The sun filtered through the lattice roof of the Garden Pavilion, casting soft shadows over the team as they moved with focused precision.
“Alright,” Harper said, clapping her hands lightly, “time to make this place sing.”
Maya nodded, mentally pulling herself into the task.
Yet, beneath the busy surface, her mind kept circling back. Why now? Why him? Her fingers adjusted the hem of a fabric swatch, but her eyes were distant, gaze unfocused.
Jessa was snapping reference photos from multiple angles, her tablet in one hand, stylus in the other, noting which frames matched the mood board. Sienna hovered near the layout plan, pointing at spots where props would be arranged, her voice low but clear. Harper, ever the connector, coordinated with the production team, smoothing over questions a
