Jennie
Sleep is for the weak. That's what I tell myself the next morning when my eyelids feel puffy, my vision blurs, and my fingers cramp from scribbling notes into my yellow legal pad. I've called in a couple of hundred favours, edited and re-edited the week's schedule, and the wedding day still feels so far out of reach. If I'm going to pull this off, it's going to be by the skin of my teeth.
No, Not if. When.
Loafers click down the staircase and pull my focus. I've been zoned out, staring blankly at the vibrating blue lines on the page. When I glance up, Lisa stands before me. She's in a black turtleneck sweater and dust-grey pants cinched off by a brown leather belt. She pushes up her sleeves as she observes me. I am so weak for her lean forearms.
"Have you been up all night?" she asks. There's an accusatory note to her voice.
"No." I lie. No need to worry this overprotective Lisa. I sip my fourth cup of coffee. "There's a warm pot of coffee on the stove if you want some."
Lisa takes the pot and upends it on an empty mug. Only a drizzle of coffee comes out. Whoops. Maybe this is my fifth cup of coffee? Her lips press in a thin, chastising line. I've been caught.
"Get dressed." she says. "We're going out."
"I have a lot to do." I protest lamely.
"This is wedding business. You'll want to be there." Bambam's boots clomp downstairs, and when the large man comes into the kitchen, Lisa adds, "Bambam's coming."
"Darn straight I am." Bambam says, the cheery man is game for anything. "Where're we going?"
"Roxanne mentioned a distillery nearby. Unless you want a lacklustre wine at your wedding, I suggest we check out some of the local libations."
A grin cracks over Bambam's mouth. "Hell, it's eight o'clock somewhere. Let me tell Mina that I'm leaving, and then we can roll out."
Bambam clambers up the stairs with all the grace of a bull. I squint at Lisa. "You invited Bambam?"
Lisa shrugs. "He is the groom."
But there's a dark glint in Lisa's eyes. She's got something brewing up there in that perfectly groomed head of hers, I know it.
"What've you got up your sleeves?" I ask.
"You tell me." She rolls up her sleeves and holds up her bare forearms. Despite myself, I shudder. Lisa grips the back of my chair, sinks down, and the heat of her breath hits my ear, "You should've slept. Get your game face on."
She stands and steps away. I sigh and finish off my coffee. Soldier's fuel.
Alright. Let's do this.