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These eight sentences directly follow last Sunday’s, when Viv’s mother called (in italics, as mother’s do ) and informed Viv she was late for a very important date:
Viv got up and went into the living room, found her bag on the couch where she’d dropped it, and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder as she dug out her planner.
“It’s next week,” she said, flipping to the right page as she walked back into the kitchen. “Tuesday, one o’clock, at Gâteau Doré. I requested vacation hours for it.”
“Yes, but now it’s today, at eleven, at The Elegant Crumb.”
She dropped the planner on the table and grabbed the phone before it fell. “Why?”
“Kirsten saw an article in the paper calling it the most romantic bakery in Franklinsburg, so she cancelled Gâteau Doré and called them.”
Viv is a woman who likes schedules. Her sister Kirsten, the bride . . . is not.
It’s gonna be a long five months to the wedding . . .