“Adorable,” I tell Robin, pointing at the framed photographs. “These recent?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Emily took them. Aren’t they great?”
“Very nice.”
“Bobby’s idea.” Robin leads me further down the hall. “Said he thought it’d be a good idea to have a professional group photo. We have tons of the baby but not many of all of us together.”
She pushes open the last door on the right and tells me to come in. “Ta-da!” she sings. “We’ve finally finished it!”
“Oooh,” I coo. “Rose’s room’s all done?”
The walls of the baby’s room are very similar to that of The Cup and the Cake’s, but with much more yellow and a heavier use of the pink. It looks fantastic, and I tell Robin that she and Bobby did a great job.
“Oh,” I say, pointing at the small, white bed that can’t be more than six inches off the floor. “A new bed?” I look around, searching for the crib—the crib that I had actually helped her build. I spot it off to the other side and say, “So crib or big-girl bed?”
“We’re working on the adjustment,” she says. Then by rote she tosses a handful of loose toys from the middle of the room into one of the big, teal-colored bins that lines the far wall. “We tried one night in the new bed, and that was a disaaaster, let me tell you. Eventually she’ll adjust.”
We head back into the front sitting room and comfortably relax on the long couch that matches the ottoman. We begin to rifle through papers and magazines so we can casually begin some work on the seating arrangements.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly realizing the obvious, “where are Bobby and Rose, anyway?”
“Park,” Robin says. She momentarily removes her glasses to rub at her eyes. “Rose had a tough day at daycare today, so she and Bobby are having some outdoor time. And,” she yawns, “to give Mommy a much-needed break. I’m so exhausted.”
“I bet. Rose is probably a handful.”
“Yeah, and the office is fairly demanding lately.” She closes her eyes for a few contemplative seconds.
“You seem happy.” Certainly Robin’s happy. Things may have been rough in the past, but now things have really shaped up. I mean, look around! This is a great home; it’s filled with love—a sweet baby and boyfriend who’d bend over backwards for her.
“Oh, definitely,” Robin assures me. “I’m content. Finally.” She chortles a little. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Well,” I say, patting her shoulder, “you’re a rock star, girl. Being a mom can’t be easy, but you make it look like a piece of cake.”
“You’re sweet. Oh, that reminds me!” She puts her black, plastic-rimmed glasses back on. “Sophie gave me the café’s leftovers from last night. Lemon-blueberry crumble cake. Want some?”
“Uh, obviously.”
“A little snack and then time to get to seat-organizing. Naturally you’re going to put me with you and the rest of the girls.” She smiles before getting up and heading into the kitchen.
“Naturally.” I pull my hair into a messy ponytail. “That is, if the nearly three hundred people don’t burst the venue at the seams. We’ll all be sitting on the lawn and parked on the sidewalk at this point!”
***
“Hi, Claire,” says an unfamiliar voice over the phone. “This is Allison Kearns, of Allison Kearns Events and Design.”
“Oh!” I squeal, immediately afraid that I might have shattered the poor woman’s eardrum. “Oh, yes.” My voice is much softer now, but it’s still thick with excitement. “I’m so glad to hear back from you.”
“I trust my assistant let you know I was out of town when you called?”
“Oh, yeah.” I make a gesture with my hand signifying that it’s no big deal, as if she can see it. “Not a problem.”
“Is now a good time?”
I look around the home office where I’m seated at my sewing station. I’ve been trying to finish my burlap draping project. I kind of dismissed it for a while once I realized that I’d be exchanging my vows in a church. Conner convinced me to finish them, though, just in case we could use them at Chanfield Manor for the reception. I told him he was being silly and that I could probably only use one set, at most. However, he said that since they were started I may as well finish them. Point well taken.
The moment I receive the callback from Allison, I shove my chair from my working station and leave the tulle and burlap in their very glittery and unfinished state.
“Now is perfect!” I tell Allison over the phone.
“I have the basics down, thanks to your message, and Lara’s filled me in, too,” Allison begins.
She sounds very put-together, and not in the “I’ve got all my Apple products in front of me and I’m going to take this call and send this text real quick during our meeting” kind of way. She sounds…professional. I know this, like my Vera Wang gown, is going to be a match made in heaven. I should have hired Allison long ago!
“I’d like to come in two days before the wedding,” Allison says. “That way I have plenty of time to address any last-minute issues, get things all in order, and, of course, to be there to coordinate the rehearsal dinner. You have those arrangements already made, correct?”
“Erm, uh…” I chomp down on my lower lip in panic.
“No worries,” she cuts in. “You’re doing a vintage, shabby-chic design for your wedding. Lara says you have a laid back catered meal—buffet-style—arranged. So, how about we go for Carpaggio’s? Nice little Italian joint—high on class but not overly stuffy. Reasonably priced. They’re very experienced in hosting rehearsal dinners, parties, and…bachelorette dinners. But before we get to that, Carpaggio’s? How does that sound?”
“Uh…” I’m a little shell-shocked, but in a great way! Allison’s stepping in at the final hour, dozens of states away, and rapping over the phone like a coordinating pro, like she’s been making herself familiar with my wedding for the past six months. I already feel like the stress is starting to lift. This is, in one word, fabulous!
“There are vegetarian options available at Carpaggio’s. They’re not kosher, however…” Allison’s voice hums.
“No. I don’t think we’ll need to have kosher,” I say, dragging myself off of Wedding Coordination Cloud Nine.
“Okay, then. I’ll book Carpaggio’s after I get in touch with the church about the rehearsal time and get that all squared away,” Allison says. “Do you have any appointments—personal appointments or plans—set for the rehearsal day? We’re planning for the Friday before the wedding, I assume?”
“Yes and no. No, I don’t have anything planned that day.”
“Excellent.” There’s a pause, and I can imagine Allison’s writing or typing madly her list of to-dos. I couldn’t care less if she’s using an expensive tablet or an old-fashioned pad of paper to get to planning this wedding. Hell, I’ll chip in to pay for the techie tablet if she needs one! This woman’s on a roll, and we haven’t even been on the phone for ten minutes.
“Now,” Allison says after a short while, “bachelorette party. Will you be needing planning assistance with that, or do your girls have you covered already?”
“Actually, I haven’t even given a thought to it.” I scratch my head, dumbfounded by the realization that I haven’t planned, much less considered, a bachelorette party. Who plans those things? We didn’t do one for Jackie. I didn’t even make it to my sister Maggie’s, because she didn’t have one (or she did and figured it was too hemp and hippie an event to invite me). Hmm.
“I’ll talk to Lara and find out if there are any developments there,” Allison says with assertiveness. “On to linens and China and other rentables…”
Allison continues in this vein for nearly an hour, with the occasional small talk thrown in for familiarity. She’s a really nice lady, and I’m bummed that I didn’t consider using her before Tornado Melissa hit town.
And, speaking of her…I have yet to hear from her since Conner and I sent that
email. I haven’t wanted to press the matter, because let’s face it, who really wants to discuss a pink slip? But it is a bit odd, isn’t it? Odd that I haven’t heard anything from her. I mean, she gets a dooming message in the mail, and she just, what? Forgets about it? Tosses it aside? Isn’t she at all angry or curious as to why she’s been let off the job?
Conner and I did a decent enough job at explaining why we were letting her go—something like, “No longer needing your assistance. Thanks.” So it’s not award winning, but it’s true, at least. Although it definitely left room for interpretation, if not simple questioning. Why haven’t I heard from her?
Oh well, I figure. Leave well enough alone, or however that saying goes. I have Allison now, and things are going to go smoothly from here on out!
Chapter Twenty
I roll out my yoga mat then drop the resistance band at one end of it, followed by the Magic Circle ring. I’m less than eight weeks out from the wedding, and I think I’ll be very toned and svelte by then, all thanks to my yoga regime.
Sophie returns her band and ring to their respective boxes and makes her way up to me, a rolled-up yoga mat under one arm. Her forehead is slightly glistening with sweat—she must have gotten quite a beating from her class. I could never survive her advanced class that’s just now filtering out of the open studio. No way, no how. My beginner’s class is suiting me quite well.
“Still liking it?” Sophie asks me.
“Yup. Should’ve discovered yoga ages ago.” I adjust the ends of my tightly fitted, spandex workout pants. “You heading out for the day? Or are you going to double-up, you crazy girl?”
Sometimes Sophie will find herself doing back-to-back sessions or hit the studio twice in one day. That usually only happens if she’s flustered by something (or someone), and with her putting in almost every waking hour at The Cup and the Cake, I can’t imagine where she would find the time or energy.
“Nah,” she says, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Got to get back to the bakery. Emily said we’re low on scones, so guess what that means?” She flings her towel over one shoulder.
“A little easier to manage when your mom was here, eh?”
“Tell me about it. I was spoiled having her here to help.” Sophie gives a short, friendly wave to my class’s instructor as she enters the studio. “But Emily’s fab. She’s a real sport. I’m sooo glad she offered to lend a hand.”
“And you’re still going to eventually hire on some help?”
“Eventually, when I see some nice profit coming in.” Sophie waves at an older lady, then looks at me with wide eyes. “Oh! I’ve got some girly gossip for you.”
Before I can answer, my class instructor announces that she’s about to begin and that we need to be at a seated position for some meditative breathing.
Dangit, I think, almost saying it out loud. Not a great time to be pulled away from Sophie.
So I rush out under my breath, “Quick. Can you tell me now?”
Sophie twists her mouth to the side, looking disappointed. “Shoot. How about you swing on by the café when you’re done here? That work?”
“Is it juicy-juicy?” I say with a smirk. “Like we need to sit down and talk?” I fold my legs as I take a seated position.
Sophie bends down and pats me on the back. “Two things, actually, so yeah…” She looks briefly up at the instructor. “Yeah. Swing by when you’re done, kay?”
I fleetingly run through my agenda for the evening. Conner can just order in something for dinner. I mean, I can’t miss out on girl gossip that Sophie is suggesting needs time to relay. I blurt out quietly that I’ll see her later. Oh, I wonder what she has to share…
***
“What is it?” I say to Sophie the instant after I greet a bustling Emily, who is moving from one corner of the busy café to the next. I’ve darted into the kitchen in the back and almost startle an aproned Sophie. “Sorry,” I tell her. “Okay, so what’s up? What’s the scoop?” I’m practically about to burst from anticipation!
“Slip on an apron over there and wash up,” she commands, nodding her head in the direction of the hanging aprons. “I’ll tell you while you help out with the baking.”
“Oh, hang on a sec.” I suddenly remember I need to let Conner know that I’ll be coming home late. Oops. I kind of forgot about the poor guy. I hastily type out a text, then suit up.
“What exactly am I helping you out with, by the way?” I glance around the room, and when I spot the mass of dough lying in a clump on a large, wooden cutting board on top of a flour-covered table, I arrive at my answer. “Scones! Right.” I roll my eyes at my forgetfulness.
“They’re the hot item right now,” Sophie says. “You know how to form them, right?”
I give her a knowing look. Seriously, how long have we known each other? And how long have I been doing this routine with her? I may not form the scones as artistically as Sophie, but I know the gist.
“Just make them as usual,” she says. “We’re doing regulars at palm’s width, not minis.”
I tie back my hair and wash my hands. “Okay, how long are you going to make me wait, Sophie? Give me gossip already!”
She smiles and says slyly, “You want interesting or, well—”
“Anything!” I almost shout, all agog. “Either bit of gossip. Come on, what’s up? It has to do with Chad, doesn’t it?”
Sophie’s face almost drops. She stops what she’s doing, the small round of dough in her palm falling clumsily onto the table. “Claire,” she says slowly, “what is with you being so obsessed with him?”
“All right, all right. Sorry.”
Sophie picks up the piece of dough and sighs.
“I’ll stop. Promise.”
“Thank you,” she says.
I smile, not able to contain my amusement. Yet I can’t help myself, so I throw in, “It’s just a little weird, him being here sometimes to help and all.”
“Claire.” Sophie gives me the semi-evil eye. “Stooop.”
“All right. That was the last jab. But given that, you can’t blame for me ask—”
“Claire, this news has nothing to do with Chad. Nothing whatsoever.” She places her freshly shaped scone onto the baking sheet. “As for bringing him up… Yes, he’s helping me. Yes, he still drives me nuts. Yes, he’s a nice guy. No, nothing’s going on. You’ve got to stop harping about it, dear.”
“Okay, okay.”
“But there is something going on with Henri,” she says in a coquettish note.
“What?” I gasp, dropping my own scone-shaping work onto the table. “What? What? What?” I scoot closer to her. “Sophie, what are you saying?”
She doesn’t look up from her fixed gaze on the dough in her hands. “This is the scarf guy, right?” I query. “And that was a Hermès scarf, wasn’t it?”
She’s smiling. “Yes.”
“Yes to what? Scarf guy? Hermès?” I’m completely ignoring my scone-making duties and staring at Sophie, wide-eyed and filled with wonder. Oh how I love a good romance story or juicy bit of gossip!
“Both.” She neatly places another scone onto the baking sheet, now making that three to my…I look down…none.
“Before you pass out from hyperventilation,” she says with a throaty laugh, “let me tell you straight up that it’s only a change that I’m talking about here. It’s not some big throw-you-for-a-loop kind of gossip.” I nod fervently. “But Henri and I—one of the guys from Paris I’ve been chatting with—”
“Yeah, I know.” Oh, could she get to the good part already? She’s killing me!
“Henri sent me the scarf, and it wasn’t really supposed to be indicative of anything. Nothing too flirtatious—only a good luck scarf, you know? For opening the café. It was nothing. Really, nothing.”
“Girl,” I have to interrupt, “Hermès is nothing?”
“He’s Parisian. I don’t know,” she says laxly. “It’s a thing. Anyway. He sent a little card with it, wishing me luck and
all that on the opening. Well…just this week, during one of our usual Skype chats—”
“Usual?”
“Every week or so. When we can. Yeah, it’s about once a week. Anyway,” shaking her head, “he tells me during our call that he hopes the scarf has brought me lots of business and good luck and all that. Sweet, huh?” I nod in agreement, and Sophie points at my baking sheet. “Your scones?”
“Bossy-bossy,” I sing. I carefully roll a piece of dough in between my palms, still more intent on Sophie’s story than helping in the kitchen.
“So Henri tells me all that, and then,” pausing for effect, “he tells me that he misses me. That he hopes I can steal some time away from my café to visit him. And then—get this—he tells me that he’s single.”
I guffaw, assuming that Henri would be single. I mean, he’s flirting with Sophie, right?
“Isn’t that crazy?” She looks at me, incredulous, and I’m pretty sure the only expression I’m wearing is a confused one.
“Claire?” Her voice has taken on a whiny tone. “What do you think?”
“Let me get this straight.” I abandon my scone-making duties once again. “You and this Henri guy, you’ve been flirting? Like, wait, you dated a bit in Paris, right?”
She confirms this with a nod.
“And you two aren’t technically dating now…” Another confirmation. “So…he’s single? And? I’m lost, Sophie. What are you trying to say?”
She tells me that upon her return to Seattle, she and Henri had agreed that they would still see other people—there was to be no exclusivity, simply because of the ridiculousness of maintaining something from such a far distance. And, she adds, since they were never really exclusive before in Paris, they figured why start now? Something about her being flirty-nice with another Frenchie and maybe another and another…I really don’t know. It was all so casual over there. As Sophie put it, it was a “keep the lines open kind of thing with Henri when I came home. No strings attached. Still just as open to see other people.”
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 25