Save the Date Read online

  Save The Date

  Monica Murphy

  Table of Contents

  Also by Monica Murphy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Fake Date Sneak Peek!

  Want to read more? Preorder FAKE DATE!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sign Up!

  Also by Monica Murphy

  Forever Yours Series

  You Promised Me Forever

  Thinking About You

  Nothing Without You

  Damaged Hearts Series

  Her Defiant Heart

  His Wasted Heart

  Damaged Hearts

  Friends Series

  One Night

  Just Friends

  More Than Friends

  Forever

  The Never Series

  Never Tear Us Apart

  Never Let You Go

  The Rules Series

  Fair Game

  In The Dark

  Slow Play

  Safe Bet

  The Fowler Sisters Series

  Owning Violet

  Stealing Rose

  Taming Lily

  Reverie Series

  His Reverie

  Her Destiny

  Billionaire Bachelors Club Series

  Crave

  Torn

  Savor

  Intoxicated

  One Week Girlfriend Series

  One Week Girlfriend

  Second Chance Boyfriend

  Three Broken Promises

  Drew + Fable Forever

  Four Years Later

  Five Days Until You

  Standalone YA Titles

  Daring The Bad Boy

  Saving It

  Pretty Dead Girls

  One

  Caroline

  They call me “the fixer”. As in, I know how to fix everything.

  Everything.

  Okay fine, the mythical “they” don’t really call me that. I’m just joking. But what my coworkers do call me is “the bride whisperer”.

  That, my dears, is factual. I definitely know how to talk to brides. Future brides. Bridezillas, crying brides, extra happy brides, anxious brides, vicious brides, sad brides. I’ve seen them all. I’ve handled them all.

  And I know how to keep them calm. Reassure them that everything is going to be juuuust fine. Even when they’re in the middle of a huge crisis like picking out color choices and fonts, I’m right there by their side, telling them that they’re going to make the right choice. Trust me, there’s no secret to this. No particular approach you have to make or skill you need to learn. Just…

  Be nice.

  Listen to them.

  Ignore their tantrums.

  (Indulging bad behavior is a huge mistake)

  Make them feel like they’re special and…

  Voila. They’re happy.

  Now, you might be thinking I’m a wedding planner, but I’m not (God no). I do play an important part in their planning process, though. Over the years, it’s become a real thing to use my services not just once, but twice. Maybe even three times, if we’re lucky.

  What is it that I do, you ask? Well, I work at a stationery store. Sounds boring, I’m sure, but it’s not. It’s so not. And where I work isn’t just any stationery store either. It’s high end. Top of the line. If you have to ask, you can’t afford type stuff. We use the highest quality ink and paper. We sell beautiful stationery, cards and trinkets for the hoity-toity types who frequent the store and the vacationers who find themselves browsing for needless knickknacks. For the future brides and grooms, we sell custom save the date cards, wedding invitations and thank you cards.

  Otherwise known as the trifecta.

  If you aren’t aware, couples nowadays like to send out an invite to the invite, a la save the date cards, to let their nearest and dearest know about their upcoming nuptials. Some people think save the date cards are a waste of time and money, and I get where they’re coming from, I really do. If you’re on a budget, they can easily be stricken from the “must need” list.

  But they’re cute. Plus, people are so busy. Like, your schedule has a schedule, you know? So you have to make sure that people are aware that your big day is coming up.

  It’s important. Wait. No, it’s more than that.

  It’s vital.

  Okay, so I’m the first person you meet with at the Noteworthy stationery store (cute name, right?) when you make an appointment to look at invitations. Actually, I’m pretty much the only person you meet with, because that’s my department. I’m the save the date and wedding invite expert.

  Normally, I don’t book appointments before the store opens, which is ten o’clock on the dot. But sometimes, people’s schedules don’t allow for them to meet me at ten a.m. Or two p.m. Or five p.m.

  Some people want to make an appointment at…

  Eight. In. The. Morning.

  I’m not a morning person. I can be a little cranky (okay, maybe a lot). Just ask my roommate, Stella. In the early morning, she’d rather deal with anyone else, even her bossy big brothers who annoy the crap out of her, rather than me. I’m kind of a monster before I get my caffeine.

  Luckily enough, Stella happens to work at a bakery/coffee shop her family owns. She’s the head barista during the morning shift. And on that very rare occasion when I have to meet a client early in the morning, she’s already got me covered.

  Thank God for friends.

  This very morning, I breeze into Sweet Dreams Café, waving at Stella’s dad Lorenzo, who’s working the cash register. He’s talking to one customer, making change for another, yet he still manages to greet me.

  The man is a most impressive multitasker.

  I head straight for the pickup counter, where I see my skinny vanilla latte waiting for me, my name written on the side of the cup in Stella’s familiar scrawl. Without hesitation I grab it, inhaling deeply before I take a sip. Just a tiny sip so I can savor it. I close my eyes for a second, maybe two, and when I open them, I find a guy standing there.

  Watching me.

  And he’s not just any guy. He’s cute. Wait, no. Not cute. He’s…hot. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Wearing a suit that fits him perfectly. I know just from looking at the fabric that it’s custom. Expensive.

  He’s smiling at me. And I’m scowling at him in return because the caffeine hasn’t quite hit my bloodstream yet, so I’m not on top of my game.

  “You looked like you were having a moment.” His voice is deep. Rich. His face…vaguely familiar?

  I stand a little straighter. Take another sip of my coffee as I contemplate the man in front of me, because for some reason I still can’t come up with anything to say.

  Listen, I always have something to say. But this
guy. This gorgeous, well-dressed maybe-stranger, is leaving me a little…

  Dumbstruck?

  Huh.

  “That moment you were just having. With your coffee,” he continues, gesturing at the cup I’m clutching in both of my hands, like it’s my baby. Which this morning—every morning—it is.

  “She loves coffee,” Stella says from behind me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I give her a look, one that says shush.

  “I can see that.” The amusement in his voice is obvious. He thinks it’s funny. The sacred moment I was having with my latte made him smile.

  I wouldn’t mind coming up with other ways to make him smile.

  Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

  “What I want to know is, how did you get such special treatment?”

  I blink at him like I’m an uncomprehending idiot. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, I’ve been here for the last fifteen minutes. First, standing in line.” He gestures at the line of customers that trails out the door. “And now, waiting for my order.”

  Guilt fills me. Just a tiny bit. Sweet Dreams Café is the most popular bakery and coffee shop in Carmel-by-the-Sea. All the tourists love it. All the locals love it too. It’s been in Stella’s family for generations.

  “Yet you skip past the line, walk straight in here and grab your ready-made drink within a few seconds of your arrival. Do you have a Fast Pass?” A brow lifts, and I’m hit with a quiver. Like Cupid just drew back his bow and shot that arrow right in my heart.

  Or perhaps that arrow struck me in, ahem, other places.

  Who knew a brow lift could be so sexy?

  “A Fast Pass?” I repeat. “Like Disneyland?”

  “Yes.” He nods. Takes a step closer. Oooh, I can smell him. And he smells like he just emerged from the forest after rolling around in the raspy pine needles for the last twenty-four hours. “Like Disneyland. I didn’t know they offered Fast Passes here. How do I get one?”

  “She’s my roommate,” Stella answers for me, and I throw her another glare, one that says, please don’t speak for me. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself.

  Stella’s not picking up on my vibe, though. She just keeps talking. “I make her a skinny vanilla latte every morning. This one is just a little earlier than usual,” she explains as she’s working that giant espresso machine like the awesome multitasker that she is.

  Clearly she inherited her talents from her dad.

  “What a perk, that the barista is your roommate,” he says with a faint smile aimed right at me.

  Huh. Maybe he’s Cupid. That smile is making my heart zing, and my heart rarely zings. I can’t remember the last time it zinged, and there’s no denying that other parts of me are zinging too.

  “It’s pretty great,” I say weakly, taking a giant gulp of my latte. It’s brutally hot, and I probably just scorched the roof of my mouth, but this morning, this moment, is proving to be worth it.

  He doesn’t stop smiling, which makes me think he’s either a) real friendly, b) extremely interested in me, or c) one of those attractive serial killers a la Ted Bundy.

  Not that I think he’s actually a serial killer, but come on. Do you realize how hard it is to trust men? I find it very difficult. I’m in my twenties and proudly single. I mean, yeah, sure, I’m looking for the one (who isn’t?). I’ve used dating apps and I’ve Tinder swiped more than a few dudes in my lifetime, but honestly, they weren’t good matches.

  They never are, it seems. The one is also the impossible catch.

  My mother says my expectations are too high, but this is the same woman who’s been divorced four times and is working on making her fifth marriage happen at this very moment, so I’m thinking her standards are too freaking low.

  But who am I to judge?

  My phone buzzes in my bag and I reach for it, blinking when I see what time it is. The buzz was the alarm I set for myself last night, reminding me I have to be at Noteworthy in approximately five minutes. And Noteworthy is exactly a six-minute walk from the café. When I’m wearing flats.

  Of course, today I’m wearing heels. Extra high ones, nude-colored with a shiny patent leather sheen that sounds atrocious, but isn’t. They are very glamorous heels that have that Louboutin look without that red-bottomed price tag.

  It’s going to take more than six minutes to get to the store in my faux Louboutins, and I hate being late. Oh God, I despise it. Why didn’t I set my alarm for ten minutes before my appointment? I’m such an idiot sometimes.

  “Sorry, I have to go,” I tell the guy. Suit Guy. Vaguely Familiar But Maybe That’s Just Wishful Thinking Guy. Hot Guy. Smiling, Sexy, I Wish I Could Talk to Him More Guy. I turn toward the counter and wave. “Bye Stella!”

  “Knock ’em dead, Caroline!” Stella calls as she’s frothing milk, her cheeks pink from the steam.

  “Good luck,” he offers, even though he doesn’t know what I’m doing, or if I even need luck. I appreciate the gesture, though.

  I offer up a quick smile of thanks aimed at my new crush, then without another word I hightail it out of there, silently cursing my shoe choice the entire walk to Noteworthy.

  The bride-to-be is already waiting for me when I arrive, pacing in front of the doors while chatting—loudly—on her phone.

  “Please hurry. You don’t want to be late,” she says pointedly, her words dripping with ice. Her gaze finds mine, and she smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh finally. I believe she’s here. See you in a minute.”

  Okay. I read an article in Cosmo when I was a teen about people judging you within three seconds of meeting you, and when it comes to meeting my future brides, it’s one-hundred percent true. I can usually tell what these brides are going to be like from that first moment, and I’m usually right.

  I can tell this one isn’t going to be easy. She meant for me to hear what she said. That was a jab at my tardiness, and in her mind, it’s a strike against me. But I can’t go flashing my fake Louboutins at her and expect sympathy, because from where I’m standing, I can clearly see she’s wearing the real deal and that fills me with an uncomfortable surge of envy I don’t want to acknowledge at the moment.

  So I decide to kill her with kindness instead.

  “Hiiii.” I drag the word out as I approach the front doors with my keys, my lips curved into that perfect, I can’t wait to learn more about you smile. “You must be Tiffany.”

  “And you must be…Carolyn?” She wrinkles her perfect, pert nose in a way I bet she thinks is cute.

  Oh, and I’m fairly certain she called me by the wrong name on purpose.

  “Caroline.” I stress the end of my name, approaching the front doors and sticking the key into the lock, turning it before I push the door open. I stand to the side, holding the door for her so she can enter the building before me. Even though the lights aren’t on, there’s enough natural sunlight coming in from the giant front window that we can see inside. “I’m so incredibly sorry that I’m late. Needed to get some fuel this early in the morning.” I hold my almost empty to-go cup up for her inspection.

  She sniffs as she walks by me and enters the store, flicking her long, auburn hair behind her shoulder. She’s painfully beautiful, as in it pains me to admit that she’s so freaking beautiful, when I can sense she might have a black soul.

  But maybe I’m being too judgmental.

  “Caffeine is bad for you,” she says as she turns on her heel to face me. “It’s like a drug, you know.”

  The best legal drug in the free world, I want to tell her, but I don’t. Instead, I force that smile to stay on my face, flick on the lights and ask, “Is your fiancé able to make it to the appointment this morning?”

  He’s the entire reason we’re meeting this early. In the initial contact email Tiffany Ratcliffe sent me, she said this:

  My fiancé is a very important man who has an extremely busy schedule. I do hope you can accommodate us and meet at a suitable hour.

&nbsp
; Their definition of a suitable hour was seven in the morning, but I countered with eight and Tiffany agreed. So this guy better show up or I’m gonna be pissed.

  “He’s running a little late this morning,” Tiffany says as she slowly meanders around the shop. All the expensive trinkets and candles and white canvas printed with colorful, inspiring platitudes are in the front. Those are for the many tourists who wander in off the street.

  The good stuff, my command center, is in the back.

  “Hmm, running late. Something I can completely relate to,” I tell her, trying to make light of the situation, but girlfriend can’t even bother to crack a smile.

  Determination steels my spine, and I drain the last dregs of my latte before I toss the cup in the nearby wastebasket. I will break her. I will make her adore me by the end of our business relationship.

  “Do you have a book we can look at? With samples?” Tiffany asks, knocking me from my I will make you love me thoughts. Jeez, I sound like a stalker.

  “Of course.” I gesture to the giant metal-and-glass table that I like to call my domain. There is a hard-backed binder sitting on said table that is stuffed full of save the date card examples awaiting her perusal. “Why don’t you have a seat?”