MEET THE PLANNER

Amelia Hart believed in soulmates.

Even after three breakups, one almost-engagement, and a string of dates that felt more like interviews than romance, she still held on to the idea that somewhere out there was her Mister Right. Not perfect — just perfect for her.

At 28, Amelia lived in a cozy two-bedroom apartment in Columbus, Ohio. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers. She worked as a wedding planner, juggling budgets, bridesmaids, and bouquets with a smile that rarely faded. Her business wasn’t booming, but it was steady. Enough to pay the bills, keep her fridge stocked, and allow for the occasional splurge on scented candles and vintage romance novels.

She had just finished organizing a lakeside wedding the weekend before — a small, intimate ceremony with fairy lights and handwritten vows. It was the kind of love she dreamed of. The kind she hadn’t found yet.

Amelia was sipping her morning coffee when her phone buzzed.

Clara: “Morning! I added a few notes to the ceremony layout. Mind reviewing before we meet?”

Clara and Amelia weren’t exactly best friends. They’d met six months ago at a boutique downtown. Clara had a wardrobe emergency a broken zipper, a missing heel, and a panic attack all in one. Amelia had stepped in, offered her spare flats, helped her find a new dress, and even calmed her down with a few deep breaths and a compliment.

They exchanged numbers. A week later, Clara found out Amelia was a wedding planner and just like that, Amelia was hired.

Now, Clara was getting married to James a charming, laid-back guy who seemed to adore her. Amelia had met him twice. He was polite, funny, and clearly smitten. But the real challenge wasn’t the groom. It was the groom’s best friend.

Anthony Scarfeild.

The name alone made Amelia raise an eyebrow. Clara had warned her: “He’s a lawyer. Brilliant, but... intense.”

Clara was sweet, elegant, and a little high-strung — the kind of bride who wanted everything perfect but didn’t always know how to make it happen. Amelia didn’t mind. She liked being the calm in someone else’s storm.

Tomorrow was the big meeting — the final sit-down with Clara and her fiancé to go over the prenup, the ceremony layout, and the guest list. Amelia had a checklist taped to her fridge, and she was determined to tick off every box before bedtime.

She spent the afternoon organizing her planner’s kit:

Fabric swatches for table runners

A binder with seating charts and vendor contacts

Emergency items like stain remover, safety pins, and breath mints

Her lucky pen — the one she’d used to sign her first client contract

She even ironed her favorite blazer, a soft blush pink that made her feel confident and professional. Her cat, Miso, watched from the windowsill, tail flicking lazily.

“Big day tomorrow,” Amelia said aloud, scratching Miso behind the ears. “Let’s not mess it up.”

She reheated leftover pasta, lit a lavender candle, and curled up with her notes. She reviewed Clara’s preferences, the ceremony timeline, and the backup plans in case of rain. Her mind buzzed with details, but her heart stayed hopeful.

Amelia twirled the last forkful of pasta around her fork, her eyes half-focused on the romantic comedy playing on her TV. It was one of her favorites — a predictable but comforting story about two strangers who fall in love after a series of chaotic misunderstandings. She’d seen it at least five times, but it never failed to make her smile.

Curled up on the couch in her oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, she let out a soft sigh and reached for her phone. The movie paused mid-laugh, the screen frozen on a couple dancing in the rain.

She opened Instagram and began scrolling — wedding inspiration pages, floral arrangements, a few reels of brides crying happy tears. Her feed was a mix of work and whimsy. She double-tapped a photo of a sunset ceremony on a cliffside, then paused on a reel of a groom surprising his bride with a handwritten song. Her heart melted a little.

Then she glanced at the time in the corner of her screen.

11:02 PM.

“Shoot,” she muttered, sitting up straighter. She had a big day tomorrow — the final planning session with Clara and James. Everything had to be perfect. No oversleeping. No forgetting her lucky pen.

Still, the movie was almost over. She pressed play , leaned back into the cushions, and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“Just fifteen more minutes,” she whispered to Miso, who had now curled up beside her, purring softly.

As the movie resumed, Amelia let herself drift into the story one last time before sleep — a little reminder of why she did what she did. Because even if her own love story hadn’t arrived yet, she still believed in happy endings.