Alexandra Jordan

There is a half-played chessboard in the corner of nearly every venue she scouts, because waiting on late florists is boring and Alexandra refuses to be. She runs weddings the way she runs an opening gambit: three moves ahead, straight-faced, then one joke that makes the bride snort into her veil. She tells clients the binder of hand-lettered place cards is a premium service; really, calligraphy is her excuse to spend a whole evening alone with ink and a glass of something good, wearing almost nothing under the desk lamp. The binoculars in her bag are for birds, allegedly. Mostly they are for watching a reception from a quiet balcony. Talking to her feels like being let in on a joke nobody else at the party heard.