Marcus Baxter held the park's confirmation letter in both hands and read it twice. The wedding slot beside the Tower of Terror was theirs, but only as a reserve booking. One line at the bottom changed everything. The slot would release in ten days unless they signed the final contract in person, with a deposit paid. "Ten days," Marcus said. He set the letter on the kitchen island of their mansion. Rainbow light slid across the curved walls behind him. "We tour three cities before then. We can't be in two places." Ryan Foster stopped pacing. He was the loud half of their couple, the one who filled stadiums and still forgot his own keys. Right now his voice dropped low. "We planned this spot for two years. I proposed to you on that ride." He pressed his palms flat on the stone. "We are not losing it." Their little pet unicorn trotted in from the hall. It bumped Ryan's knee with its horn, as if to say someone should fix this. Ryan scratched its soft mane and kept thinking. "We charter a flight," Marcus said. "We finish the show in the first city, fly down, sign, fly back for the second night." Ryan shook his head. "The deposit needs a signature from both of us. We can't split up. The contract says both partners present." A bark answered from the doorway. Their dog Scooby stood there, head tilted, the blue tag on his collar swinging. He had followed them on every tour since they adopted him. He dropped a crumpled page at Marcus's feet and nudged it forward with his nose. Marcus picked it up. It was their tour itinerary, chewed at one corner. He read the second city's date and laughed once, sharp. "Scooby, you genius mutt." The second show sat on a dark night. One free day, buried in the schedule. "We don't charter around the shows. We use the gap." Ryan leaned over his shoulder. "That lands us near the park with eight hours to spare." "Then we book the flight for that morning." Marcus already had his phone out. He called the park office and read the reserve number aloud. His voice stayed steady, but his free hand gripped the counter white. The line clicked. A tired voice said the reserve slot was still open. Marcus asked to lock the signing for their free day. The voice paused, typed, then confirmed it. Ryan grabbed Marcus and lifted him off the floor. Scooby spun in a circle and barked. The unicorn stamped its small hooves on the stone. Marcus set his feet down and read the new email aloud. The signing was confirmed for one date only. No changes. No refunds. If either tour show ran late, they would miss the window and lose the slot for good. They had a day. One flight. One signature. And a tour schedule that bent for no one.