Cassidy knocked on the door of the bridal suite for the fifth time, the taxidermy deer to its right staring down at her disapprovingly. “I don’t need the attitude,” she muttered at the all-knowing glass eyes. “I know I’ve screwed up.”

The door swung open. The brides and their friends sat crowded around the professionally lit mirrors along the wall, though the makeup palettes in front of them didn’t include the usual warm neutrals and fake eyelashes. Instead, one bridesmaid was applying green face paint, and another was carefully placing a Revolutionary War-era powdered wig on her head.

Cassidy took a deep breath, preparing to break her cardinal rule of wedding planning and admit to the brides that something had gone wrong. She had to. She couldn’t contain two hundred hungry guests.

She should have known hosting a wedding on Halloween would be cursed.

“Danny feels sick,” Michaela, the bride in a leather jacket and short slicked-back hair, said before Cassidy could speak. “Do you have anything?”

See? Cursed. Even her usually well-behaved pony took a bite of the brides’ bouquets during the pre-ceremony photoshoot.

Cassidy peered around Michaela to see a man in cat ears draped across the bearskin throw on the couch, his pale whiskered face cheek-to-cheek with the blissfully oblivious bear. The other bride, Lindsay, patted his forehead with a damp cloth, putting her 50s-style wedding dress with a big tulle swing skirt at risk.

Cassidy knew this bridal party would be trouble. They were all dressed up as characters from their favorite musicals and showed up that morning with twenty-four bottles of Prosecco and only four cartons of OJ to water them down. Not that she had time to worry about them. Her usual chef called in sick last night and she’d spent hours calling anyone in a hundred-mile radius who could cook, only to settle on Tomás, one of the bride’s cousin’s friends who owned a Mexican restaurant and who, apparently, didn’t own a watch, given the ceremony began in less than an hour and he was nowhere to be seen.

She dug through her emergency fanny pack, past wet wipes and a Tide to Go pen until she found her mini-Pedialyte bottle. “Chug this,” she told Danny, holding out the elixir. “And Lindsay, let someone else take care of him.” Stain remover wouldn’t rescue them if Danny ended up getting sick on the wedding dress.

“Has anyone seen my witch hat?” the bridesmaid with all green face paint asked.

Cassidy caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as the rest of the bridal party jumped up to join the search. Normally, her cowboy hat, plaid button-up and boots made her stand out at weddings, the uniform her dad’s idea to not “break the fantasy” of their old Western farm, but today she blended in. Her blonde hair was knit into two French braids, the style she’d found least likely to come undone on an event day, and her hips were a little wider than they used to now that she’d stopped horseback riding competitively. She could still feel the redness in her eyes, even though she’d used eyedrops after her fight with her father that morning.

She took a slow breath, inhaling the scent of eucalyptus from the grove out front and lavender from the potpourri she set on every chair. On a quiet day, when they weren’t hosting an event, she could hear the waves from Half Moon Bay. Now, all she heard was squealing bridesmaids and…the crunch of tires over gravel?

The caterer.

Thank God.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured to the brides, who were too busy searching for the witch hat to notice her departure.

She pushed through the saloon’s swing doors and saw a bright red food truck pull up directly behind the altar, decorated with red and orange maple leaves. The sun illuminated the stained glass in the yellow A-frame chapel at the end of the row as she crossed between their saloon and general store. Fog loomed over the ocean thanks to the warm October day, and the wind chased it closer to the property.

The truck continued on and parked next to a palm tree. She squinted. “Tomás’s Taqueria,” declared cursive writing. Her heart beat in double-time. The bride’s cousin’s friend’s successful taco restaurant was a taco truck?

“No!” She banged on the side door of the red truck. “Absolutely not.” From where he parked, the truck would be in every wedding photo.

The engine shut off. A door opened and thunked shut, then steps crunched on gravel. Tomás was surprisingly handsome, she begrudgingly noticed, if you liked that bad-boy-who-shows-up-late vibe. His long hair grazed his shoulders in waves, framing his emerald-green eyes. The whole effect was like a Latino version of Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You.

Fuck. She loved that movie, but unless he was about to waltz across high school bleachers singing Frankie Vallie to apologize for being late, he didn’t deserve that comparison.

As he walked over, he looked around, an eyebrow quirked.

“Did I fall asleep and wake up in Westworld?” he said, leaning casually against the truck in a charcoal gray T-shirt and jeans. His eyes glowed like the stained glass behind him as he stared down at her, and his calm voice made her previous banging seem cartoonish—as if she, the prompt professional, was the immature one here.

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago,” she said, ignoring his dig at the farm.

“You said the wedding started at four.” He was tall, too. So tall, in fact, that she reached the perfect height to watch his biceps flex as he twirled his keys around his finger. “At least, I was told this was a wedding. Seems more like the haunted house at Disneyland with a Jack Sparrow robot about to jump out at me.”

“It’s Halloween,” she said, crossing her arms. “The kitchen is behind the saloon. You'll have to work fast, you can't have pots banging around during the ceremony.”

“The meat has already been stewing for hours. Benefit of bringing my kitchen with me,” he said, patting the hood of his truck like a beloved pet. “All I have to do is open the windows and we’re ready.” His voice remained calm, as if she was one wrong word away from a breakdown and he didn’t want to cause it. As if he hadn’t caused this whole mess in the first place. The layout of the event, the floor plan she’d spent weeks on, the traffic flow around the seated dinner—it all went out the window.

Tacos, the bride had said. Not a taco truck.

A car pulled into the lot and a family dressed as the monsters from Monsters, Inc. emerged. Adorable, yet terrifying—the first guests had arrived. She didn’t have time to fight this.

“You can’t park here or that red monstrosity will be in every picture,” she said, her voice snippier than usual. She was so used to smiling through event day that it felt good to let off some steam. Even if she was being unfair. The taco truck was nice—just not behind the altar.

She spun around, looking for a spot for him to park that wouldn’t block the saloon or the ceremony. Then, she smirked. “You can park next to the jail.” She wouldn’t mention it was just a photobooth inside.

He raised an eyebrow, but turned to follow her instructions without comment—until he saw guests walking their way. “Why the hell are they dressed like Teletubbies?”

Was this man so cynical he didn’t know classic Pixar movies?

“Don’t judge,” she hissed, plastering on a smile to greet the first guests. “They showed up on time.”

********************

True to the curse, the fog rolled in before the ceremony began. At least it added an appropriate level of spookiness for a Halloween wedding. The brides walked down the aisle, lit by the soft flicker of jack-o-lanterns carved with hearts, to a haunting acoustic version of You’re the One That I Want. Two hundred guests in their best “costume-chic” attire cheered when the brides kissed and Thriller came on, signaling the end of the ceremony and the bridal party’s dance back down the aisle. This was when Cassidy felt a familiar pang in her chest, watching another couple walk into their happily ever after. She’d hosted nearly a hundred weddings but didn’t know if she’d ever have her own.

She couldn’t linger on the thought: it was time for the reception.

She directed couples to the bar and pointed out the slingshot range and the mini-golf course to families. Despite this, people immediately clustered around the high tables topped with paper trays of thin and obviously homemade tortilla chips, whose salt flakes clung to their oily surface. On one table, someone already dribbled salsa across the white tablecloth. And was that guacamole? Her stomach grumbled.

The rest of the reception sped by in a mix of people panning for gold and posing for photos in the jail. Guests ate their dinners in the middle of the main street as the sunset painted the sky pink overhead. She shouldn’t have worried about people finding the tacos—once Tomás opened the window, the scent attracted every creature in a two-mile radius. Even Little Bear, her black cat who usually hid during ceremonies, prowled nearby. She hovered on the outskirts, collecting martini glasses with candy eyeballs inside, remnants of the custom Bloody Mary-age Martini.

“Hungry?” Tomás said from behind her, like a ghost who appeared when stomachs growled. One hand held a loaded plate of tacos; the other a drink she didn’t recognize.

“I don’t eat on the job,” she said, exhausted. She stared at the tacos, shredded meat topped with onion and grilled pineapple, her mouth watering. She didn’t want to give in, to give this man who’d nearly ruined the day the satisfaction of seeing her bend, but she hadn’t eaten since a Cliff bar that morning.

“The guests have already come back for seconds,” he said, putting the plate on the table and pushing it over. “Our al pastor is famous.”

Cassidy took a bite before he’d finished his sentence. “Oh my god, these tortillas are…” She didn’t finish her thought, taking another bite instead.

“They’re handmade,” he said. “My mom grinds the masa herself.”

The meat melted in her mouth, the pineapple tangy and fresh, and the spice so… spicy. Very, very spicy.

“Oh,” she coughed. Her eyes watered and she puffed air through her mouth, trying to quench the burning. When he passed her his drink, she sipped without thinking. A silky cinnamon flavor cooled her mouth instantly. “Horchata?” Mexican rice milk—she never tasted one so smooth.

He laughed as she took another greedy sip. “I wasn’t sure how hot you like your salsa, so I topped each taco with one of each. That one was the ghost pepper.” He grabbed the rest of that taco from her plate and ate it in one giant bite, as if they’d been friends for years. “There, I saved you. The other two are more mild.”

She gulped the horchata down, the straw slurping against the bottom.

“Don’t worry, there’s more. My sister makes this stuff by the gallon.”

“Family business?” she asked, picking up the second taco. She struggled to picture the man who’d caused this afternoon’s panic cooking with his mom and sister, but her lingering resentment faded with every bite.

“Family-ish. I started the truck four years ago. My parents didn’t like it at first, but once my dad passed, my mom started helping out.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she said, her words nowhere near adequate. She shouldn’t eat mid-wedding, much less distract a vendor, and certainly not probe about their family trauma, but Tomás seemed willing to talk about topics it would normally take her ten dates to get a man to open up about.

Not that this was a date. Obviously.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I miss him, but he and I were never that close. He hated that I became a chef. Like, after all he did to move to the US, it was an affront to him that I decided to go into the same profession as his parents back in Puebla. And that was before I abandoned restaurants for a food truck.”

“Where did you work before?” she asked.

He casually name-dropped one of San Francisco’s fanciest Mexican restaurants.

Her mouth dropped open. “Wow. And you deigned to cater a wedding?”

He chuckled. “The restaurant life wasn’t that glamorous. People waited months for a reservation, then left at the end of the night still hungry. Eventually I realized my grandmother would have hated the food. So when I saw the truck for sale on Craigslist, I bought it. Hadn’t really thought it through. My dad was right about that much.”

She couldn’t imagine being so impulsive, going against her parents’ wishes on a whim. The idea made her anxious, and also… jealous? “And it’s all worked out?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Mostly. I mean, some people still hear I own a taco truck and grimace.” He looked at her pointedly. “Not unlike you when I first arrived tonight.”

Cassidy swallowed her last bite of taco—the salsa verde was much more manageable—and shook her head. “I’m sorry. My reaction wasn’t about the truck. Well, I mean, it was, but more because you were late, and everything that could have possibly gone wrong today already did. But these tacos—they might have broken the curse, because these are the best tacos I’ve had in my life.”

“My tacos broke a curse, huh? I haven’t heard that one before.” Tomás beamed like the sun emerging after a storm, warming your skin. The kind of smile that made you want to smile back—to open up and be honest.

“I’m not the only judgmental one, though,” she said. “You called my home a worse version of a set from The Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you lived here.”

A genuine apology. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard one of those or how good it felt to hear.

“I don’t fully disagree, for what it’s worth,” she admitted, wiping her hands on a napkin. “I’ve pitched my dad on changing things up around here. It was a working farm when my grandpa was alive; my mom boarded horses in the stables. Then my dad repurposed the barn into an event space when I was in middle school. The whole thing kind of spiraled from there.”

It was exciting at first. She went to estate sales and movie set auctions with her dad, picking out the old welcome desk from San Francisco’s Palace Hotel, bidding on the sign from the folded Half Moon Bay Feed & Fuel Company, and trying (then failing) to talk him down from buying a framed lock of hair the auctioneer “attributed” to Abraham Lincoln. Her dad called it “preserving history.”

“When I was in college, my mom left and the ‘farm’ part of Green Creek Farms kind of shut down,” she continued, surprising herself. At the time, she'd blamed her mom, and decided to move home after school so the business would survive. “I started our wedding business once I graduated, back when I considered being a wedding planner romantic. Before I realized cleaning vomit off taxidermy bears was in my job description.”

“Taxidermy bears?” he repeated.

“Oh, you haven’t been in the bridal suite.”

“I’m equal parts concerned and intrigued.”

“Most of our couples are too, honestly. I’ve tried to tell my dad the taxidermy scares people away, but he said the farm didn’t need to appeal to everyone.”

“And what do you think?” Tomás leaned across the table, waiting for her response like it would be the most important thing he heard all day.

“We have acres of land we never touch,” she said, echoing the pitch she made to her dad that morning. She told Tomás about her favorite spot on the farm: a clearing only a fifteen-minute walk up the hill, past the horses and the archery range. From there, you could see across Half Moon Bay, the Pacific Ocean sparkling in the distance. Growing up, she hiked out there whenever she needed a break. Once when she overheard a blowout fight between her parents, she went there and saw a blue whale breaching. When her crush invited someone else to homecoming, she skipped the dance and watched the meteor shower streaking in distant flames above her.

She went there this morning, after her dad left for the airport. And if she ever got married on this farm, that’s where she would want to do it.

“I want to start offering ceremonies there too,” she said. “I think it would help us attract more couples. Couples who would have the reception here, but want a ceremony in nature.”

“It sounds magical,” Tomás said.

“Unfortunately, my dad doesn’t agree.” She heard her Dad’s voice in her head, saying the location she loved didn’t fit their Western theme.

“But this place exists because of you too, from what I hear,” Tomás said. “Shouldn’t your opinion count?”

She shivered. Tomás’s argument eerily reflected hers that morning.

“Are you cold?” he murmured, reaching out his hand to her arm. His fingers were rough.

“No,” she said, though it would’ve been easier to blame her goosebump-covered arms on the weather. “But the guests might be. I need to turn on the heat lamps.” Not to mention bringing out the pumpkin spice wedding cake, making bonfires for s’mores, and filling the candy bowls for the Trick-or-Treat dessert table. “You need to clear the dinner service.”

He nodded, his earnest expression becoming a wry smile. “On it, boss.”

As she walked away, she couldn’t tell if the queasy feeling in her stomach stemmed from how fast she devoured the tacos, how easily she revealed things she’d never said before, or how Tomás said boss in a way that sent heat snaking down her spine.

********************

Thirty minutes later, the crowd pulsed in the saloon, magnetic darts sailing to their target, pool balls clattering into corner pockets. Wood and red paisley wallpaper polished the room, complete with the mahogany bar from the set of the 1995 film Quick and the Dead (her dad loved to say Leonardo DiCaprio sat there). Velvet curtains and lamps hung heavy with fringe, fake armadillos sat on the side tables, and saddles were suspended on the wall. Cheers echoed from the room with the mechanical bull, followed by the brides exiting. They giggled, Lindsay’s bright red lipstick kiss smudged on Michaela’s cheek.

“Oh my god, Cassidy,” Lindsay gushed, pulling her into a hug. “Everything’s been perfect!”

Cassidy raised an eyebrow. Perfect isn’t how she would have described it. “I’m glad you think so. Things haven’t gone fully to plan—”

“No, they’ve been better.” Lindsay gestured to Michaela, who’d been stopped by friends with shot glasses. “I was determined to have this white-dress wedding at first. Then she suggested costumes, and Halloween, and it’s so us. Our first date was at the pumpkin patch down the road, and now we’re here and it’s our wedding, you know?”

Cassidy blinked. Lindsay’s drunken ramble hit her with surprising clarity.

What if she stopped thinking of the farm as her dad’s and started thinking of it as their farm? Because she loved this place too. Not just her dad’s version of it. She loved the smell of eucalyptus and salt water, the way her cat Little Bear cuddled up in the hay and swatted at the horses’ tails, the caress of the Pacific fog as she spent her days outside.

She gave Lindsay one more hug, then pulled out her phone and texted her dad.

********************

An hour later, Cassidy stretched up on her toes to reach a flickering space heater. A body brushed behind her, a toned arm reaching overhead to turn the fuel up.

She spun to find Tomás standing close. He smelled of chiles and smoke and a bit of lemon dishwashing soap.

“I’m all done,” he said quietly, stepping back.

“No!” she said, her voice louder than she intended. “I mean,” she tried for a normal volume and a valid reason he needed to stay, “you can’t drive away in the middle of the dancing. The headlights will ruin the vibe.”

“Nothing could kill this party,” he said. On the dance floor, they could see two zombies trying to moonwalk, a Shrek and Fiona duo grinding, and the newlyweds beaming in the center of it all.

“This is my favorite moment,” Cassidy sighed.

“The dry humping to ‘Candy Shop’ by 50 Cent?”

She bumped him with her hip. “The dancing. It’s the first moment the couple realizes they don’t have to stress about the big day anymore. No one forgot their vows, the food was delicious, they didn’t trip during the first dance. Now they just get to enjoy being married.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from her dad.

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about the new ceremony site,” it said. “Can you take me up there when I get home?”

She smiled. It was a start, but she didn’t want to wait until her dad got back to go there.

“I want to show you the clearing,” she said, reaching out and grabbing Tomás’s hand.

He looked down. “What? Now?”

“Yes, now.”

He stayed silent for a beat. Maybe he didn’t want to climb a mountain in the dark, or maybe he was just an employee trying to leave after his shift and she’d misread everything.

“Didn’t you say it was too early to leave?” he asked.

“They're not going to complain if we sneak away and end the party a little late."

A slow grin spread across Tomás's face, and he weaved his fingers through her hand. “Will they complain if the caterer dances with the wedding planner first?” he murmured.

She shook her head and stepped closer, not daring to say anything that could break the spell.

“I’m kind of glad the wedding was cursed.” He smirked as he slipped his other hand onto her waist. “If your caterer didn’t cancel, I wouldn’t be here.”

They swayed together for a moment, Cassidy’s heart beating fast. When he pulled her closer, she looked up to find him already gazing down at her.

“You know how they break a curse in the stories?” she dared to ask.

And there was that smile again. The smile that lit up the room.

As Tomás leaned down to kiss her, she felt suspended in air, like the moment before a vault on horseback. Her thighs clenched in anticipation, her breath short, her hope placed fully in another being. For one terrifying second, she felt sure she would fall.

He brought his lips to hers. Her cheeks flushed from the delicious scratch of his stubble, her body tingling where she pressed against his chest. The kiss was comforting and spicy and so him—the kind that was as unexpected as that entire day.

“Is the curse broken?” he muttered, their lips less than an inch apart.

“God, I hope not,” she said, and kissed him again.

Originally published in miniskirt magazine on November 1, 2024