Milo

I have been waiting for this day.

As soon as I spot Julia beginning to make her way down the stairs, I deliver a massive, shit-eating grin over my shoulder toward Prue, locking eyes for a split second before returning to the chore at hand.

I make it a personal challenge each morning to get the dishes done before the coffee finishes brewing. Most days, if I'm not too distracted by my girlfriend or her chatty father, I can get my least favorite chore done before the last drip falls into the carafe that fuels this overworked household.

And I'll be damned if on a day like today, which is apparently a special occasion, I don't finish them as quickly as possible.

"Well, good morning!" Tom says, greeting his bride, who is dressed as such, as she steps off the staircase. "You look divine, " he adds.

"You're not dressed?" Julia asks Tom, her voice steady. "Won't we be late?"

I place the second to last dish on the drying rack and turn to lean against the counter, watching as Prue tentatively studies her mother then looks toward me with a sweet but trepidatious smile.

I want to kiss that worry line between her brows until it flattens, or rub her shoulders until they relax, but I'll have to resist moving from my station just yet.

As always, I need to tread carefully. It's best to be the last one to greet Julia each morning, making sure my presence won't disrupt the reality she's woken up in too drastically.

What's incredible is the way her brain will often blend and build realities to justify my being here when she doesn't recognize me.

Prue and Tom have taught me to play along with it, which took some getting used to, but I've quickly come to see that whatever is easiest for Julia is easiest for the house as a whole.

So instead, I just smile at her, attempting to offer some silent encouragement.

"It's still early," Prue answers, speaking in a reassuringly kind yet firm tone as she so often does. "We have plenty of time."

Julia's focus moves from her husband to her daughter, looking her over with vacant eyes and a serious smile.

"Hi," Prue says softly, after a long moment.

"Hello," Julia returns, her voice quieted from the steady, sure confidence she had only moments ago.

She leans into Tom to whisper, blinking at their daughter across the room, who she cannot seem to place.

"Tom…" I hear, barely. "Is that Lucy? I don't…

She doesn't look like…" She brings two clasped hands up under her chin, fidgeting as she anxiously awaits his answer to a question she didn't fully pose.

"Yes, dear, it's Lucy," Tom answers loud enough for us to easily hear, then turns toward me with a not-so-subtle wink, "and it would appear she's brought someone to meet us…"

"A date?" Julia scoffs, her mouth stretching into a wide smile, a girlish, young glow washing over her again.

She glides across the room, her white dress dusting the floor at her feet, before dropping into the chair next to Prue.

"Luce!" Julia singsongs. "Who's the guy?

" she asks, leaning in close to speak. "Why didn't you tell me about him? "

"Well, it's your wedding day, Jules! I didn't want to make it about me." Both women turn their faces toward me in unison, wearing equally playful, gleeful expressions that make their usually hard to spot resemblances so obvious.

"He's rather handsome," Julia remarks, tilting her head as her eyes narrow on my face.

I cannot help but sputter a laugh, running a hand through my hair before crossing my arms in front of my chest.

"Excuse me?" Tom laughs too. "Your groom is standing right here."

"Yes, yes, love you." Julia waves her hand dismissively, lovingly teasing her husband, or, rather, her fiancé, as she giggles and sets her focus back on Prue.

"So?" Prue elongates the word, wrapping her arm around her mother's and holding on to her tightly. "What do you think?" she asks, smiling mischievously as their faces drift closer and closer. "Can he come to the wedding?"

"Well…" Julia pretends to think it over, giggling. "Do you like him?"

Prue nods unabashedly, filling my chest with a warm, now familiar, glow.

"Sure, then. Why not." They press their foreheads together on a giggle before Prue whispers something inaudible, then they both laugh again.

Tom and I lock eyes and I mime wiping sweat off my brow before turning to clean the last of the dishes. A few moments later, Tom is at my side, drying pots and pans as he watches the coffeepot fill dangerously close to the finish line.

"You're cutting it pretty close," he taunts, looking between my sponge and the carafe. "Don't know if you'll beat the clock today…"

I make quick work of scrubbing the last dish, slide it into the rack, pull the drain's plug, and throw my suds-covered hands up in the air, just as the coffee machine beeps, signaling it's ready to be poured out.

"Impressive," Tom says.

I bow my head, turning toward our women, who seem to be discussing wedding details as Prue stands behind her mother, braiding her long, gray hair. "Coffee, anyone?"

"No," Prue answers decidedly, sliding the hair tie off her wrist. "It's a wedding! We should have champagne." She looks toward me and her dad before she says, "The real stuff."

Julia gasps, reaching over her shoulder to take hold of Prue's wrist. "Oh! Yes!"

"I think I have some locked away in my office. I'll go—"

"Allow me," I say, patting Tom's shoulder.

"Four glasses of champagne, coming right up." I grab Tom's office keys off the wall by the back door, then make my way down the hall toward his office, which had been transformed into a makeshift bedroom while he was going through treatment and didn't have the strength to conquer the stairs.

I cannot help but smile, as I often do, when I see the rollaway cot folded and tucked into the corner of the room, an unmistakable symbol of Tom's recovery and the end of the more difficult season we've just weathered.

After fetching the bottle of alcohol-free champagne from the top shelf, I fish out the Closed for a Wedding sign from Tom's closet.

Our neighbor across the street, Clyde, returned it to us several months ago after finding it had blown into his daughter's rosebushes on that fateful, windy day I came into town.

He insisted that in return he should get an invite to the next wedding, or at least a slice of cake afterward, and I gave him my word that I'd try my best. So, before I even get the sign on the shop's door, I pull up the text thread I have with Lynn, John from the bakery, Cheryl who owns the deli, Prue, Tom, my brother, and Aleks.

Our group chat is called BOOB, aka Business Owners of Baysville. I wanted to call it the Baysville Baddies but Prue said no. She wasn't thrilled with the acronym either, to be fair, but by the time she noticed it was already too late.

Both my brother and Prue have the group's notifications turned off most of the time.

Nik seemingly turned them off after I announced his vasectomy to the group.

And though it was well-intentioned, I've since been educated as to why it was not the best idea to share that information on his behalf.

Prue turned them off after her dad, Aleks, and I began Trivia Tuesdays to combat the boredom on the slowest business day of the week.

She always reappears in the chat whenever there's town drama, however, of which there always seems to be plenty to share. And, I can't say I blame her. I live for it too.

Milo: Morning folks! Today is a big day at Welch's…Julia and Tom are tying the knot once again! The shop will be closed up, but if you need anything just give Prue or me a shout and we can hook you up

By the time I've got the sign attached to the front door and am back inside, the group chat is blowing up.

John: Brilliant! I'll get a cake ready!

Lynn: If the couple wants a honeymoon suite, they're more than welcome here for the night, free of charge. I'll let my dad know there will be cake later, but if he gets in your way just give me a call and I'll come wrangle him.

Nik: It's cold out, do they want to use the bar for the ceremony?

Aleks: Nadia and I are doing inventory today. We can go set up something if they want to come here?

Cheryl: I'll bring a snack plate over to the inn, if they end up going! No stinky cheeses for our honeymooners, of course.

Nik: Sef's picking up flowers and dropping them off. She's insisting. Don't fight her on it.

I type out a quick reply, smiling at my phone before sliding it back into my pocket.

Milo: I'll chat with Prue and keep you all posted! Thank you everyone!

Passing back through the store I notice the half-open box of books we've yet to put on our newly built display shelf sitting behind the cash register. I bend down to pick one up, admiring the front and back cover of the thin book as Prue opens the office door.

"I've heard it's pretty good…" she says, her body leaned against the doorframe.

"It looks great to me," I say, sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans as I close the distance between us.

"I guess that copy's yours?" She straightens, pressing her chest into my abdomen as she wraps her arms around my lower back and looks up at me. I love how easily we slot together; how natural and right it is to hold her.

"I'm good for it," I tease, brushing a stray curl away from her forehead.

"What do I owe you?" I press my thumb to the scar above her brow, the one she got a few months back after slipping on a patch of ice out front.

I lost it, seeing her injured like that.

She, on the other hand, laughed it off as I fussed and cursed and ordered a lifetime supply of ice melter that wouldn't hurt the local wildlife—because Aleks would have killed me otherwise; and I cannot shovel snow or protect Prue from the elements if I am dead.