Liv’s peaceful Sunday morning was shattered by someone pounding on the brownstone’s front door for a full ten seconds. “Jesus Christ, coming!” She pulled open the door, careful not to spill any coffee from her My Favorite Season Is the Fall of Patriarchy mug.
Savannah was holding out her phone like she was presenting Liv with an Oscar.
“If you think I can read that without my glasses, you’re in for a rude shock when you’re my age,” Liv told her.
Inside and bespectacled, Liv peered at the screen. “What am I looking at?”
“Our Instagram!” Savannah was practically vibrating. “I know you said you didn’t want to start one, but I did—”
“Savannah!”
“And look—we have three thousand followers! Kamile posted about us—”
Liv looked over her glasses. “You’re kidding. Why? How?” Then, peering into Savannah’s tote bag: “What’s all this?”
Savannah shoved the glittery WELCOME HOME DAVE + KAMILE! sign back in the bag. “I might’ve lightly ambushed her at the airport. Turns out she’d just forgotten to post with all the post-wedding craziness. But I offered to drive her home, and she ended up writing the nicest thing.” Savannah read aloud. “ ‘Absolute dream to work with @Savannah_Ships’—that’s me—‘and #LivGoldenhorn. Cannot recommend these two talented wedding planners from @InLoveInNewYork highly enough.’ She only posted an hour ago, and we already have six email inquiries.”
Liv scrolled through @InLoveInNewYork’s Instagram account. “There’s a picture of me on here.” In a meeting with Kamile in the front office. Liv was pointing to the seating chart and Kamile was smiling. It was a pretty good shot, candid and natural. Savannah had obviously used some kind of filter—was that still the lingo?—because her skin looked, well, young.
“There are a lot of pictures of you,” Savannah said. “And me. We’re the brand.”
God, there were dozens of photos on the account. How surreal to see the last few months of her life reflected back in such a colorful and charming way. “Wait, did you say six inquiries?”
Savannah nodded, beaming.
“For partial or full service?”
“Both!”
This seemed to mean—it sounded like it meant—business. Customers. Money.
The elephant sitting on Liv’s chest hauled to its feet and ambled away. She let out a long, grateful breath. Finally.
Her phone rang. “Yes, this is Liv Goldenhorn… On… Instagram? I mean, yes, on Instagram… Oh, thank you so much.”
Savannah whispered to her, “I put both our cells on the new website—” Her own phone rang. Another inquiry.
Liv Goldenhorn still didn’t know why Eliot had played matchmaker in bringing her and Savannah Shipley into each other’s lives. But right now, with the early-summer sun streaming through the front window and an eager-sounding customer on the other end of the line, she didn’t care.
The truth would present itself in due course.