He rolls his eyes at her. “Do you even know the address of where we’re going?” Not waiting for her to answer because it’s a rhetorical question, he snaps his fingers, “Of course you don’t. Because why?” He leans his head to the side, sticking his earring-covered ear Vi’s way.
She huffs. “Because you’re the King of Everything.”
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” He points a black-nailed finger at Vi, but then at me and Janey too.
“We didn’t do anything,” I balk.
“Mmmhmm. Not this time.” He picks up the arrangement as Vi requested and calls back over his shoulder, “For reals, you should hit the gym with Court and have your man work out with Ross and Kaede. Let him get to know them.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. “Thanks, Archie!”
“Kisses,” he says through the rolled down window, already behind the wheel to drive Vi to their appointment.
My phone rings next, and I hustle over to my work table to grab it. “Hey, Mom,” I answer.
“Abi, I just wanted to say thank you again for the flowers for the fundraiser luncheon. They were lovely. Several people said so, and I was quite proud to say they were your work.”
Mom’s the best. She really is. When I started SweetPea, I wouldn’t do the flowers for Dad’s office for a while. It felt too much like special privilege and I wanted to earn my way. But Mom had instead offered opportunities to show my creativity in a different way.
With her encouragement, I’d donated dozens of arrangements to every charitable event and gala for over a year, getting my name out there, not as an Andrews but as a floral designer. People had seen my work firsthand, and when they called on me for paying jobs, it’d felt like my marketing and exposure were paying off, not my name.
Today’s luncheon flowers, a dozen centerpieces Samantha delivered this morning, are a sign of that. I still donate arrangements here and there, but more often, my services are contracted for the galas and events, and I donate money to the fundraiser in support instead of my talents.
That’s what Dad taught me. Do what you love, do it well, and pay it forward.
“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate that,” I say with a flush of pride. The tinkling bell up front sounds , and though Samantha will take care of the customer, I tell Mom, “Oh, I have to go. I’ve got a bride coming in soon.”
“Of course, dear. Just wanted to say how proud I am of you. You and Lorenzo are still coming over to dinner this weekend, right?”
I nod, though she can’t see me. “Yes, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you too. ’Bye!”
The click gives me permission to laugh. For all the craziness of the one dinner we had with my parents, they seem particularly excited to have Lorenzo come back over.
At least they gave us a solid week of solitude to ‘honeymoon’ at home after our vows.
“Abi, your two o’clock is here,” Samantha says, fighting a smile.
I glance to the clock in surprise. No, I’m not wrong. It’s barely after one thirty. “She excited?” I ask Samantha quietly.
Samantha widens her eyes and holds up her finger and thumb a good inch apart, whispering, “Little bit.”
I smile and wash my hands to go greet our eager bride.
In the front, I hold out my hand to the blonde who’s sitting at our consultation table. She’s dressed impeccably, her hair and makeup flawless, but her heeled foot is bouncing like she needs to pee.
“Abi Andrews. Welcome to SweetPea Boutique,” I tell her.
She smiles and shakes my hand. “Sadie Mason, soon to be Sadie Yi.” I can see how happy it makes her just to say her future name, and her joy is infectious.
I sit down at the table. “Tell me about you and your fiancé, Miss Mason.”
She waves a hand at me. “Oh, you can call me Sadie. You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together. I was in Courtney’s class.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” I apologize, looking at her more closely. She doesn’t look the least bit familiar, though. Our school wasn’t humongous, but there were definitely kids in my own grade I didn’t know, so there’s bound to be a bunch from Ross and Court’s grade that I’ve never seen or heard of. “Such a small world.”
She doesn’t seem offended in the slightest, thank goodness. “No big deal. I wasn’t really friends with Courtney either. Different crowds, you know. I was on the math decathlon team.”
Something niggles in the back of my mind. “Didn’t we win state or something around then?”
Sadie beams. “Yep, we did.” She bows dramatically, laughing the whole time. “That’s actually how I met my fiancé too. Math decathlon in college.”
She disappears into her memories for a moment, and I can see on her face that they’re all happy ones. Lucky woman.
Not as lucky as me, but good for her for finding her own perfect man.
Coming back to the moment, she leans forward. “Not to go too high school, but I did hear about what Emily Jones-I-mean-Daniels did at the club.” She says the name like that’s Emily’s actual name now and then shakes her head disapprovingly. “I never did like her.”
I’m not a gossiper, not any more than average human nature leads us all to be. But Emily has always been able to get under my skin. I test my heart and my mind, expecting to find some scab Sadie’s words disrupt. But there’s nothing. I just can’t care about all that long-ago drama anymore.
“I’ll admit, the stuff with Emily won’t make my ‘finest moments’ list, either. But I’m moving on, trying to be better and do better.”
I look down at the small, delicate tattoo on my left hand. Lorenzo’s family said we would need to come to Italy to get his grandmother’s ring, and I’m excited about that adventure and to meet his family.
Sadie holds up her own hand, showing me her large, square-cut diamond with a smile.
“I’m happy, Emily’s happy, you’re happy, and those are the things that matter,” I conclude.
“Wise words,” Sadie agrees, touching her ring. “I’m so glad to have you do my flowers. I feel like if every little detail is done with love, the whole day will be perfect.”
“I will do my best. But the only thing that needs to be perfect is for you and your husband to be standing together. Everything else is window dressing for the really important stuff.”
It might be a weird thing for a wedding-focused person to say, but it’s the truth. My flowers bring detail and beauty to an event, but if the bride and groom don’t truly love each other, there is no number of roses that can save the day.
The bell tinkles again, and the one person I don’t want to see walks in. Meredith Wildeman. She’s got on another of her black suits with heels, her silvery hair frozen in place and her eyes hard.
“Miss Andrews, the flower girl. Believe me, I tried to talk Sadie out of using your services. There are simply so many more talented florists in the area.” She sits down, looking snooty as ever. “Well, show us what you’ve got,” Meredith demands.
The entire mood of this appointment just changed with her entrance. Sadie is now sitting straight-backed with her lips pressed together like we were busted misbehaving by the school principal.
I blink, not at Meredith’s arrogance but that she’s so bold with it. I let wheels churn and cogs turn in my head, trying to channel Dad because what I really want to do is tell Meredith to get the fuck out of my shop and take that high horse she rode in on with her.
Finally, it’s Mom’s practiced calm voice that saves me, with a little Ice Queen Courtney thrown in for good measure. Giving people enough rope to hang themselves is sometimes prudent, though taking the high road is a trait I’m still learning.
Completely ignoring Meredith, I turn to Sadie. “It has been so good catching up with you, and I’ll tell Courtney you said hello. Unfortunately, while I’m happy to work with any vendors you might hire, there is one I’m not comfortable contracting with on any event, and that’s
Ms. Wildeman. I’m sure she’ll make your wedding absolutely lovely, and I can recommend another floral designer who will do an amazing job if you’d like.”
I pause, letting what I said sink in. Lorenzo told me that Meredith threatened to blackball me with her clients, and by the sound of things, she’s definitely trying. The truth is, I can do the same and choose not to work with her. I’m an in-demand floral designer with a full calendar of clients. I don’t need Meredith Wildeman’s clients.
I have never traded on the weight of my last name, and in this, I don’t need to. I have the power and draw of SweetPea Boutique, and that’s enough.
“Hmmph, very well. We’ll be happy to get someone else to do the flowers then.” Meredith’s smile is predatory, victorious at having triumphed over me. To Sadie, Meredith softens. “I did warn you, dear, but there are so many much more talented florists. Let’s go, Sadie.”
Meredith stands but Sadie doesn’t move.
“Uh, no. I want Abi to do my flowers. It’s what I’ve wanted ever since I saw Claire Johnson’s bouquet. It’s what everyone wants.” Sadie looks confused as hell at how her fun flower selection appointment has gone so awry.
I sit back quietly. Sadie seems nice, but this is her wedding. I’ll do the bouquet or not, but either way, I’m not working with Meredith.
“Yes, Claire’s bouquet was lovely, I suppose. And another designer can certainly recreate it if you’d like.”
When that doesn’t sway Sadie, Meredith decides to play hardball. “We have a contract, dear. Perhaps we should follow up with your mother to see about this.” Meredith plays the mom card, and I swear there is steam coming out of Sadie’s ears.
“No need. It’s my name on the contract, and if I recall, there’s a buyout option. Here.” Sadie pulls out her checkbook, writes a check with three zeroes, signs it her damn self, and hands it to Meredith. “Your services are no longer needed, I’m afraid. I’ll be sure to tell my friends.”
Meredith is shocked. So much so that even her eyebrows lift and her forehead wrinkles. “Well . . . I . . . good day, then.”
She might be wrong as hell with her little power play, but I’d be willing to bet she cashes that check at the bank as soon as she leaves.
She strides for the door, looking back once, and our eyes meet.
Game. Set. Match. Bitch.
And I did it with grace, boundaries, and integrity I can be proud of. No bail money or alibi needed.
I don’t know what Meredith has against me, because it’s obviously me and not flowers in general. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. She made me out to be something in her head, and nothing I did or didn’t do was ever going to change that. It’s not that I’m taking my ball and huffily going home but rather that there are infinite playgrounds and we can just . . . not play together.
Though if given the chance, I’d throw a mean dodgeball at her without a second thought.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”
Sadie laughs as Meredith pushes the door open a little too hard.
Shit, that was out loud, and I was doing so well! I guess you can take the girl out of the crazy but not the crazy out of the girl.
“Looks like I need a new wedding planner. Got any suggestions?” Sadie says.
“Actually, I do. Courtney had an excellent one whom I’ve seen in action first hand. And Claire was actually working with another planner before Meredith took over to cover her maternity leave. I can give you both of their names and information. I’m happy to work with either, or anyone else you’d like to use if you find someone else is a better fit.”
Sadie smiles. “Sounds good. Okay, so let’s look at flowers! Do you want to see my Pinterest board?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her happily. “Let’s look at wedding bouquets first.”
Chapter 29
Lorenzo
“I need the olive oil. Who’s got my EVOO?” I shout down the line.
I’ve got a lot to do before tonight’s event, and of everything I’ve ever done, tonight has to be perfect.
“With all respect, Chef . . . get out,” Belinda says.
I look over sharply to find her holding my bottle of oil with a look of challenge in her icy blue eyes. She’s an excellent chef with a strong work ethic, a precise palette, and a long history of working with some of the best.
And now she works for me. Usually.
“Get out?” I laugh as I grab olive oil from her station and let her keep the one in her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got too much to do.”
Belinda steps in front of me with one strong hand held up. “Lorenzo, we’ve got this. We’ve been talking about this for weeks, designing the menu, and trying out new recipes. Let me do this so you can at least go home and take a shower before you change into your suit.”
I glance around the kitchen to see my entire crew nodding with Belinda. But I haven’t lost them.
This is my kitchen. My crew.
But not my restaurant.
I don’t want that, not now, at least. But being the chef for a small restaurant with an owner who wants me to create and allow him to manage is the perfect compromise. Here, I have the opportunity to source local products or have specialty items shipped in, I can change the menu daily or seasonally, and I can experiment with free reign.
This is my new cooking home. Except I’m being kicked out, apparently.
“Belinda . . . guys . . .”
“We’re good, Lorenzo. I swear it. We won’t let you down,” Belinda reassures me.
I sigh, knowing she’s right and that I need to trust them. But I can’t let it go easily. “Run it down for me one more time.”
“Yes, Chef,” Belinda snaps.
She begins reciting the menu I’ve been agonizing over, different members of the crew picking up to recite their contributions to each plate. It doesn’t take long. It’s a set menu of items I selected.
Once she’s done, I realize that she’s right. They’re all right.
“Okay.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am. I take my apron off and then my jacket. “I’ll see you later . . . on the other side of the table. Do me proud, guys.”
Belinda leads the crew in a round of applause that dies out the instant I leave the kitchen and is replaced with the hustle and bustle of knives chopping, food sizzling, and pots and pans moving around on the stovetops.
“You look amazing,” I whisper to Abigail.
She’s wearing the white gown she promised her mom she would, though I think it’s not quite what Kimberly had in mind. But in the end, Abigail will always do what she feels is right, and she’s gone with a two-piece. The top is a delicate silk tank with a deep V and lace in creamy ivory. The skirt is full in the palest blush pink with tiny buttons down the entire length of the back. She let me see it once, saying it wasn’t bad luck since we’re already married, though she’d only held it up, not actually put it on.
But even holding the skirt up, she’d twirled like a little girl, her face exuberant with joy.
On her now, it’s even more stunning.
Abigail’s smile in this moment, in this dress, is something I will remember forever. “Thank you.” She spins once again, the skirt flaring out beautifully. “You too. So handsome.”
She snuggles up against me, her arms going around my waist, and there’s a click from off to my right.
I ignore it in favor of looking at Abigail because I know the photographer is going to be taking pictures of the entire reception tonight.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask her.
“Absolutely, without a doubt. I’m ready to get our party on and celebrate.” She wiggles against me with her smile bright, not only on her lips but in her eyes. She takes my hand and holds our interlocked hands up. “Us against the world, yeah?”
“Always.”
The doors in front of us open, and Archie pokes his head out with a grin. “Okay, cats and kittens, you ready to rock and roll?”
I can’t help but laugh in confusion. “What?”
Abigail shakes her head and explains, “It’s an expression. A really old, dead one.”
Archie pouts sassily. “Let’s go. I’m ready to get our food on because I want to hit the dance floor.” He spins in place in his black boots and finishes by striking a pose with one arm up and one down, his fingers spread wide and shaking.
Walking into the restaurant, I see our family and friends are already seated at the tables, each of which has been draped with pale blush tablecloths and lovely arrangements Abigail created and set with a mix-match of china and flatware.
“May I introduce Mr. Lorenzo Toscani and Mrs. Abigail Andrews!” the DJ says into the microphone, and everyone claps and cheers as we walk through the restaurant. It feels like a victory lap.
We won at life by finding each other!
I can’t help but smile. This is all so . . . American. It’s like a rave version of a party but with everyone dressed up in their finest.
Abigail and I sit down at a table of our own and dinner service begins. I’m critical of every morsel on every plate, checking the ones I can see for consistency, but Belinda and my crew have done a top-notch job. Each bite is pure pleasure.
Everyone else seems to be enjoying their dinner as well.
“Uhm, this is delicious!” Abigail raves about the fettuccine. The dish that started this all. “Promise me we can have this at least once a week.”
“Daily, if you want it,” I vow.
Abigail seems to actually be considering that. But too soon, dinner is over and we move on to dancing.
If there’s anything Abigail’s family enjoys, it’s dancing. Apparently, Violet’s wedding had a dance off that was the stuff of legends, I danced with Abigail at Courtney’s wedding, and now, I’m holding Abigail in my arms once again.
The music is slow and sweet, and I enjoy swaying with her until I see Aunt Sofia dancing with Archie. “Uh, is that okay?” I ask Abigail. “He’s not going to dip her and drop her on the floor, right?”
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 33