One Day Like This: A feel-good summer romance

by Laura Briggs

  Resentment burned inside Natalie. “Actually, design will be a big part of my job at the new wedding planning firm,” she replied, seeing Kandace’s expression darken even more. “So maybe my style has more potential than you believe. I think the biggest problem is that you and I have different definitions of art,” she added. “To be honest—I’d rather clean frosting off bridesmaids’ dresses than sew more glitter patches on Peter Pan’s tights.” She cast an eye in the direction of the designer’s sketches, one of which Cal had labeled “demented orphan fairy” fashions.

  Kandace’s face was red with fury. “Go ahead. Stab me in the back after I gave you a chance,” she said. “That’s more than anybody else in this town did for you. Just don’t try to come back afterward when you regret leaving the best! Understood? You’re not quitting—I’m firing you, you lousy little traitor!” She stuffed Natalie’s crushed sketch into the bottom of the box, then swept herself from the loft.

  Natalie didn’t answer. She dropped her green dress into the box, which held the other designs she’d completed from her own sketches in the past—all of which had failed to meet Kandace’s approval and earn a place on one of the random hangers downstairs.

  She lifted the box. With one last glance at the loft around her, she released a sigh, although she wasn’t feeling regretful. Two years had been a long time to spend in this place, but she was ready to leave in a way. What kind of future did she have in sewing rayon crocodile scales on a corset, anyway? She wouldn’t miss it one bit, even if Tessa’s plan crashed and burned.

  With that thought, Natalie hoisted her box and went downstairs.

  “Goodbye and thanks for nothing.” Kandace’s tone was spiteful. She was tying price tags on the finished “Twisted Symmetry” line at the shop’s counter. The short, diamond-patterned dress was among them, to which Kandace had recently added two more weird clown buttons.

  Natalie ignored this goodbye. As she walked past the bargain rack, she felt Cal catch her sleeve, a desperate look in his eyes.

  “As soon as your business is rolling, hire me,” he whispered.

  * * *

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Blake Ellingham warningly, holding up his hands. “Not me. Not again.”

  “We need you, though,” said Tessa. “You want us to be able to pay for your services thus far, don’t you? How can we do that if we have to close our doors because we rejected a business opportunity?”

  “You could find a way,” said Blake firmly. “You’re very resourceful.”

  “Not if we declare bankruptcy,” Natalie suggested. “It’s bad PR for us if we turn down this job.”

  Blake sighed, hands resting against the wall he was measuring. “I told you I would help you do this one time. You told me that was all you needed.”

  “That’s what we thought,” said Ama. “Please. Think of all the things we can hire you to do if you help us out for this job. The dry rot—the leak in the ceiling—the kitchen cabinets…”

  “The bathroom floor on the second story,” chimed in Natalie.

  “Not to mention all the restoration work this place needs,” said Tessa. “One happy client can become a dozen more in this business. Like Ama says, we can hire you to remodel our whole building in the future. Think how much you loved the idea—working on a historic old building in this part of town—”

  “Bringing back its former glory,” added Ama. “Wouldn’t that look great on your list of credentials?”

  “We’ll pay you,” said Tessa quickly. “For your work as a fake wedding consultant. We’ll give you a percentage of our fees, just like you were part of the business. How’s that?”

  “Shocking,” he answered. “And a little desperate.” But he offered no sign of giving in.

  “Then help us,” pleaded Tessa. “Otherwise, you’ll probably never see a dime for your work.” This was exaggerated, of course, but she was feeling extra-desperate. “How else are we going to pay you if we’ve all quit our jobs?”

  “Actually, I haven’t quit mine,” said Ama. “But it would take a lot of months of cookie and cupcake orders to pay the kind of bills we’re talking about.”

  “Who knows when I’ll get another job now that I’m free of Kandace,” Natalie chipped in, although with a slightly dishonest assessment of her situation, since she could at least pick up extra work at her family’s bakery. “Could take weeks, and even then, it’ll probably just be part-time.”

  There was a long pause, then Blake let out another sigh. One hand raked through his dark mane as he leaned against the worktable. Tessa thought he might bury his face and groan in a moment, instead of simply thinking it over. “Just until this client of yours is gone,” he said at last. “And only when it’s necessary for me to show up. I have other obligations besides this place and your problems, you realize.”

  “I promise,” said Tessa. “We will keep you in the background as much as possible.”

  Natalie held up the garment bag with a smile. “This one’s even trendier than the Armani,” she informed him. “It’s the latest word in fashion.” She unzipped it to reveal a bright blue suit in the fitted, modern tapered leg style that had been at home in closets of the sixties, too. It was too trendy in Tessa’s opinion—more like an experimental fashion piece than a suit anybody would wear comfortably, unless maybe they were on The Bachelorette.

  “Is that fabric electric blue?” asked Ama.

  “Wait until you see the tie,” answered Natalie.

  “We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready,” Tessa said. She didn’t wait for Blake’s full reaction to his new wardrobe, but instead escaped downstairs.

  * * *

  Bianca’s home was an apartment in Little Italy, a block from the big Catholic church and just above a new hair salon. It was a small but tidy space with old furniture, faded wallpaper, and a mantel clock and an antique saint’s statue that looked even frailer than Bianca herself. The smell of red sauce and garlic lingered near the kitchen, but the living room smelled like tea, thanks to the tray in the middle of the table, a plate of biscotti beside it.

  Natalie took a bite from one. “Delicious,” she said. “Did you make these?”

  Bianca laughed. “Not me,” she said. “Italian cookery—I was never good at it. My husband tried to teach me pasta; I tried to teach him beet soup. But in the end, it was easier for me to buy the sweet treats he liked. Now I eat from frozen boxes mostly—things like he used to cook.” Her accent was closer to the Scandinavian accents she’d heard on television, Tessa decided, having watched a whole week’s worth of Nordic fishing documentaries. Bianca wasn’t really Italian, despite her name.

  “Do you take milk or sugar?” Molly asked Tessa, as she sat down in one of the chairs.

  “Both, please,” said Tessa.

  “And Mr. Ellingham?” She glanced at Blake.

  “I’ll take mine black,” he replied.

  He was wearing the blue suit that Natalie had “borrowed” from the wedding garment rental, and somehow, he actually managed to pull it off. Tessa was beginning to think he could wear a burlap bag and still look attractive. He held the teacup Molly offered him in both hands, a look of deep, sympathetic concentration on his face that might be his way of avoiding conversation.

  “So,” began Tessa, setting down her teacup. “Tell us what you have in mind.”

  Molly glanced shyly at Bianca. “Truthfully, I don’t know where to start,” she said. “Maybe with the venue? I just moved to the city a year ago, so I don’t know much about locations here. There’s always a wedding chapel—Paolo’s Catholic, after all—but we both like outdoor events. As for the reception, I don’t really know.”

  “Some place nice,” said Bianca. “A nice restaurant in the city. I know one…” Here, she opened her ever-present envelope and dug through the clippings. Tessa glimpsed smiling women in evening gowns, vases of flowers, even cutouts of wedding rings. “This one.”

  It was the NiteLite Lounge, an expensive club near the waterfron
t, Tessa knew, with a modern dining room that boasted a “starlit” ceiling and an overpriced menu. “This one?” she repeated back.

  “It looks just like the big restaurants the movie stars go to,” said Bianca. “I thought about the big hotels, but Paolo said no. So I remembered a picture in the paper from this place. It looks just like them, and it’s so close! We could walk to it from the church close by, except there will be a limo car for the bridal party, of course.” She beamed at Molly.

  “I think walking’s fine,” said Molly gently.

  “You deserve a big car, though,” said Bianca. “I want you both to have the best. It’s important to me.” She took Molly’s hand in hers. “For you both to have what I couldn’t. What Paolo’s mother and father couldn’t. I was too poor then, but now—now I have saved money, and I want Paolo’s marriage to have a big start in the world.”

  “What do you want this wedding to be like?” Ama asked, as she sampled one of the biscotti. “Do you want something traditional? Your family is Italian, aren’t they?”

  “I want the best,” said Bianca firmly. “These are pictures of the nicest things I could find. And my friends told me some things I should ask about that would make it special. I have the list—it has the dress, the cake, the big place where we will go after the wedding. The limo car, too,” she added, checking them off her fingers as she spoke. “I want you to help me find the right ones, so Molly and Paolo have everything they want.”

  Molly didn’t look as if she was comfortable with this idea, Tessa noticed. “We should talk about your budget,” Tessa suggested, opening the binder with the Wedding Belles logo pasted on the front—a temporary mockup for jotting down clients’ notes.

  “Not now.” Bianca waved her hand dismissively. “Just tell me what things are important to do. Mr. Ellingham is a planner. He made things beautiful for Stella, so he will know what to do.” She was looking at Blake intently. His eyes, for a moment, widened with panic.

  Oops. Tessa froze. She hadn’t anticipated Bianca point-blank demanding a theme from Blake, their Stefan impersonator. If she jumped in at this point, what would Bianca think? Would it seem like an affront… the kind of affront that would cause them to lose their one client?

  All eyes were on Blake, who made himself busy with a long sip of tea, stalling for time, Tessa surmised. She caught his eye. Gently, she tapped her finger against the saucer on her lap, its china pattern exposed. Would he realize this was a hint?

  He looked at Bianca. “Roses,” he said.

  “Roses?” Bianca repeated. She looked ready to be entranced by the idea.

  “As a theme,” Blake clarified. “It could be… held in a rose garden, maybe. Or the food served on plates with a pattern like this one.” He held up his cup. “Very… traditional. But classic and kind of grand, obviously.”

  At least Natalie and Ama’s sighs of relief weren’t audible. As for Tessa, her lips formed a smile of admiration only slightly less glowing than that of Bianca. Although, technically, hers was from relief.

  “It would be so perfect with the cake,” said Bianca. “The one I have a picture of.” She rummaged through her pile of magazine clippings and came up with one in her hand. “This one. It’s so elegant. I said to Molly, ‘You need a cake this beautiful.’”

  Sugar doves and roses. Tessa had seen it before, a standard design in the wedding and bakery world. Five layers of cake formed a tower topped with two large marzipan doves and loads of pink sugar roses.

  “Maybe you could put some more roses on the sides also?” suggested Bianca. “And some pretty, glittery sugar. Like on Cinderella’s cake?” She looked at Blake now.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, well,” he began. “Don’t you think that might be a tad overwhelming?”

  “I believe I have just the cake in mind to go with Blake’s wonderful suggestion,” Tessa said. “I have a picture of it right… here.” She pulled one from her portfolio, but Bianca wasn’t listening.

  “Oh, and the dress! Yes, it must look like that beautiful one, too,” she said, clutching Molly’s hand in excitement. “You will look so pretty in it, just like a rose in bloom.” She took a picture of a multi-layered tulle skirt from the pile. “You can find a dress like this, yes? The skirt should be like petals, I think. Maybe looking more like a big white rose.”

  It was Natalie’s turn. “I could probably find something like that,” she answered. “If it was what Molly wanted, of course.” She glanced at the bride, who hadn’t spoken a word during all of this, letting Bianca take the lead until now.

  “I like roses, of course,” Molly ventured. “I’m not sure about dressing like one, necessarily,” she added, with a gentle laugh. “A garden might be pretty for the reception, though. If we could find one that doesn’t have an expensive retainer fee, and is close enough to the ceremony site.”

  “We could definitely find you an affordable outdoor venue,” promised Tessa. “No problem. And a rose garden would be a gorgeous setting.” She penciled this idea into her notes, barely able to believe it came from one of Blake’s suggestions. That was totally unexpected of him.

  “Tea in a rose garden, maybe,” Bianca said. “Pretty china like this and tea cakes and cookies—that would be nice. Like that show we like to watch on the television—you know, the pretty English one.”

  “She means Downton Abbey,” said Molly.

  “I’m a big fan,” remarked Natalie. “Gotta love those Edwardian fashions.”

  Fortunately, Bianca didn’t latch onto the idea of an Edwardian-style designer gown in response. She was too busy digging through her clippings in search of a fancy tea garden to show Blake, coming up with something that resembled the lawns of Windsor Castle more than the local botanical gardens.

  Tessa edged closer to the bride. “Besides the big and the beautiful, can you think of anything personal for you and Paolo, when it comes to a ceremony or reception?”

  “Maybe something from your family history?” Ama suggested. “A tradition that’s just yours? My family’s big on tradition, so I’m asking out of habit.”

  “I have no idea if my family had any,” Molly explained. “My parents died when I was little. Nobody I grew up with had any real traditions, especially not for weddings. My foster mom wasn’t married.” She toyed with the china cup beside her for a moment. “Paolo has his Italian heritage, of course. And I have some Irish, on my mom’s side of the family.”

  “Irish,” said Tessa. “We could probably come up with some beautiful ideas related to that part of your heritage, if you like.”

  For a moment, Molly’s smile brightened. “I actually went to Ireland on a college trip once,” she said. “It was beautiful. I was sort of amazed to think I was visiting places my family might have stayed, or even lived a long time ago, for all I know. It was fun to imagine, anyway.” Her voice held warmth for this memory, Tessa noticed, her smile growing a little less shy beneath her enthusiasm. “I guess I felt connected to it because of that,” she said.

  “That does sound amazing,” Tessa agreed. “Why don’t we find a way to honor that heritage for your wedding?”

  “I’ve always meant to learn more about my family’s roots but didn’t really know where to start. Maybe this would inspire me to actually get serious about my research.” Molly laughed. “When I was little, I used to pretend that’s why my parents named me ‘Molly’—even though it’s probably more of a stereotype than a true Irish tradition.”

  “You never know,” Natalie replied. “Maybe you’ve got an Irish ancestor with the same name a few generations back. Or maybe someone in your family had ‘Molly Malone’ as their favorite song.”

  “Well, one of my ancestors did have an Irish necklace,” Molly replied. “It got passed down to me along with some other mementos in a cardboard box of family possessions. It’s not rare or anything, but it has a really pretty pattern, kind of like two hearts interwoven. I looked it up and it’s called a Celtic love knot.”

  “That’s a p
retty awesome sounding family heirloom,” Ama grinned.

  Molly nodded. “I’ve been thinking about wearing it with my wedding gown. The original chain broke years ago, but I’m going to string it on some green ribbon I bought. I got the idea when Bianca told me that green means good luck in Italy… so, in a way, my necklace would represent both my and Paolo’s family heritages.”

  “Irish and Italian traditions make for a good beginning,” Tessa said, making a note of it in her folder. “Maybe for a color scheme or the menu… even the table setting. Irish crystal instead of rose-patterned china, for instance.”

  “Crystal sounds expensive,” said Molly dubiously.

  “Expense is no trouble,” said Bianca, waving it away.

  “It wouldn’t be,” Tessa promised. “Whatever you choose, we’ll find the best bargain possible, from an Italian band to Irish crystal rental.”

  The word “crystal” had Bianca’s attention in a heartbeat. She loved the idea of sparkling dishware almost as much as she liked the idea of English china. “And bagpipes for the wedding march,” she told them. “Very dramatic and so different. Maybe you can get bagpipers for the big entrance at the church?”

  Tessa wasn’t so sure about that one—not only because bagpipes were a Scottish instrument, but also because it seemed so… dramatic… for the simple grace of Molly herself, and the budgetary concerns of Paolo. She looked at Molly and found her struggling to hide a smile at this characteristic flair for the dramatic on Bianca’s part. She didn’t seem ready to issue an objection if she had one, though. And Blake’s thoughts were hard to read at this moment, his gaze directed at the tea in his cup that was probably growing cold by now.

  “Maybe the groomsmen could wear traditional tartan if the theme is Irish,” Natalie was saying beside her. “You know, kilts.”

  “That’s more of a Scottish tradition, isn’t it?” said Ama, frowning. “Or is it both?”

  They were getting off track again, Tessa felt. Molly had opened up for a second when talking about her family history, but they needed something more personal than just a fondness for Irish green if they were going to make this wedding memorable for everyone involved.