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“That explains why you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts,” Emma sighs. “Please tell me you raided the minibar, ordered one of everything from room service, cried in the shower, and then fell asleep binge-watching old black-and-white movies.”

“Well, I did order room service, and I opted for a bath instead of a shower,” I admit sheepishly. “And there was champagne involved.”

“Atta girl!”

“And then I had the best sex of my life.”

“Wait, what? Please tell me that douchebag Henry didn’t show up and you didn’t do what you always do, forgive him and fall into—”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” I interrupt, feeling a twinge of pain at the mention of Henry. “And no, it wasn’t Henry. I may or may not have bumped into Mr. Penthouse on the rooftop terrace after his swim.”

The line goes silent, and I can almost hear Emma processing the information. “Emma, you there?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m just trying to imagine how my list-making, super-practical best friend had a one-night stand,” Emma replies, her tone a mixture of shock and curiosity.

“Well, who says it was a one-night stand?” I retort, feeling a surge of defensiveness. Even though I know that’s what it was, it feels a little different in the light of day.

As I recount the events of last night to Emma, I can’t help but laugh at her overzealous support.

“Honey, that was a one-night stand. I’m so proud of you!” she squeals, her excitement contagious. “When I said go find him, I didn’t think you’d really do it.”

“Of course you are,” I chuckle. “And it wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened”. Most people would scold and judge my reckless behavior, but not Emma. She’s had a few wild moments of her own. Especially when she was sneaking around with her brother’s best friend. But in the end, I’d say that turned out all right.

“The sex usually does. Tell me everything!” she demands eagerly, and I can hear her excitement through the phone as she starts rattling off questions.

“Hey, Emma, I’m getting in the elevator. I’m going to lose you,” I say.

“Wait, no! I need details!” she protests, but the line cuts out as the elevator doors close. I take a deep breath and hold it for the entire ride down.

Stepping out of the elevator, I ignore the thousand pings on my phone as I make my way across the lobby into the restaurant. I’m greeted by the hostess, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she informs me that I’m the first to arrive.

She leads me to my table, and I take in the beautiful Southern decor and architecture of the luxury Savannah hotel. A waiter approaches, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie.

“I’ll have a coffee with cream and sugar, please, and a mimosa,” I add at the last minute, silencing my phone and dropping it into my tote bag.

Last night was definitely out of character for me, but it was good practice because I’m getting ready to lie my pants off in this meeting. I have no choice. I absentmindedly twist the ring on my finger. I hate that I’m wearing it, but a wedding planner’s got to do what a wedding planner’s got to do.

Ten minutes pass, and the person from the magazine is still nowhere to be found. I order another mimosa and dig into my bag to check my phone, finding messages from all of my cousins, missed calls from Briar, and a group chat started by Emma and our other friend Zoe.

Emma: I know you didn’t hang up on me.

Emma: Seriously?

Emma: You can’t just tell me you had a one-night stand and then leave me hanging.

Emma: Please tell me you used protection!

Emma: Do we need to have the talk? *winky face emoji*

Emma: LUCY!

Emma: Blink once if you are alive.

Emma: I’m starting to worry.

Emma: The intrusive thoughts are running wild, girl.

Briar: Just checking in. How are you feeling today?