As he sipped his latte, he tried to recall how, exactly, the mayor had found out about his sister. He didn’t remember mentioning Ginger or her engagement, but he must have because it wasn’t public knowledge. Maybe his friend Shep had said something. All he knew for sure was one minute he and the mayor had been talking about the upcoming Thanksgiving parade and the next she’d been asking about Ginger’s wedding. He’d admitted he was lost when it came to planning, and before he’d known it, the mayor had offered to find someone who could help. Not two hours later, she’d set up this meeting.

The door to Brew-haha opened and a woman entered. She was in her late twenties, with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. She looked slightly rushed and a little frazzled. Not nervous, he thought as he studied her. More determined, with a little unsure thrown in.

Her gaze landed on him. Instantly her shoulders squared and her chin went up. Madeline, he thought, recognizing her from the mayor’s description and appreciating how she looked more resigned than thrilled. He supposed most people wanted to be liked. He did, too, but for the right reasons. Anyone who was impressed the second they met him left him looking for the closest exit. Because they weren’t there for him. They were there for Jonny Blaze, Action Star. Wariness was a lot more honest than gushing, and in his world, honesty was a sought-after commodity.

Madeline crossed the small café and stopped by his table. Her gaze was direct as she offered him a slight smile. “Mr. Blaze, I’m Madeline Krug. Mayor Marsha said you’d be expecting me.”

“Jonny,” he said easily, rising and pulling out a chair for her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She sat down and opened a large black tote. From inside, she pulled out a pad of notepaper and a pen. After placing both on the table, she drew in a breath and turned her attention to him.

“I understand your sister is getting married.”

“So she tells me.” He smiled.

Madeline stiffened, then drew in a breath. “December 26? The Saturday after Christmas?”

He nodded.

“All right. So here’s the thing. I work at Paper Moon. It’s a bridal gown store. I’m the manager there. I work with brides every day. I handle the details of their gowns, veils and often shoes. I outfit the wedding party. Sometimes I have to act as referee between various family members. Grandma doesn’t always approve of the bride’s choice.”

He’d seen enough reality TV to know that was true. But he had a feeling Madeline hadn’t yet gotten to the point of their conversation. She had something to say and he was going to be patient until she got it out.

She looked at her blank pad of paper, then back at him. “I’m not a professional wedding coordinator. I’m not even an amateur one. I’ve seen a lot of weddings and my friend Dellina, who’s an actual event planner, has offered to give me direction, but this isn’t what I do for a living. Having said that, I’m happy to help you with this, if you’d like. Or you can bring in someone from Los Angeles or wherever. It’s totally up to you.”

Jonny couldn’t remember the last time someone told him she couldn’t do the job. Everyone generally overpromised and underdelivered. It was a fact of life. They wanted his money or the prestige of saying they worked for him. The former made sense. People had to make a living. But the latter genuinely flummoxed him. The fame might screw up his life, but it wasn’t real. It was imposed on him. Underneath the big name on the billboard, he was just a guy doing a job. A really weird job, but still. There was nothing magical about his abilities. He wasn’t saving the world. He was jumping out of planes and punching fake bad guys. Not the stuff of legends.

None of which was Madeline’s problem, he thought, looking at her.

She was pretty enough. Her makeup was light and he would guess none of her features had been altered by the careful skill of a plastic surgeon. She was dressed in a simple black dress. The style was plain and didn’t really suit her. No doubt she picked her clothes to blend in, rather than stand out. In her line of work, the bride would be the star.

“Just to confirm,” he said, picking up his latte, “you’ve never planned a wedding. You’re open to having me hire someone else, but if I need your help, you’ll be there.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. Ginger and I don’t have any family, but her fiancé does. He’ll have ten or twelve relatives attending. The rest of the guests will be Ginger’s and Oliver’s friends. As of my last conversation with my sister, we’re at forty-four guests.”