“Well, I do harbor a secret hope it rains on their wedding day.” I say the words and then clap my hand over my mouth. Will looks unsurprised. In fact, he smiles a little. “And the venue gets soaked?” “Floods,” I continue with a smirk as I drop my hand. “Floods so hard that the guests can’t make it over the tiny, ornate bridge to the wedding venue. And every photograph is so foggy you can’t see the people. And all the curls fall from Olivia’s hair. And all those stupid, stupid flowers the family has talked about nonstop the past nine months get carried off into the wind.” We grin at each other.
