The aroma of fresh coffee and vanilla muffins filled Sabrina’s kitchen. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, catching on the loose waves Gina was curling into Sabrina’s hair.
“I still don’t get how you manage to bake cakes this perfect and not burn your hair with a curling iron,” Gina teased, twisting a section gently.
“Years of practice,” Sabrina said, sipping from her mug. “And a lot of burnt cookies and eyebrows.”
Gina laughed but softened as she looked at her best friend in the mirror. “You okay?”
Sabrina nodded, then paused. “Yes… and no.”
“Because of today?”
“Because of everything,” she admitted. “The cake’s done. The dress is steamed. The flowers are delivered. But inside—I still feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.”
Gina set the curling iron down. “You’v
