three-tiered cake with yellow edible flowers and buttercream piping around the edges. Though this was one of the first cakes he ordered in the very first year of his business, it's always been his favorite. “It’s about the moment. You know… cutting the cake, the pictures, the memories.”
“Remind me to pick one up from Jewel-Osco’s bakery section when Lucas and I get married.” She rolls her eyes. “A thousand dollars for a cake I can buy for twenty? Not happening.”
Though they’ve been engaged for over a year, Max and Lucas are in no rush to marry. Both are in the early stages of their careers and want to build a stable foundation before tying the knot.
“I don’t know, Max. You say that now, but when it’s time, I’m sure you’ll want a fancy cake.” Will can’t help but think about how much he would kill to have a wedding cake of his own. To cut the bottom tier with the person he would marry, if it weren’t illegal. “I’ll have to gift you one, then. To live vicariously through you.”
“Only if you cut the first slice with me.” She smiles, as though really considering it.
“What about Lucas?” Will rolls his eyes, knowing that he would never take the spotlight away from the bride and groom on their wedding night, despite the sentiment. “He’d be your husband.”
“Forget about him,” Max shrugs. “You’re my best friend. That’s more important to me.”
In this business, it isn’t uncommon for him to deal with his own fair share of difficult brides and grooms, some of whom have made him question whether this line of work is really for him. Though he can’t lie—the pay is incredible, and the satisfaction of knowing that he’s the reason that a wedding runs smoothly, and the sure compliments that follow are the icing on top of the cake.
“When do you leave?” She sighs, bringing the conversation back to the aforementioned topic. “Like, soon?”
“In two days.” Will replies simply, pulling out a piece of paper and quickly jotting down some phone numbers alongside brief descriptions of the venue so he has them on hand.
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure,” Will sighs. “I mean, she wants me there for the first official meeting, then wants to make sure I can come back to the city for wedding dress shopping, and then the fittings for that dress—”
“She wants you to help her pick out her dress?” Max interrupts, surprised. “As in… go to the appointment with her? With her family?”
“Yeah. She was very open about needing support every step of the way.” He replies sheepishly, still flipping through his binder. “I could’ve sworn I had some bridal boutiques in New York written down here somewhere…”
“No offense, but is she marrying an idiot or something?” Max lets out a small scoff. “How is her husband not offering her enough support for the planning process that she needs you to be by her side?”
“Maybe?” Will shrugs. “I mean, she did mention that both of them are super busy with their careers and upcoming deadlines. They’re looking for someone who can walk her through each step. Oh, and she wants me to go to the dress appointments because it’s important that the wedding ceremony matches the aesthetic of her dress.”
“Deadlines?” Max asks, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. “Are they like… super famous or something? What do they do for a living?”
“No idea,” Will replies, still focused on the binder in front of him, flipping through it.
“I’m surprised she isn’t making you fly to New York to give her the contract personally.” Max tightens her grip on the throw pillow, head tilting. “Do you think she’ll have you write down the name of her soon-to-be husband on the marriage certificate, too? Maybe hold his hand down the aisle?”
Will rolls his eyes. “Hey, don’t be like that. New York is fun, and I haven’t been there in a couple of years. I might even use it as a chance to see my parents in Montauk. But yeah, it’ll be nice to spend some time in the city, especially when someone else is paying for my flight and hotel.”
“You’re acting like the government isn’t already doing that.” Max points out. “We never pay airfare anymore. One of the perks of almost dying, like… twice.”
“True, but this time I don’t have to give super-vague, slightly suspicious-sounding responses to the person at the front desk in the hotel lobby about how I managed to book the room with a card that has virtually no limit, under the name of the Department of Defense.” Will continues, “Plus, she told me she has like… practically no budget. It’ll be good for my portfolio, and I’ll probably even get some higher-paying clients from this. You know just how important networking is.”
“And she will be paying you well, right?” She questions, looking over at her friend. “Even though she’s covering your travel and stuff, don’t let her use that as an excuse to pay you any less.”
Will rolls his eyes, knowing that despite the years that have passed, Max remains as protective as ever. He pretends to play it off as annoying, but secretly, he’s grateful. “Of course she is, Max. Honestly, the pay is amazing. This will easily cover both portions of our rent for the next couple of months, at least.”
One of the many benefits of working with higher-end clients is that the pay is much easier to live on. Sure, he has his monthly stipend in exchange for not telling anyone about the Upside Down and everything that comes with it, but it’s something he earned, something he did for himself—something he’s proud of.
“Does that mean dinner tonight is on you?” Max asks, excitedly reaching for pamphlets from takeout restaurants that are constantly shoved into their mailbox each day, which they’ve repurposed as stands for their remotes and coasters for their coffee mugs. “To be honest, I’m thinking more of an… Italian vibe tonight. But if we’re eating on your budget, maybe we can order from that new Chinese place that just opened down the block? I heard their spring rolls are out of this world.”
“New Chinese place?” Will asks, sticking a Post-it note on the page of New York venues to make it easier to reference later. His stomach rumbles slightly at the thought of dinner, remembering he didn’t have time for lunch and gave up his break to take the phone call with the bride. “Who told you about that? I didn’t even know one opened up.”
Max doesn’t look up from the colourful pamphlet, scanning the menu. She flips it over, eyes wide. “Lucas, obviously.”
“Is he gonna come for dinner?” Will asks, looking up. “I can budget for dinner for two, but three might be pushing it.” He’s joking, knowing Lucas is, more often than not, at his and Max’s apartment—and he tells him, every time, that he might as well move in with them.
Max sighs, throwing the menus onto the coffee table, one of them sliding off the wood and landing onto the carpet. “I wish, but he has parent-teacher interviews tonight. He’s being forced to stay at school until, like, nine-thirty. How cruel is that? It’s literally Friday night.”
“Gross,” Will mumbles, finally shutting the binder and placing it on the bookshelf, which he has meticulously arranged by colour and thickness. Max often says there’s something wrong with him for being so strict about his organization, but Will knows he just likes knowing where everything is. “I can think about a million different things I would rather do than be stuck at a school speaking to parents of students.”
“Tell me about it,” Max huffs. “The worst part is they’re barely paying him overtime. He’s been there all day and then forced to stay until, like, nine-thirty. How is that even allowed? That’s an extra six and a half hours on his shift.”
“Does he have to stay the whole time?” Will asks, “Can’t he like… I don’t know, say he’s sick and leave earlier?”
“I wish.” Max rests her head against the back of the couch, letting another groan escape her lips. “What’s the point of those parent-teacher meetings, anyway? None of them listen to any of his advice. You should hear the horror stories he tells me, Will. It’s bad.”
“Is it bad to say that doesn’t even surprise me?” Will asks, eyebrows raised. “People think their kids can do no wrong. That’s supposed to be… news?”
“No,” Max agrees. “Just annoying.”
“You can say that again.” Will shrugs. “Besides, they don’t get any better when they grow up. Some of the couples I have to deal with… a disaster.”
“So….” Max sighs over the conversation. “Are we gonna order dinner or not?”
୨ᰔ୧
“Max, I wish you were here with me. This hotel is insane.” Will marvels as he locks both the door and the deadbolt out of habit, pulling on the knob to see if it opens. When it doesn’t, he begins to walk through the room. It’s much too big for one person to stay in on their own, but he’s not complaining—these are the perks of working with clients who have money to spend. “They booked me a room at the Four Seasons.”
“Wait,” Max pauses, “as in… the Four Seasons? Like, the one in Midtown Manhattan?”
“Bingo,” Will nods, walking toward the window. Pulling back the blinds, he takes in an expansive view of Central Park, his eyes widening and his lips spreading slightly. He tightens his grip on his Nokia 1100, watching as the people below him seem so… small as they walk along the pathways, sit on the grass, or line up at a hot-dog cart. “This view is incredible.”
“I wish I were there with you,” she groans from the other end of the line. “I want to walk through Central Park, tell people to get out of my way and drink an overpriced iced coffee. Instead, I’m forced to look out my stupid office window, trying to figure out how the fuck to tell my client that it might be best for him to plead guilty and accept the twenty-five-to-life plea deal.”
“Jesus, Max.” Will furrows his eyebrows at the thought of her defending a client who may be away for the rest of his life. “What the hell did he do?”
“As much as I would love to gossip with you, I can’t say,” she replies easily. “You know… attorney-client privilege is unfortunately a thing.”
“Even to best friends?” Will asks, his voice hopeful. He can’t count how many times he’s tried to worm information out of Max, but she never budges, no matter how hard he tries.
“Especially to best friends.” She retorts, and Will can almost hear her rolling her eyes through the phone. “What do you have planned for the day? Please tell me you’re doing something interesting and not gonna say something boring like just going back to the hotel to rest after your meeting.”
Will winces, knowing his plans do include returning to the hotel when he’s finished with the meeting—mainly to organize himself and prep for the other meetings they have while he’s in the city. “Well…”
“Come on, Will! You’re literally in New York. Do I have to beg you to do something fun? If not for you, do it for me. I’m looking at a long couple of days in the interrogation room. Go explore!”
“Explore?” Will repeats, shaking his head and running a free hand through his slightly overgrown brown hair. “I mean, I do kinda think taking a walk in Central Park sounds fun? Maybe I’ll go today after the lunch meeting we have.”
“Do you have to meet them tonight, too?”
“No,” Will’s eyes are still trained on the park below. He watches as a kid runs after their dog in the grass. “Just this one. We do have a meeting over breakfast tomorrow, though.”
“You should ask them how rich they are,” Max half-jokes, “I mean, do you even realize how insane it is that they’re just… flying you in and paying for a hotel room at the Four Seasons like it’s nothing? There’s like, not another logical explanation other than them being like, literally loaded.”
“Maybe they also have government hush money?”
“Not funny,” Max snaps, earning a small laugh from Will.
“It is insane,” Will admits, turning from the window and walking back towards the door of his room, rolling over the carry-on suitcase he brought with him, the same one the bellhop had brought up to the room while he was checking in, despite Will’s insistence that he didn’t need assistance.
“What’s the bride’s name?” Max asks. “We know they’re rich, but what if they’re famous? What if you’re, like, about to plan the wedding of a celebrity?”
“Remind me, Max, why would any of that matter?”
“Why wouldn’t it matter?” Max replies, feigning offense. “Of course it matters! Maybe we know her. I’ve been keeping up with the news lately. I’ve even been buying those shitty tabloids to read on my lunch break. You know, the ones with stupid columns telling girls to break up with their obviously terrible boyfriends, or the ones that see the same outfit on two celebrities and make us mail in our votes on who wore it better?”
“Again, I’m not sure why you would even need to know her name.” Will begins to unzip his carry-on suitcase. “Or what that has to do with those magazines?”
“Why won’t you tell me?” She whines.
Will pretends to scoff. “What happened to client confidentiality?”
“You’re not a lawyer, asshole.”
Will tilts his head back, knowing better than to assume she’s going to let up on the conversation anytime soon. She’s a lawyer for a reason, he thinks. “Fine. Her name is Phoebe, but that’s literally all I know. I don’t ask for last names before meeting them.”
A groan echoes on the other line. “Has anyone told you how boring you are?”
“You do,” Will sighs. “Daily.”
“Good,” she replies, and Will can practically hear the smile on her face. “Because I love you, but you’re boring.”
Will rolls his eyes, pretending to be insulted by the words coming from her mouth. “You expect me to tell you anything after you call me boring?”
“Yes,” she replies as though it’s obvious. “A client’s here, I’ve got to go! Call me tonight so we can debrief?”
“Of course,” Will replies immediately. “Nine o’clock?”
“Can you make that nine-thirty?” Max proposes, voice on the edge of begging. “Lucas is taking me out to dinner, and I don't think I'll be back by nine.”
“No worries,” he smiles. “Nine-thirty it is.”
“Perfect. Will, I’ll speak to you tonight. Love you!” She rushes, her voice speeding as the line goes dead.
୨ᰔ୧
Over his eight years as a wedding planner, Will has seen and eaten at his fair share of fancy restaurants.
High-end clients require high-end dining, and New York City is a hub for them with restaurants on practically every street, especially in upper Manhattan. There are restaurants of all types—some that specialize in and are only open for breakfast, while others focus more on lunch and dinner service. Cafés and smaller preset menus are staples in a city as vast and diverse as this one. More often than not, he will have his first meeting with a client over a meal.
In this case, he’s meeting Phoebe for lunch.
He’s never been to this restaurant before, on the corner of Fifth Ave and East 65th Street, near Central Park. Called L’Art de Vivre, it’s a quaint French-style bistro, but Will doesn’t mind it, having never eaten there before. A letter was placed on his pillow before his arrival, right beside the bedside table, informing him where to meet his client for their first meeting, signed in red ink by Phoebe, and what time to be at the restaurant.
Before leaving the hotel room, he made sure to take a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. He prides himself on always looking put together, even if it’s slightly too fancy for his taste. When meeting with clients, he opts for a nicer pair of pants and a button-down shirt, but on his days off, he sports more comfortable oversized shirts and baggy pants.
He checks to make sure that his favourite (and lucky) black leather bag contains both of his binders, notes, and, most importantly, the contract. Though he carries the binders with him, he doesn’t pull them out until clients ask for it—the last thing he wants is to overwhelm them.
As he walks through the restaurant's front door, Will makes sure to arrive before his client, even though the lunch reservations are at noon. It’s all about first impressions, and he’s made a habit of it—not wanting to give any reason to doubt his capability before they sign the contract. He knows better than most that wedding planning is about the experience. Sure, he was given the luxury of a private driver waiting for him outside the hotel lobby, but still—he made it a point to get there with ten minutes to spare.
He’s grateful when the hostess brings him to a table in the corner away from the rest of those already eating, with two empty chairs that face him. As he settles in his own seat, he’s reminded of the conversation he shared with Max before leaving the hotel about how the clients are likely high-profile if they can afford all of this for their first meeting, but he made a promise when he first started this business that he operates on a strict don’t ask, don’t tell system. If the client wishes to tell him, to divulge information about their private lives outside of the wedding planning sphere, then that’s their business—but he makes it a point not to be the one doing any of the prying.
He hears his stomach rumble as he looks down at his watch. It’s two minutes past noon, which means Phoebe and her soon-to-be husband are late. He usually allows for a fifteen-minute grace period—if anyone shows up any later, he charges a late fee for his time. Though he considers granting them a longer leeway, considering they flew him out to New York in the first place.
A waft of freshly baked bread coats his senses, and for a second time, his stomach growls, and he’s grateful that nobody is around to hear it. As much as he wants to dig into the small white bowl perched in the corner of the table, with a circle of butter beside it, and spread it across the bread, Will reminds himself that these meetings are usually not ones where they eat, so he pushes down his hunger. Another important rule of his: do not order any food unless the client does, first.
“William!” a voice calls from the other end of the restaurant. Will lifts his head, watching as a tall girl smiles, rushing and squeezing through the narrow pathways between the tables and chairs. “Oh my god, I am absolutely mortified that I’m this late! I called a driver specifically to get me here, like, ten minutes before our reservation time, but you must know how miserable and unreliable the traffic is in the city, don’t you? It’s absolutely atrocious!”
It takes a couple of seconds for Will to describe the overwhelming feeling that washes over him at the sight of Phoebe. With her chestnut-coloured, slightly curly hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a warm smile, Will can’t help but feel she looks so… familiar, though he’s unable to quite place where.
Wearing a black pinstriped pantsuit with a white shirt to match and a red purse slung over her shoulder, she reaches her hand across the table for Will to shake. Immediately standing, he takes her hand in his. Only then does Will realize she’s alone. Maybe her groom took a different cab, he thinks to himself.
“Don’t worry about it at all,” Will smiles warmly, watching as she sits in the seat directly across from him. “The traffic is much worse here than it is in Chicago. I don’t envy you for having to deal with it all year round.”
She nods her head enthusiastically, rolling her eyes playfully. “Tell me about it! It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Will smiles for a second time. “I’m William Byers, owner and wedding planner at W&J Weddings, but feel free to call me Will throughout the entire process.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Will.” She retorts, letting out a small laugh. “And, of course, thank you for agreeing to come and for taking the time to make the trip all the way to New York. I hope you had an easy time getting here today. The hotel isn’t far from here, is it?”
Will shakes his head, reaching for the glass bottle of still water in the middle of the table, unscrewing the cap and pouring some into her glass before filling his own. All he needs is for this meeting to run smoothly, and then he’ll be able to do what he does best: planning.
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, by the way. The hotel is… incredible.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She beams, “I mean, it’s not often I get to splurge on something for my wedding, so really, the pleasure is all mine.” Will takes a sip from his cup, and Phoebe continues, letting out a small gasp. “Wait, where are my manners? I didn’t even introduce myself! I’m Phoebe. Phoebe Turner. Full-time author, part-time literary agent for my fiancé, who is also an author. I was recommended to you by a couple of my friends in the industry. They told me nothing but good things.”
As she continues to talk and flashes of her personality shine through, the strangling realization dawns on Will that he knows exactly who she looks and even acts like—his sister, El.
It’s been years since he’s faced the image of her. Though they don’t look exactly alike, the resemblance is enough to make his stomach clench. His mind is haunted by memories of El, back facing the Upside Down, crying as she let the wreckage consume her, and by the guilt he never quite got over, fourteen years later.
But he knows better than to think about her, not now—not in front of a client who has no idea about his emotional baggage, and definitely not in public while he’s in a meeting. He keeps his composure, as he’s become so accustomed to doing, and as much as it pains him, he refocuses on Phoebe, who is sitting across from him.
“I’m glad,” Will smiles tightly at the compliments, trying his best to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over his waterline. Keep it together, he tells himself. “Speaking of your fiancé, will he be joining us for lunch?”
“Oh, right.” Her smile falters slightly at the mention of her soon-to-be husband, and only then does Will notice the bags under her eyes, revealing the fatigue she’s trying to hide beneath the light layer of makeup. He doesn’t blame her for losing sleep—this must be a stressful time for her. “I wish. He’s knee-deep in editing mode right now. It’s difficult for him to leave the office when deadlines are coming up, isn’t it? I tried, but he has another meeting with his publishing house that he couldn’t get out of.”
“Ah,” Will replies softly. Normally, he prefers to meet both future newlyweds at the same time to ensure they are all on the same page, but he is also understanding, recognizing that it is difficult to do when both parties work. At the same time, how is he not here for their first meeting? How is he not making the effort? “He’s also an author?”
“Yeah,” Phoebe’s face brightens at the mention of his work. “His niche is mostly science fiction, or sometimes fantasy… I mean, I personally don’t read any of that stuff besides what he writes, and I write mainly in the romance genre, but he loves it, so I support him and his dreams any way I can.”
“It’s nice that you guys support each other like that.” Will replies, genuinely. The waiter walks up to the table, and Will looks down at the menu, not giving it much thought until that moment. Shit, he thinks. Normally, he likes to review the menu before the client arrives at the restaurant to avoid appearing indecisive. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know a thing about this menu. Phoebe, on the other hand, knows exactly what she’s getting, which makes Will think she might be a regular at this spot.
“And for you, sir?”
Phoebe must notice his hesitation, because she clears her throat. “He’ll have the same thing.” Looking at Will, she tilts her head as though to say ‘just trust me’, and he does.
“Very well, then.” The waiter quickly writes down their orders on his notepad and reaches for both their menus, taking them off the table. “Should I start you off with something to drink?”
“I’ll have an iced coffee, please,” Will replies, grateful that he’s sure of one thing—his coffee order. Looking up at the waiter, he clears his throat and says: “With one cream and one sugar, please.”
“I’ll have champagne,” she says, smiling as she reaches up to tighten her ponytail. Will raises his eyebrows at the drink choice, though only slightly, and Phoebe shrugs in response. “What? If this is gonna work, it needs to be a no-judgment zone. It’s only, like, a little past noon, anyway. Totally appropriate time for a glass of champagne. Besides, I’ve already had like… two cups of coffee this morning. If I have any more, I’ll probably start shaking.”
“I promise not to judge you,” Will smiles, knowing he’s dealt with a fair share of clients who get drunk during their meetings—and, admittedly, he does judge them.
“Perfect.” She teases. “Plus, it’s a special day. First official day of planning the wedding! You should’ve ordered a glass, too. Their champagne here is to die for. I wonder where they source it from?”
Will shakes his head in disagreement. “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t drink when meeting with clients.”
Though that’s true—another one of his important rules—he never puts himself in a situation where he’s out of control in front of his clients. That’s never a problem for Will, who isn’t a fan of alcohol in the slightest. His drink of choice is a virgin cosmopolitan, and that’s good enough for him (and not something he can ask for at L’Art de Vivre).
She purses her lips, as if thinking it over. “Right, makes sense. Wouldn’t want a drunk wedding planner, would I?”
“Exactly,” Will lets out a small laugh. “How could I make informed decisions if I’m drunk?”
“Wait, hold on. You could get drunk off of champagne?” She questions, leaning back in her seat. “That’s never happened to me.”
“You must be an expert, then.” Will replies easily, grateful that, at the very least, the bride will be easy to talk to. He tries to steer the conversation back from alcohol to the wedding they’re here to plan. “What are some things you’re looking for at your wedding reception?”
“Oh, god, is it cheesy if I say I want it to be like… a fairytale?”
Will’s chest tightens at the word, knowing it isn’t cheesy—it’s relatable, if anything. Having been out as gay since he was a teenager, he’s come to terms with the fact that his own ‘happy ending’ isn’t as accessible as it is for couples who aren’t like him. He’s accepted that he will likely never walk down the aisle or exchange rings with the man he falls in love with—but that’s why he’s doing this, why he’s helping others. If he can’t have his own fairy tale, he’ll make damn sure everyone else can.
“Not cheesy at all,” Will smiles, refilling both of their glasses of water. “I think most people dream about their wedding from a very young age.”
“I mean, it kinda is?” She winces, though she continues to speak. “I mean, my fiancé is like… my Prince Charming, if you think about it. Even down to how I met him.”
Will adjusts himself in his seat, crossing his legs under the table. “How did you meet him?”
She smiles, a light pink spreading across her skin. “Well, we met at the bookstore, actually.”
“Really?” Will replies, forcing back a smile. He loves hearing how couples meet—the mundane activities, errands, or experiences that are no longer boring because they met the love of their lives there. A small part of him wonders if he’ll ever be that lucky, doing something so absentmindedly and finding the love of his life at the same time.
Phoebe forces down a smile, blinking rapidly as though recounting the story makes her emotional. “Yeah. I was looking for a book for my older brother’s birthday. He’s a total fantasy nerd, but I was completely stumped, you know? Like I’ve mentioned before, I don’t read anything like that, but he was looking through the section, so I decided to swallow my pride and ask him for help.”
“A bookstore?” Will can’t help but ask as his eyes widen and a smile crosses his face. He’s happy for Phoebe—he’s been around hundreds of couples a year, heard hundreds of ways they met, but this is admittedly one of the cuter first meetings. “Sounds like it’s straight out of a movie, Phoebe.”
“He didn’t even work there, Will!” She lets out a laugh. “He also, like, completely stared at me for like thirty seconds before saying anything. I had to remind him that I asked for help, and told him that if he doesn’t want to, I would find someone who works there.”
“I’m guessing he helped you with finding the book?” Will asks, genuinely invested in the conversation.
“Yeah,” she blushes. “We ended up staying there for about two hours, exchanging recommendations, and he even gave me a crash course in a game I can’t quite remember the name of. I think it had something to do with like, wizards? Knights? I don’t know.” She laughs. “He also told me he was trying to publish his first book within the next couple of months, and I told him I happened to be a literary agent looking to expand my repertoire.”
“Wow,” Will nods, taking in the story. His ears perk up at the mention of a game that involves both wizards and knights, knowing he’s had his fair share of experience playing all forms of fantasy role-playing games with his friends when things were… normal. Though his game of choice was DND, he’s sure her fiancé likely played it too if he’s into fantasy games. He almost has half a mind to ask Phoebe whether she remembers the name. “How many years have you been together?”
“Seven,” she grins, her fingers fiddling with the end of her ponytail until it begins to wisp. “All of our friends keep telling him to put a ring on it, but they don’t know that we were supposed to get married a couple of years ago. But the writing industry is cutthroat, and if you don’t hop on the train right away, you could miss your chance. So we both got way too busy with publishing our own books and trying to sell them to publishers. Then, you know, I published my first book two years ago, and my fiancé is on his fourth in a series… the years pass by so quickly. Now we’re here.”
“Oh, wow. A series?” Will replies, impressed. “That’s so cool. Fantasy series can be hard to write and even harder to read, sometimes. He must be super busy.”
“He is,” she agrees. “I guess that’s why it’s taken so long.” Letting out an awkward laugh, she adds, “But that’s what true love is about, isn’t it? Making sure you’re always willing and able to wait for the love of your life, no matter how many years pass. About being there for them when things get stressful? At least, that’s what I tell myself whenever he’s on deadline. Need to remind myself that sometimes, you know?”
Will’s chest tightens, forcing himself to suppress every feeling that threatens to surface, not wanting to deal with or acknowledge the hard work he’s put into himself since he moved to college at eighteen. If someone loves you, they’ll wait for you. What happens if they don’t wait? If they leave and never speak to you again?
“Yeah,” Will forces the word past his lips. “The right person will wait for you, no matter how long.”
“I mean, eight years in the grand scheme of things isn’t a very long time—but we’ve moved in together, have a cat, and have worked alongside each other in our jobs… Which are pretty major milestones, I suppose.” She sighs, letting out a small ‘Oh, thank you!’ as the waiter arrives with their two sandwiches, Will’s iced coffee, and Phoebe’s champagne.
“How’s writing going for you? Any projects in the works?”
She sends him a sly but cheeky grin. “Don’t tell my agent I told you this, but I am working on a new series.”
“You are?” Will scoots closer in his chair, knowing he really should not be entertaining anything other than conversation relevant to the wedding, but he can’t help himself. Max would be proud of him, he thinks.
“Yes,” she nods her head eagerly, as though she’s been waiting for someone to ask her about it. “It’s in the very early stages, of course. I wouldn’t dare write anything while I’m trying to focus on this, but I know that it’ll be a trilogy. About a girl who meets the love of her life at the bookstore…”
Will lifts his eyebrows, a small laugh falling from his lips. “So… like what happened to you?”
“What about it?” Phoebe teases, adjusting the sleeves of her blazer, rolling the fabric. “Can’t I draw a little inspo from real life?”
They both eat their meals in silence, with the occasional small talk about how Phoebe prefers lace for her wedding dress rather than any rushed fabric. She makes it very clear that she refuses to wear a sleeved dress and wants a sweetheart neckline because she thinks her fiancé would like it best. She wants a veil long enough to trail a couple of feet behind her, but the fabric absolutely cannot look cheap. She also stresses that she wants all of her bridesmaids to wear the exact same shade of light blue—like the sky, not like the ocean.
By the time the check arrives, she whisks it away before Will has a chance to even check the total.
He almost lets out a small huff of protest, but remembers she’s a client, so he holds back. He settles for shaking his head and telling her, “You don’t have to pay. Let me get this meal for us. It’s the least I could do.”
“Rule number one, when working for me, is super simple,” she giggles, fishing a card from her wallet. “If my fiancé isn’t here, he pays.” She hands the shiny black American Express card to the waiter, who takes it with two hands and brings it to the register to pay the bill. “If he’s too busy to be here, his money sure isn’t.”
Will can’t help but stifle a laugh at the comment. Honestly, it’s refreshing how likable Phoebe is. “Well, in that case, tell him I say thank you for the meal.”
“Oh, come on, Will. Don’t even worry about it.” She says, shaking her head and waving her hands. “It’s our pleasure. Without you, I wouldn’t even know where to start with this whole… planning thing. From here on out, consider sandwiches and iced coffee just a part of the package deal.”
“Right,” Will acknowledges, because at the end of the day, he knows his work speaks for itself, no matter the client. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Clearing his throat, he pulls out the contract. “Should we wait until your fiancé joins a meeting to sign this?” Normally, he wouldn’t accept a delay in signing the contract to protect himself and his own business, but something about Phoebe makes him feel comfortable enough to delay it until the following morning.
“Sure, that works for me. He’ll definitely be here tomorrow morning, anyway. I made him block the morning off.” She replies, too busy digging in her purse for something to give Will her full attention. After a handful of seconds, she pulls out a lip gloss and applies it to her lips. “That would be best, wouldn’t it? It’s like a whole… moment to remember kind of thing.”
“Perfect.” Will places the unsigned contract back in his bag, making sure the corners don’t get dented and the paper doesn’t fold. “I’ll bring this with me tomorrow, then.”
“I’m so excited for you to meet him!” She squeals, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. Will’s heart aches—El used to smile just like that. How is it possible that they look so similar, down to the mannerisms? “You’ll love him just as much as I do.”
“You speak very highly of him,” Will points out. “He seems like a great guy.”
“I wouldn’t be marrying him otherwise,” She teases, standing up from her chair. “Oh! I wanted to tell you.” She quickly digs back into her purse, pulling out a black pen. Flipping the bill, she scribbles something down, handing him the paper. “Here’s my fiancé’s name, and the first book in his series. You mentioned liking fantasy, so maybe give them a try! There’s a bookstore a couple of blocks down east, they always have his work.”
Will takes the bill without looking down, placing it in his pocket. “Thank you again for the meal.” He smiles, now standing from his seat. He extends his arm again, and Phoebe takes his hand and shakes it. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise. I can’t wait to start planning!” Phoebe waves before heading to the door.
The bell chimes as Phoebe exits the restaurant, and Will lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. That went better than he expected—Phoebe is easy to talk to, despite her big budget, and she’s honestly kind of funny. At the very least, it’ll make things easier. It’s not that he ever expects things to go badly, but even after eight years, he gets the smallest bit nervous.
All he can think about is going for a walk in Central Park, his half-eaten sandwich not enough to fill his stomach. He grabs his bag, saying another ‘thank you’ to the waiter as he passes by.
Once he’s outside the restaurant, he realizes just how much of the day he has left—and how he could use a book to read while walking through the park. Maybe he’ll even find a nice place to sit, a bench to relax on, he thinks.
He thinks about the bookstore that Phoebe mentioned earlier, how it’s usually stocked with the books her fiancé has written—only a couple blocks east, which seems more than manageable to walk to on his own. He wonders if the store itself will be bigger than the one he has back home in Chicago.
He could also use a second iced coffee, if he’s being honest; the one from the restaurant was not nearly strong enough to satisfy his caffeine threshold for the day. He used to never drink coffee—adamant about avoiding dependence on it. Unfortunately for him, during the busy season, he finds himself reaching for a glass every couple of hours to stay awake through the night (and throughout the day, too). His mom, Joyce, worries that it isn’t good for his heart—but if he can survive living in the Upside Down alone, he’s sure caffeine won’t be a problem.
Knowing New York, there’ll likely be many cafés on his walk over, and maybe he’ll even treat himself to one of those fancy lattes with way too much sugar. If Max were here, she would likely make a comment about how nobody needs that much sugar in their coffee, and Will would comment on the fact that she’s just as boring as her go-to black coffee order.
Digging in his pocket, he pulls out the folded bill, the thin paper feeling weightless between his fingers. He winces slightly at the fact that it’s already wrinkled, grateful that it isn’t something that he will need to use later.
He forgot just how warm it gets mid-afternoon in New York—the sun beaming down, peering through the skyscrapers and the trees of Central Park. He can’t help but feel a little nostalgic about the city. It reminds him of his parents—Joyce and Hopper—who moved to Montauk about ten years earlier. He only really visits them during the holidays now, usually making it a trip with Jonathan to spend some time in the city whenever they come down here.
Before he can reminisce any longer, he’s forced to pull himself out of his thoughts, stepping back sharply and narrowly avoiding being trampled by a horde of teenagers too busy talking to themselves to notice those around them. Jesus, he thinks to himself. That’s one thing he doesn’t miss about the city.
Sighing, he can’t think of any other way he’d like to spend his night than reading a good book. Unfolding the bill, he scans the messy, barely legible handwriting. Will feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
