One Day Like This: A feel-good summer romance

by Laura Briggs

  “Can you think of anything else?” Tessa asked the two of them. “Anything with a special significance for you? A tradition you would like to carry on for your ceremony?” Sometimes there was a moment from the past that couples wanted to recreate—a certain family wedding portrait, a special gift for the wedding favor. Anything would help… if Molly didn’t have a tradition, maybe she and Paolo could adopt one from his side of the family.

  “Paolo’s family must have some,” said Molly, glancing at Bianca. “You were married in Europe, weren’t you, Gran? Before you came to America?”

  “European wedding traditions can be really great,” coaxed Natalie. “I’ll bet your wedding had a few worth repeating.”

  Bianca laughed. “Me?” she said. “My wedding? Pah,” she added, waving this suggestion away. “It was a poor wedding. We didn’t have two coins to rub together, Pietro and I, so we didn’t have much. We came to America and didn’t make much money. See that photo? Us after we were married. Our first day in America—a stranger took that photo for us.”

  She wafted her hand toward a framed photo on the nearby side table. Tessa lifted it, seeing a black-and-white image of a young woman in a plain flower-print dress and summer coat, standing beside a young man in an ill-fitting high-waisted suit from the 1950s. They were both squinting against the sun on a street corner; Bianca’s face was partly shadowed by the brim of her hat.

  “Not like now,” Bianca continued. “Paolo has a good job. He went to college and became an architect. He helped them draw some of those new buildings in the banking district. And Molly—she is an artist. People buy her pictures all the time.”

  “I’m a digital artist,” explained Molly. “I design business cards and invitations—I’m making the ones for me and Paolo, for our wedding. That’s how we met, actually,” she added, with a blush. “I designed some business cards for him.” She handed Tessa one from her purse.

  “Thanks,” said Tessa. “You know event planners—we can always use a new designer to recommend to our clients.”

  “Or ourselves,” said Natalie. “We’re bound to run out of business cards sooner or later.” They pretended that Tessa hadn’t ordered a box of five hundred already.

  “I guess we won’t have to find you a designer, then,” said Tessa, making another note in her binder. She was also noting that the invitations, thus far, were the only wedding detail the bride seemed certain of. “Now, what else would you like to cover?”

  “The dress,” said Bianca. “I think we should start there, don’t you?” She looked at Molly. “Find you something pretty?”

  “I guess so,” said Molly with a smile. “I probably shouldn’t wear jeans and a t-shirt to my wedding, should I?”

  “A princess dress,” said Bianca, squeezing the hand of her granddaughter-to-be. “That is what you will have.” She beamed expectantly at the wedding planners seated in her living room, who smiled back. “Maybe from the shop where Stella’s daughter-in-law found her dress. It was so beautiful—she looked like an angel. She gave me the card for it.” She held it toward Blake.

  Tessa nudged him, and he accepted it. “It was very impressive,” he told her, summoning a smile for Bianca’s sake, although it wasn’t very convincing to the wedding planner seated next to him. He passed the card to Natalie, who gave it an appraisal for possible future reference.

  “What was the design’s name again?” Molly asked Bianca. “I think we should maybe ask them to look for one a little more affordable.”

  “I think it was the pumpkin skirt model,” muttered Blake; too quietly to be noticed by the two clients in conversation, but not quietly enough to escape Tessa’s notice. She gave him a quick jab with her elbow.

  “We’ll help you find the perfect one,” Tessa assured them.

  Eleven

  Tessa climbed the spiral staircase, her folder tucked under her arm and her head full of ideas and new thoughts after the day’s conversation with their clients. Blake had impressed them with his charms—a surprise given the fact he had been curt and grumbling about it in the moments before. It made Tessa suspect that maybe the contractor possessed a tiny bit of genuine talent for some aspects of the event planning business, regardless of what he might claim if this was suggested.

  He had beaten her back to their headquarters as soon as the meeting was over. His tools lay on a worktable formed by a piece of lumber across twin sawhorses, his Skilsaw resting on one side beside a leather carpenter’s belt. He was here somewhere, probably, unless he had turned tail and run at the thought of playing Stefan Groeder’s replacement anymore.

  “Blake?” She pushed open a door to one of the empty rooms that was only half-closed, and discovered the whereabouts of their contractor. He was in the process of changing his clothes—the ones from the meeting were cast aside on an old radiator, with Blake standing a short distance from the doorway in his faded denim jeans, shrugging on his unbuttoned work shirt as the door opened. Tessa released a gasp, and Blake looked up at the same moment, those intense blue eyes landing on her in surprise.

  Washboard abs. A muscular chest, strong shoulders, and the rest of those very promising biceps she’d noticed the first time she had met him, in the alcove of Wedding Belles. Tessa was staring, and didn’t even realize it until she had taken a long look that brought to mind certain daydreams she had made an effort to repress since the moment she first saw him; particularly about the two strong hands that were holding their respective sides of his brown flannel button down.

  Her face flushed, her cheeks becoming two deep crimson roses, and a very similar shade appeared on Blake’s own. Tessa whirled around quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean— I didn’t realize—”

  “Give me a second.” The shadow on the wall told her Blake was hurriedly buttoning his shirt. “It’s safe now,” he said. “No further embarrassment if you want to turn around.”

  Her face grew even warmer. She was embarrassed for completely different reasons than just for seeing him partly undressed. She glanced tentatively over her shoulder—the romance novel fantasy version of Blake had vanished.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, turning around again. She gazed to one side, at the wall of half-peeled vintage floral paper, not daring to meet that steely shade of blue lest he somehow read the truth of the personal attraction in her own eyes.

  “No problem.” He zipped the suit into its garment bag. “What did you want to see me about?” He stepped past her, entering his workspace again, where he lifted the tool belt from the worktable.

  “I… uh… wanted to compliment you on what happened today,” she said. “The way they took to you. It was better than I thought it would be. You didn’t just fill Stefan’s gap… you impressed them. You gave them confidence. It was appreciated—by all of us.”

  “I did as requested,” he said. “I figured that was the deal. I help you get your client, you pay me for fixing up your building, so it all makes sense, as you put it to me beforehand.”

  “Of course,” said Tessa, who was floundering for words of reply. The rest of the speech in her mind from when she had been coming upstairs had flown away upon seeing Blake’s chiseled torso. Be embarrassed for yourself, Tessa. You’re not a hopeless romantic, or a college girl with a crush. Get over it. So he’s handsome—what does that matter? He’s just another colleague, right?

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” said Tessa. “I just thought I would pay you a compliment, since you deserve it.”

  She could linger and chat with him more, but between her mixture of mortification and attraction, she only wanted to escape from this conversation now. “Bye.” She turned and left with what she hoped seemed only like swift steps and not a rush to hide her confusion behind closed doors in her office.

  * * *

  Natalie checked the time on her phone. So far, the dress-shopping experience was not going well. For the first time, she was beginning to regret leaving Kandace’s Kreations a tiny bit, despite believing it
would take more than a few minor conflicts to change her mind about this decision. If this was a taste of her work for the business, she was going to be an utter failure in this career.

  Bianca had insisted upon visiting the wedding shop that sold the Cinderella dress—a boutique that turned out to have sold its only attractive dress on that day, possibly. The boutique owner’s taste sat on the opposite end of the spectrum to Kandace’s—kitschy, clichéd wedding garments that screamed “princess,” not to mention the overinflated price tags attached to them.

  This must be one of Stefan’s early contacts, to whom he owed a very big favor.

  “I think this one is so you,” purred the sales clerk as she showed off Molly in her latest selection. Its sleeves were made of pouffy tulle that resembled big tufts of cotton candy, while the skirt was spread wide at the bottom like a feather duster—trimmed with further panels of tulle and actual white feathers.

  Molly looked at herself in the mirror. “Really?” she said with skepticism.

  “It’s one of our most elegant designs,” said the sales clerk, who was talking more to Bianca than Molly—Bianca had insisted on seeing “the best,” of course, since that was the focus of her dream wedding for Paolo and Molly.

  “What do you think?” said Bianca to Natalie. “Is it nicer than the last one?”

  “It’s certainly more expensive than the last one,” said Natalie, who could see the four-figure price tag from here. “But are you sure this is the type of dress that suits Molly? The princess look? What if we consider something that also shows off Molly’s great figure?”

  Three more pouffy-skirt dresses lay across the fitting room’s chair and sofa, each with spread skirts and crystal sequins, and one with Victorian gothic-style black bead embroidery traveling down the bodice and the skirt’s upper half like spider webs. Monster dresses, as Natalie thought of them, which swallowed Molly up in fluffy material and glitzy decorations. The bride would be a walking frosted cupcake.

  “How about we just try something simpler?” suggested Natalie. She lowered her voice. “I know a boutique with something more sophisticated that I think would suit Molly better.” She cast a glance in the direction of the sales clerk, who was hustling from the priciest rack with another dress, this one an ivory gown with a giant flamenco skirt and a high, curving off-the-shoulder bodice that would create two wings sprouting from the bride’s arms.

  “This one is very exclusive,” said the clerk. “I think it’s a perfect contrast for your color,” she said to Molly, as she retrieved the tulle cream puff gown from the previous try.

  “But these dresses are supposed to be very fine ones,” Bianca answered Natalie worriedly. “I was told they were very fashionable.”

  “Is something wrong, madam?” The clerk had overheard part of their conversation.

  “I was hoping you would show us a little more variety. A few dresses in an evening gown style, for instance,” suggested Natalie. “And maybe something a little more affordable. Everything you’ve shown us has a price tag of three thousand or more.”

  “Madam wanted the best,” said the clerk snootily.

  “Are you sure that’s how you want to qualify these dresses?” replied Natalie. “The lace trim on that one is clearly nylon. And that ivory gown isn’t real satin, as anybody can see in this light.”

  “We’re one of the finest bridal boutiques in town,” snapped the clerk. “I resent you suggesting otherwise in front of your client, who clearly prefers our designs.”

  “Do you?” Natalie asked Bianca. Please say no, she thought silently. Couldn’t Bianca see the dubiousness on Molly’s face—and the cheesiness of that mermaid-skirt gown on the clerk’s hanger?

  Bianca wavered. She considered this for a moment, gazing at the pile of dresses across the chair. She sighed. “What more do you have?” she asked the clerk.

  “Our most expensive line,” said the clerk thoughtfully. “I haven’t shown you any of those yet. They might be just a teensy bit outside your budget, however.” She gave Natalie a pointed glance with this remark. “They’re not for every customer, clearly.”

  A stubborn note entered Bianca’s tone at this challenge. “Show them, please,” she said. The clerk gave Natalie a triumphant glance, then disappeared toward the shop’s back room.

  “Gran, we can’t look at even more expensive price tags,” objected Molly, as she tossed the latest dress over the doors of the changing stall. “Maybe we should ask for something simpler. Like a dress I can wear to business meetings later on or something.”

  “No, no,” said Bianca, shaking her head. “I want you to pick something special. Just for that day.”

  Molly sighed. The clerk reappeared with a dress trimmed with shiny metallic lace that resembled plastic to Natalie’s eye. “Here we are,” the clerk announced. “I think this one will be just right for you.”

  It wasn’t, Natalie knew, and it looked even worse on Molly than the others. Bianca was disappointed that the dress wasn’t anything like the pictures she had saved, but perked up significantly when the clerk announced that a new shipment of designs would be in some time next week.

  Thus far, not a single dress the bride had tried on had given her a genuine smile when she looked in the mirror. Secretly, Natalie felt that Bianca was only pretending to be pleased by the style of the most expensive one, which had far too much beading and a weird plunging neckline for a ball gown. It was only Natalie’s most persuasive efforts that kept the determined grandmother from putting it on hold for the bride-to-be “just in case” the others didn’t satisfy.

  Natalie sighed. This was almost as bad as sewing Kandace’s new “Tinker Bell” blouse, with pointy pleats around its waist.

  * * *

  Ama’s experience was almost the same when it came to the cake. Bianca had been eager to see Ama’s book of designs, but had quickly fallen in love with pictures of huge bakery cakes that were way too impractical for a small wedding, including Ama’s new “Birds of Paradise” design, which surely reminded Bianca of the giant sugary dove cake from the magazine.

  “Don’t you think this one is a little too much cake?” hinted Ama. “Five layers are designed to feed a lot of people.”

  “But look how beautiful it is,” said Bianca. “It’s so grand. How can you miss a cake like that?” She looked at Molly. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Molly. “But it has to cost a fortune, Gran. I think Ama’s right, and that it has way too many layers for me and Paolo. Maybe if we only had three… or picked a smaller cake.”

  “I have smaller designs, of course,” said Ama. “Look at this one with the chocolate roses—and this is one of my favorites. It’s a little different. A two-layer one decorated with dozens of little fondant wildflowers.” She used a technique similar to paper quilling to make them from fondant. Ama loved twirling the little flowers around a wooden skewer to form them, and coiling their little centers like cinnamon rolls.

  Bianca looked disappointed. “They look so small, though,” she said, studying the picture. “And they look plain. So plain next to those big, pretty ones.”

  Molly touched her hand. “Small is okay, Gran,” she said. “With me and Paolo.”

  Ama closed the book and laid it aside. “What if we did something unique?” she suggested. “How about a theme that represents you and Paolo, for instance? I can make a cake topper that looks like almost anything. We could recreate a place that matters to you.”

  “We met in my apartment,” said Molly with a smile. “I can’t really see that as a cake topper. We talked about honeymooning in Paris… not that we’re actually going there,” she added, with a blush. “Maybe on our golden anniversary.”

  “How about a tiny Eiffel Tower?” said Ama.

  “A big one, maybe,” said Bianca, smiling. “Can you make a big one from sugar?”

  “I could,” admitted Ama. She was reluctantly picturing a large candy tower atop a two-layer cake. “But how about something to
celebrate your heritage? Paolo’s Italian, you’re Irish… we could make anything from a Neapolitan cream cake to an Irish mint one.”

  “I guess,” said Molly. “Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know an Irish recipe from a French one. Paolo knows a little about Italian cooking. His grandfather and father were both good cooks.”

  “Can you put the doves on top?” asked Bianca. “How many layers can you make?”

  “I think two or three is enough,” hinted Ama. “If you want it to be tall, we can put the topmost and middle layers on cake pillars. Or we can make two fake bottom layers for the cake, which would be less expensive.”

  “Fake cake?” said Bianca. “How is this possible?”

  “I cut them out of Styrofoam and cover them in fondant,” Ama reassured her. “They would look just like the others, but they’re just for show. It would make the cake look bigger… but without actual cake.”

  “I don’t know about fake cakes,” said Bianca dubiously. “If someone found out, Paolo and Molly’s wedding might be shamed. Not affording real cakes—I can pay for one, so I will.” She lifted her chin firmly.

  Ama and Molly exchanged glances. “Maybe I can think of something better,” Ama said.

  * * *

  “Does anybody besides me feel like this wedding plan is moving in the wrong direction?” asked Natalie.

  She curled up on one end of Tessa’s sofa, while Ama opened a box of biscotti and laid them out on a platter. Tonight, Tessa was cooking a frozen lasagna and garlic bread at her place so the three of them could spend some time together outside the business. A good way to bond and get work done at the same time, as Tessa put it, although a tempting stack of romantic DVD movies was piled next to her television, begging for a girls’ night of fun.