Meanwhile my phone had stopped ringing. I opened my door as the answering machine picked up. A click proved that the caller declined to leave a message.
I bumped my behemoth of a window air conditioner up to the max, then made my way to the kitchen with Chester nipping at my ankles and weaving around my legs. I spooned out half of a can of something labeled “Fresh Seafood,” but which smelled more like the Dumpster behind a sushi restaurant. He didn’t seem to mind. I managed to refill his water dish before the phone rang again.
I carried the receiver so I could stand in front of the roaring air conditioner, then lifted my ponytail so the chilled air could hit the back of my neck. “Hello?”
“Audrey, where have you been? I’ve been calling all night.”
Letting my hair fall, I jerked into my full and upright position. “Hey, Brad.” Where I’d been was none of his business. Not anymore. Brad the Cad had blown his chance with me. I really needed to get caller ID.
“Listen, Audrey, I’m coming back to Ramble.”
Well, let’s call the town band and organize a parade, why don’t we? But instead of saying that, I sank onto the sofa. “Coming back?”
“Just for a visit. Well, work, really.”
“How nice for you.”
“Aw, come on, Audrey. I know you’re upset with me, but I hoped we could talk. Clear the air. There might be a job in it for you. A huge wedding.”
“Are you getting married?” A logical conclusion considering I made my living as a florist and the wedding coordinator at the Rose in Bloom, the shop that my cousin Liv and I owned.
A long pause was followed by a slow inhalation and exhalation. “No, Audrey. I’m not getting married. You were right. New York isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. I really messed up when I left you behind.”
I swallowed hard. For a long time I’d dreamed of hearing those words. And I’d rehearsed all kinds of reactions ranging from running into his arms—hard to do over the phone—and stomping on his foot with my highest and spikiest pair of heels.
“Yeah?” Okay, so that wasn’t one of the reactions I’d practiced.
“Look, I’m coming back with the whole film crew.”
“I thought the show you were working on was canceled.”
“It was. Who knew The Lumberjack Logs would turn out to be such a yawn? But a friend hooked me up with Fix My Wedding. I’m the production assistant.”
“And they’re coming to Ramble?” My ears perked up. Fix My Wedding had become one of my favorite guilty pleasures. Gigi Welch’s snarky treatment of brides brought them to tears as she mocked their original—and usually tacky—plans. Then her cohort, Gary Davoll, would sweep in like a fairy godfather and whisk the bride away, spoiling her like a princess. I won’t say the elaborate weddings they staged were much less tacky than the bride’s original plans, but the show had chemistry. And I could justify the hours I spent watching it by labeling the time as work, research for anyone in the bridal industry.
“Yep. And I might have had something to do with that.” Pride rang in his voice. “The original venue fell through. The bride in question is nuts—”
“Aren’t they usually?”
“Same old Audrey. Quick-witted and never letting me finish a sentence.” The tone in his voice was teasing and cheerful. It belonged to the old charming Brad I dated, not the monster I’d recast him as since the break-up. I shifted my emotions to defensive mode. I would not fall for him again. I would not . . .
“Anyway,” he continued, “the bride is nutty about bells, and I told her about the hand-rung bell in the old First Baptist. I showed Gary and Gigi pictures of some of the other local assets, so they’re going to hold the wedding at the church and the reception at the Ashbury.”
Oh, lovely. The Ashbury. The restaurant where Brad dumped me. This was getting better by the minute. “And you said there might be a job for me?”
“Yes, I showed Gigi and Gary the article about you in the paper, and they thought the whole language of flowers thing was cute. Said a local florist with that kind of reputation might make the episode more interesting. Well, quaint, they said, but you know Gigi.”
“And the bride’s crazy about bells?” My brain started turning. I’d seen bell-shaped vases that might work. Maybe campanula, also known as bellflowers, or any of the other flower varieties that resembled bells. Or was that too literal?
The meanings were suitable. Bellflowers signified constancy, a great meaning for a marriage, and the small white ones meant gratitude. Of course, the bluebell also could signify sorrowful regret, but maybe I could steer her away from that color. Not all of the bellflowers are commonly used by many florists, but I was sure I could get my hands on them if needed. And if I couldn’t, Liv was a whiz at acquisition.
“Yes, some fetish with bells,” he continued. “We’re busing in a bell choir to perform at the ceremony. Guests are ringing little silver bells instead of throwing rice. I think Gary is even arranging to have bells woven into her dress. Crazy, huh? But that’s why people watch the show. I hope you’re not overbooked and can squeeze in the wedding. Mom said the shop has been real busy.”
“When is the wedding?”
“Um, we’re coming next week. Like I said, the other venue canceled at the last minute. Can you do it? I know it’s the middle of summer. It has to be a busy time for weddings.”
Proving once again that Brad never paid attention. July might be a prime time for a wedding in many parts of the country. But in Ramble, Virginia, where most weddings were held at the old First Baptist, which lacked air conditioning, or outside in the gardens of the Ashbury, local brides tended to opt for late spring or early fall when the temperatures were more manageable.
“I should be free. I’ll have to see if Liv can source the flowers for a quick delivery. It will cost a bit more.”
“No problem,” he said. “The show has deep pockets. We’ll make sure the cost of anything you need is written into the contract. Should be some nice publicity for your shop, too.”
“Of course, I’ll have to talk it over with Liv.”
“Last time I called Mom, she said that Liv and Eric are going to have a baby. They must be tickled pink.”
“Or blue,” I said. “They want to be surprised.”
“That’s great. Give them my best. Or I can do it when I get into town. Oh, Audrey, I’ve missed you. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
My stomach twisted. He sounded like the same old Brad that I had dated for a year. But did I really want to see him again? And where would that leave my budding relationship (pardon the floral pun) with Nick Maxwell?
“Yes, Brad, I’m looking forward to seeing you again, too.”
Bloom and Doom Page 27