One Winter’s Day: A feel-good winter romance

by Laura Briggs

  “Whoa. Sorry,” said Natalie. “Didn’t see you there.” How she could miss seeing him was another matter, because he was pretty smokin’ in Natalie’s book. Bronze complexion and blond hair that seemed just a little on the long side for a white-collar career—which his business trousers and pinstripe shirt obviously implied. Surfing enthusiast, she guessed, based solely on his tan—but not that of the aging frat boy or beer-swilling beach bum variety Natalie was generally fairly careful to steer clear of in her dating life.

  “No problem.” He smiled. “Just trying to pick between strawberry and banana. My daily dilemma at this place.” His head nodded in the direction of the pastry case.

  “Get both. Then you don’t have to decide,” suggested Natalie.

  “Too easy,” he said. “I enjoy a challenge in everything but coffee.”

  “Let me guess. No sugar, one cream… and no decaf,” said Natalie. “Am I right?”

  “You are so close, it’s scary,” he answered, with another smile that parted his lips slightly, revealing the bottom edge of a perfectly straight row of white teeth. “Chad, by the way.” He held out his hand.

  “Natalie.” She shook hands. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “It’s all mine,” he said. “I think you might be the first grownup I’ve met in this place. Most of the employees look twelve—and is it just my imagination, or are college students now all tweens?”

  “You noticed that, too?” said Natalie. “I feel like I’m surrounded by infants in the hall when I leave my grad school classes—all the freshman girls look like twigs and the guys are wearing skinny jeans in my size. I keep wishing my family had been Italian models in the fashion world and not Italian bakers.” Not for the body of a twiggy twenty-something, Natalie knew, but didn’t bother to explain.

  “Who could tell the difference, looking at you,” said Chad. “You mean you’re not an Italian supermodel having coffee at this place?”

  Blushes for flirtation were not Natalie’s style, not even one of embarrassed politeness for such an obvious pickup line as this. But his tone of voice made his joke feel like part of normal conversation—not a corny punch line just hanging in the air for her response. She liked a guy who left the door open for her to decide.

  As for the Italian model thing… corny, yes. But coming from a guy like him, definitely a little cute as well.

  “Do you attempt that line with every stranger you meet?” she asked. He laughed, embarrassed.

  “Not that often, I swear,” he said. “But… since I wanted to ask for your phone number, I thought I should probably establish that I’m interested. The classic pickup line kind of points it out for me.”

  Smooth, Natalie decided, this transition from chitchat to asking her out. Much more gracefully delivered than the last pickup line offered to her.

  “Like a sign holder on the corner?” she asked him. “Your pickup line’s a big red arrow pointing straight to the truth?”

  “More like a winking smiley emoji at the end of a text,” he answered.

  He glanced at the paper sack in her hand. “Are you in a hurry to be somewhere?” he asked. “I just got off work, and I think I’ve changed my mind and would rather have my strawberry muffin here than to go.”

  “Strawberry, huh?”

  “The day they bake a blended recipe will be my lucky day,” he answered.

  They shared a table by the window, where they made casual talk for a half hour. Chad worked in marketing for a new startup brand that designed and sold athletic shoes, and had graduated from his college’s business program seven years before. He preferred the office’s laidback business casual attire Wednesdays through Fridays, khakis and polo shirts over ties, and he liked surfing, rock climbing, hiking, and zip lining in his spare time—thus explaining his tan. And he thought Natalie’s fashion aspirations sounded fascinating, judging by the attentive look on his face when it was her turn to share.

  “Not that you wouldn’t make a great fashion model,” he said. “Think about it. You would be the only one in the city who not only designed her own dresses, but showcased them personally on the runway.”

  “You don’t have to use the model line anymore,” said Natalie knowingly. “You have me interested, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

  “Am I that obvious?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah. You are. But it’s kind of cute, so I’ll ignore it.”

  They both laughed now. He reached for his cell phone. “Can I have your number?” he asked. “Maybe call you sometime to meet up after the holidays?” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, this potential meeting. Not putting the importance and pressure on it of two people interviewing each other as prospective life partners, that zone of eager and nervous bouts of exchange. Music to Natalie’s ears, that off-the-cuff tone for this proposal.

  “Sure.” She couldn’t be so busy over the next couple of weeks that a fun evening or afternoon was completely impossible. She was already looking forward to seeing Chad again. The thought of rock climbing with his group on a Saturday afternoon was exactly the sort of fun she needed right now.

  “See you soon,” he told her.

  “See you.” She waved goodbye to him just before leaving the shop. There was something vaguely rugged in his overgrown hair and well-toned physique that resembled Blake Ellingham, minus the callused laborer’s hands—although Tessa would probably vehemently deny that there was anything physical to notice about the carpenter, even in the strength and composition of his fingers. This from a woman who’d obsessively watched those close-ups of Matthew Macfadyen’s in Pride and Prejudice a dozen times in the past. Give me a break, Tessa Miller, Natalie thought with a knowing smile.

  Outside, the fresh, cool fall air tasted like cinnamon toast, thanks to the coffee shop’s oven vents. Maybe Tessa was right, Natalie reflected—that their bad luck streak was over, not that Mr. Right had appeared in the form of handsome, hunky Chad, of course. But the latter possibility would be just fine with her too.

  Seven

  Over Thanksgiving, the window scene became a Christmas bride’s paradise in red and gold twinkle lights, with a big bouquet of white poinsettias and silk and pearl bead mistletoe to match Natalie’s second champagne satin wedding gown. More importantly, however, the firm’s December bride returned to the parlor to choose her theme.

  “I think I want sort of a… a snow bride feel,” said Nadia. “Lots of white and silver and blue. I really love snow and frozen ponds and icicles—my favorite part of Christmas is the winter. The way everything glitters and sparkles.”

  This would be the perfect wedding for Stefan, Tessa reflected, thinking of the Wedding Belles’ former wedding planner partner, who had ditched them for a tempting Paris job before they even began. The more sparkle the better had been his apparent motto.

  “So it’s like Frozen,” suggested Paula. “Boy, I just love that ice queen movie. The big snow monsters, the big ice castle—say, maybe the cake can look like the castle! Wouldn’t that be something? And you could wear a fancy gown like Elsa,” she said to Nadia.

  “Well… it might be kind of pretty,” said Nadia. “I like the style—but I think—”

  “My daughter is not wearing blue for her wedding,” said Cynthia primly. “She’s not patterning her ceremony after a children’s movie. I think we’re talking about cool shades, pure white accented by some sort of blue flowers for the tables.”

  “I do like parts of the movie idea, Mom,” began Nadia. “We don’t have to rule it out just because the dress is blue. Obviously I’ll want something a little more traditional, but—”

  “We could put a big crown of snowflakes on you,” said Paula. “Lyle always says you’re his princess, so why not dress up as one? Can you do a snow princess wedding?” she asked Tessa.

  “Only if that’s what Nadia wants,” Tessa answered.

  “I don’t think I want to wear a crown, Paula,” said Nadia.

  “Why not? It’s your wed
ding, honey. You’re a queen for that day. And, believe me, Lyle plans to treat you like one. Look how much he’s forking out for this ceremony and reception.”

  Lyle wasn’t here, or surely he would be embarrassed that his mother was almost bragging about how much the big day would cost, Tessa thought. Did he know that she was making such a big deal out of his role in the wedding?

  “I’m paying for the flowers and the cake,” Cynthia reminded her stiffly.

  “Well, forgive me for forgetting that little detail,” snapped Paula.

  Nadia held up her hands. “Please, I think it’s time we listen to the wedding planners,” she said. “I’m sure they have some ideas about what a winter wedding should be like.”

  “I’ve actually been working on a few ideas that you might like,” said Tessa. “I have some sketches here of some floral arrangements emphasizing white and silver, and some possible wedding favors.”

  Among the possibilities, Tessa had included a historic church outside the city which had windows big enough to showcase a snowy landscape, and a horse-drawn white sleigh for the couple’s vehicle of departure. Nadia found this last suggestion enchanting, despite her mother pointing out how impractical it sounded.

  “You’ll need snow to have a sleigh, after all,” Cynthia told her. “That’s hardly the kind of thing you can guarantee for Bellegrove in December—even if we usually do have a white Christmas.”

  “I thought of that already, actually,” said Tessa, before the bride could issue a comeback to this latest objection. “If it looks like snow is a problem, the best solution would be to rent a sleigh-style carriage. They look very similar to the real thing and it captures the spirit of a winter wedding without having to worry about any… technical difficulties.”

  “That sounds perfect,” said Nadia—at the same moment as her mother let out a disapproving sniff. Turning toward her, Nadia demanded, “What is it now, Mother? You obviously disagree, so just get it out of your system.” Clearly, the bride was feeling the strain of this meeting already.

  “It’s just all a little bit unorthodox, isn’t it?” said Cynthia. “A carriage that looks like a sleigh, a snow bride without snow—”

  “She has a point there, honey,” Paula broke in, agreeing with the opposition for a change. “A limousine would be more fun anyway, don’t you think? You and Lyle won’t have to freeze that way and you could even get one that has a big flat-screen TV and champagne and stuff. Now that’s what I call traveling in style!”

  “But that’s not what I want,” Nadia said. “I like Tessa’s suggestion. Put us down for the carriage,” she told the wedding planner. Forcefully.

  “Maybe we should move on to some other parts of the wedding now,” Tessa suggested, putting a check next to the bride’s preference on transportation. At this rate, they wouldn’t be done planning the wedding until next Christmas, she thought.

  “How about a big castle for the ceremony?” said Paula. “Lyle just has his heart set on a great big site for it. There’s that big palace hotel with the fancy lobby. How’s that for class?”

  “Horrid,” answered Cynthia in a crisp tone.

  “What about bridesmaids in blue?” said Nadia. “I really like the thought of pale blue strapless satin, with maybe a little snowflake hair ornament for each girl. With the sort of silvery-white shawls…” She held up a photo on her cell phone.

  “Those are nice,” commented Natalie. “I can get you a break on the fabric for the bridal party gowns. And your own—if you want it tailored, too.”

  “You can sew my gown?” Nadia asked, amazed.

  “She’s the best,” said Tessa proudly. “She worked for one of the designers in the city before she partnered with us.” That designer had also been the worst in the city, but neither planner contributed this information, as it didn’t do justice to how talented Natalie was.

  “I can’t wait to see,” said Nadia. She leaned closer to the designer. “It’s not that I want a Frozen wedding, exactly,” she began. “But when it comes to the dress, I wondered if—”

  “What about a nice quiet wedding chapel for the ceremony?” suggested the bride’s mother. “I found a lovely one that says it’s affordable and has seating for one hundred guests, and it’s very sedate. Just what a medium-size wedding needs, really. Her dress would look far more stunning against a simple background.”

  Gloomy was the better word for it, Tessa thought. A dark modern interior of wood paneling and almost no windows, with hooded candle-style chandeliers above the pews and a plain lectern for the minister officiating the ceremony. The only artistic element being a large gold candle stand in one corner.

  “Why not have the ceremony in a cave?” snorted Paula. “The castle’s ten times better, and it’s got real lights.”

  “We haven’t decided what kind of venue we want for the ceremony yet,” interrupted Nadia, inserting herself into the spat between her mother and her future in-law. “Lyle and I haven’t discussed it yet. Besides, I think the wedding planners might have some ideas about it, if we give them a chance.”

  “Lyle likes the castle,” said Paula stubbornly.

  “He would.” Cynthia sighed with this retort. Nadia nudged her.

  “Let’s talk flowers,” said Tessa, opening her notebook.

  She had made several sketches of possible flower arrangements using white, blue, mint green, and silvery shades in one, then another with pure white roses, poinsettias, and boughs of light evergreen needles. Cynthia was paying for this part of the wedding, and didn’t seem pleased with any of the florists whom Tessa named as possibilities—surprisingly enough, Paula supported these objections.

  “I had a bad experience with that one—it sent my mother’s ‘get well’ bouquet all the way downtown to some nail salon,” complained Paula. “And they didn’t give me a refund, either.”

  “I do want nice flowers,” said Nadia. “I want the venue to be simpler, but for the decoration to really stand out, and be wintry without being too Christmassy. You know?” She laid her finger on what was by far Tessa’s nicest sketch, the one that would be priciest for any florist to create, Tessa knew. She had been hoping that the standard design might appeal, given their pickiness over the city’s florist community. “I know it’s crazy, but I really love flowers. I think the biggest expense in our budget will be the decor, but it will be worth it.”

  Nice flowers. Tessa made a note about its importance.

  “I still think that castle’s banquet hall would look just stunning in lots of white and blue poinsettias,” hinted Paula.

  Tessa tapped her pencil against her notebook. If flowers were among the top priorities for her client, then they needed to hire one of the top professional florists. One name had been at the bottom of the list precisely because of expense, inaccessibility, and niche design, although it was exactly the sort of place that Tessa had been dying to contact.

  Accented Creations was a modern innovation in floral design—‘floral design’ being how they described their work—in both the field of floristry and the city itself. Their business’s appearance and mode of operation was like a hybrid between an art gallery and a floristry, complete with show rooms, exclusive appointments, and seasonal showcases which lucky clients bid upon for their events.

  They were selective in their clientele, and an appointment to view one of their show rooms had become practically impossible to arrange after they were featured in Modern Entertaining. Artistry had its price after the unique business model had drawn the notice of the mayor, the governor, and even a famed actor whose wedding had taken place at the chic plantation hotel Willow Resort the previous year. After one of their ‘floral artists’ had supplied the gubernatorial ball with centerpieces, it would be difficult for a newbie wedding planner to get an appointment without producing a magic celebrity name. Or at least the name of someone who was friends with someone on the staff.

  Wedding Belles was not the brainchild of a quitter, however. Thus far, Tessa’s attempts
to make contact with any of Accented Creations’ florists, or even receive a list of quoted prices, had ended in disconnected calls and endless classical music loops, but she was determined to reach them this time.

  “They hung up on me.” Natalie slammed the phone receiver down in its cradle with more force than necessary. “Again. That makes twice in the same day.”

  “Would you rather be perpetually on hold?” asked Tessa. “I spent an hour yesterday listening to Brahms’s ‘Piano Concerto in B-Flat Major.’” No human being was ever coming to answer her call, she had decided, no matter what the receptionist claimed. “I think the key will be calling over and over, not waiting on the line forever.”

  “They can’t be that exclusive—we’re talking about flowers, not hand-cut diamonds,” said Natalie. “How can they be this difficult to reach?”

  “They did the flowers for the mayor’s Christmas party last year, and I heard he was on a two-month waiting list,” Tessa reminded her.

  “Maybe this concept is overrated,” grumbled Natalie. “We should go to a normal florist where you walk in and pick a nice centerpiece out of a book or a flower cooler.”

  “The flowers are important to Nadia,” said Tessa. “That’s what’s going to create the atmosphere for her reception and her ceremony. You heard what she said at our meeting. Our client deserves the best, and I am determined to break through this wall of silence.”

  “How do you know they don’t have another appointment with the governor?” asked Natalie snottily.

  “Because this year Florinda’s Petals is doing the flowers for the governor’s mansion. Besides, there are no celebrity weddings taking place within a hundred-mile radius,” said Tessa. “We should have as good a chance as any ordinary wedding planner of getting an appointment for a normal client… only I’m beginning to think it’s impossible to get any human who works there to talk to you, even to explain that they have no interest in considering your client’s request.”