by Laura Briggs
Bianca seemed disappointed, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth. “They’re not too plain?” she asked. “Too—common?”
“I like them,” said Molly. “Only… I’m actually sort of allergic to lavender. I wish that I wasn’t because this looks really beautiful.”
Tessa could hear the disappointment in her voice. “We can find a substitute,” she offered. “Allium blooms, or maybe lilac—” She spied some elegant-looking pale purple buds in a nearby pot and reached for them, realizing too late they were orchids, a variety among the most expensive flowers in the florist’s whole display. This was a mistake.
“Such little dainty ones,” Bianca noticed. “And look—Molly, these must be special. Look how much they cost!”
Blake’s brow furrowed, and his expression darkened a little. He shot Tessa a look she couldn’t quite interpret, because her mind was working quickly to find a way to undo this suggestion. “Not that we have to choose these, with a whole market of flowers to explore,” she said.
Uncertainty and a little disappointment appeared in Molly’s eyes. “These are totally gorgeous, Tessa. But I don’t know… they’re so expensive.”
“Expense is my worry,” Bianca reminded her. “You pick what you want for your day. These would be a good choice,” she said. “We could get big lavender roses on the cake, too!”
“Well, um,” Tessa stammered, rushing to intervene. “I don’t think we should settle on anything so soon. Not unless Molly really loves it. I mean, orchids are—”
She was about to say “not as elegant as people assume” or “a complete clash with the cake’s roses” or some other such excuse, when Molly’s phone buzzed. Reading the text message, the bride-to-be gave them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but we have to leave early. One of my clients needs to move their appointment up by an hour.” Taking Bianca’s arm, she told her, “Don’t worry, we’ll find something next time, Gran. I promise.”
Tessa sighed. That was a disaster. Bianca now had her heart set on some of the most expensive flowers in the whole market. Maybe Blake could talk her out of it, since it was his opinion that Bianca valued: that of the fake wedding planner.
She put the flowers back in their sleeves. “Obviously, Blake, we’ll have to—” she began, then turned to find him unknotting the sleeves of the cardigan from around his neck with a little more force than necessary.
“What are you doing?” she said. “Be careful with that.” The fluffy cardigan was expensive hand-carded cashmere, according to Natalie.
“Yeah, we might need it for the next outing,” said Natalie, hiding her smile for this joke, although it was technically stolen property Blake was wearing.
“Forget it,” he answered. He handed her the cardigan, now wadded up in a cashmere ball. “I have some electrical wiring to repair. And a job that’s a lot more important than picking out fifty-dollar orchids.”
With that, he stalked off through the rows of market flowers, in the direction of the street.
“What’s eating him?” Natalie asked, sounding less amused now. “He looks angry. What did you say to him?”
“Who knows,” said Tessa. “He’s just being a jerk about helping us out, probably. Maybe the outfit is getting to him. It is kind of horrible, Nat.”
“I know,” said Natalie. “Next time I’ll do better. Half the male designers I know wouldn’t be caught dead in that ensemble, even the ones who wear leggings.”
“I just hope he doesn’t catch a glimpse of his reflection before he gets back to the office.”
A sudden attack of the giggles swept over both Tessa and Natalie. The contrast between the current image of the contractor in his ill-fitting togs and his usual denim and work shirt was too much—even Blake’s good looks couldn’t undo it.
“Still,” Natalie mused, “anybody that good looking can probably dress how they want and almost get away with it. Almost.”
“You really think he’s that good looking, do you?” Tessa asked, as she toyed suddenly with a loose thread on the cardigan’s sleeve. She sounded curious, and something about the skepticism in her voice didn’t quite ring true—which Natalie pegged instantly.
“Yes. And so do you,” Natalie answered. A knowing smile crossed her lips. “I saw you looking at him when he first stepped out of our powder room wearing that suit. You were working very hard to keep your eyes off him. If Bianca hadn’t arrived, you would have been as dreamy-eyed as Ama was.”
“I don’t think so,” said Tessa. Dismissively, she insisted, “He’s not my type. He’s not,” in response to the look on Natalie’s face. “If I had a type, I would say it’s more the… the classical, clean-cut look. Sophisticated and sensitive, probably.”
“Like Stefan?” The sarcastic question followed from Natalie.
“No,” said Tessa with a scoff of derision. “Just… different from Blake, that’s all I’m saying.” She put the asters back in their container and fluffed the display neatly, and with a tiny bit more attention than it deserved.
* * *
The upstairs wall was in need of spackling and a fresh coat of paint after Blake had covered up its new wiring. Tessa had chosen a shade called “romantic blue” for the color, which was really more of a soft mauve, but looked beautiful on the paint chip.
“What a shame the old wallpaper is ruined,” said Ama, as she stirred a paint stick through the color for her office—a shade called “harvest gold” on the paint sample, that reminded her of a turmeric paste her father made at the restaurant. She held it up, watching it drip into the paint can.
“Is it coming off?” she asked Natalie, who had borrowed a wall steamer to remove the water-stained flower paper that had sagged on the walls due to the roof leak.
“Sort of,” Natalie answered, as she tossed a torn panel behind her. “At least the stuck part’s not coming off in fist-size pieces, like when we peeled it by hand.”
New rolls of wallpaper were leaning against the wall that was still painted in its original soft green beneath the bulbous-eyed monsters formed by the water stains. The paper’s design was a simple ivory and gold that would look harmonious with the dark green color Tessa had chosen for the room adjacent to her office. For Natalie’s own workspace, she envisioned a soft ivory base with a mix of rejected hardware paints for the geometric design that would be stenciled onto it.
All three of them wondered what the handyman would say about the completely un-historic modifications being made to the house’s decor. He might be harboring secret resentments for the alterations made by the building’s cheap new owners. At least that was Tessa’s secret opinion.
Tessa had appropriated Stefan’s former office space, where the “romantic blue” was already drying on its first wall. She draped a drop cloth over her work desk to protect it, along with the office chairs she had salvaged from a thrift store. After the walls were dry, she planned to bring in artwork to decorate them, mostly the large photographic prints of flowers in bloom that a friend had given her for Christmas one year. And she had her somewhat more domestic plans for the currently empty room adjacent to it—but she was keeping those to herself until her apartment’s lease deadline arrived.
“I wish we could paint the downstairs now,” said Natalie, as she turned off the steamer and collapsed into a folding chair. “I wish we could paint over the paper instead of removing it, too.”
“Did anybody pick up the paint for downstairs?” asked Ama.
“I did,” said Tessa. “The foyer is “pale green mist,” and the sitting room is “ghost of romance.” I picked up some of those white vinyl birch trees to decorate its walls, too.”
“How much did all of this cost?” Natalie asked, wrinkling her brow.
“Not much,” said Tessa. Her tone was a little too offhand not to leave the others suspicious that it had cost more than they anticipated. “Image is everything, isn’t it?” she said, under the scrutiny of their stares. “I didn’t spend the last of our repair fund, don’t worry.”
“What plan?”
“The plan to sabotage Bianca’s super-expensive wedding dream?” replied Ama. “It can’t be me. I think he’s spoken to me all of once. You guys are the ones who have spent time with him.”
Now Tessa and Natalie exchanged glances. “I guess I should really start removing that wallpaper again,” said Natalie, climbing to her feet and muscling the steamer into position.
“Why is it my job?” asked Tessa helplessly. “Natalie is technically the one negotiating with the florist, after all.”
“But you are the one who came up with the idea,” pointed out Ama. A little shower of paint landed on the drop cloths below. “I think you have the responsibility to follow up with him.”
“Fine.” Tessa dropped the brush into the paint and followed the sound of construction downstairs to the kitchen. “I’ll do it now.” Better to get it over with, she supposed.
Blake, having resolved the wiring issues, was now trying to patch over the damage to the walls as cheaply as possible; a dust of dry spackling and plaster covered the old linoleum floor. Tessa paused in the doorway, suddenly feeling awkward about this, for no good reason that she could think of.
“Um, hi,” said Tessa. “I needed to talk to you about something. Not the wiring.” She hesitated, struggling to pick the right words, aware the handyman wouldn’t be happy about this topic.
“What would that be?” He grunted as he shifted the stove and oven into its new spot—a tiny secondhand one that, hopefully, was big enough to bake cakes and cookies.
“I just need a quick word on the wedding,” began Tessa. “It’s a little change in the plans for your ‘fourth partner’ role. We need you to change Bianca’s mind about the flowers.”
He stopped his task of balancing the appliance. “Enough,” he said. He turned to face her, wiping the grease off his hands with an old rag. “When I agreed to do this, I never thought it would go this far. It’s one thing to make someone like Bianca happy by telling her a white lie. It’s another thing to rip her off.”
“Rip her off?” said Tessa. “Is that what you think we’re doing?” She uncrossed her arms, feeling shocked.
“You’re not exactly helping her, are you?” he asked. “I saw the pictures of the big cakes and fancy venues you have in mind. And the flowers you showed her at the nursery were probably the most expensive ones there.”
“What is it you’re trying to say?” Tessa demanded. “That we’re cheats?”
“I’m saying that all the money Bianca has to her name is kept inside an old cookie tin—and the three of you seem to think it’s bottomless.”
Tessa was floored. He actually thought they were stealing money from Bianca? That was ridiculous!
She crossed her arms again. “For your information, we are not trying to force those things on Bianca,” she said. “We don’t even want her to choose them. We are doing what she asks, but we are trying to change her mind to spare her savings and her feelings. Believe it or not.”
The handyman had fallen silent, though he was not apologetic. Tessa’s cheeks grew hot. “I hope it will make you feel even better that the favor I came to ask you was to talk to Bianca over the phone and recommend a florist who had more reasonable prices,” she said. “In case you also want to help save Bianca’s retirement fund.”
She was too angry to look at him, so she stared at the secondhand fridge that was sitting in the middle of the room. A long, awkward silence fell. Blake was the one to break it.
“I can make the phone call.” His voice was quiet. “Just give me the number and I’ll take care of it.”
“Better than wearing another of Natalie’s suits in public, right?” said Tessa. With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen. If he thought she was angry, so be it. What right had he to make assumptions? Or to be so rude? Of all things, to virtually accuse them of stealing from the very person they were trying to help!
“What happened?” Ama seemed puzzled as she noticed Tessa’s face. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“It’s just the red hair,” said Tessa, trying to suppress the biting edge to her voice. “Nothing’s wrong.” With me, anyway.
She climbed the ladder in her office and began slapping paint forcefully beneath the wall trim. Anger gave her muscles incentive and energy, although it also caused a lot of mauve paint to splatter on the paint tape and the tarp below.
He’s a jerk. Ignore him. He doesn’t have a clue who you are or what you’re trying to do. Tessa slopped more paint from the tray to the floor. How do I know he isn’t ridiculously overcharging us for the work he’s doing on our building?
She smacked paint on the walls more forcefully. At least he had cared about Bianca in all this. That was the only part that made it seem decent that he had misconstrued their motives. She was surprised that he had cared about someone he had only met a few times—or that he had been paying enough attention to notice any of this. He’d obviously hated impersonating a wedding planner, even though he wasn’t as bad at it as she would have predicted.
So he was a nice enough person to care that Bianca might be ripped off by three con artists getting cuts from all these deposits and fees. It still wasn’t an excuse for putting his conclusions in such harsh words.
Slap, slap. Paint splattered the last of the wallpaper trim on the opposite wall, which Tessa had hoped to salvage and match in the future. She bit her lip. “Ama, would you bring me a wet sponge so I can clean up a mess?” she called. She stirred her brush in the paint, watching the drip from its bristles swirl among the pool within the bucket.
“Here you go.” It wasn’t Ama, but Blake who was standing below her, holding out the sponge.
She stiffened. “Thanks,” she said snappily. She accepted it and began to wipe away the stains on the wallpaper, making a note to paint the rest of the room more gently.
Blake was still below her. He cleared his throat. “If you need some cleaner for that—”
“Nope. I’m fine. Thanks.” She rubbed the last spot a little more forcefully than necessary. “Just fine.”
“Or I could get you some mild paint remover—”
“I told you I’ve got it,” said Tessa, as she stretched to wipe away the last micro droplet her eye detected in the sunshine. “Just go back to your work and let me finish—”
Her foot fumbled in search of the next step and Tessa felt her body part ways with the ladder. A shriek of alarm escaped from her lips as she fell backward toward the paint-stained tarps below, only to be caught by a strong grip before she reached the bottom.
Blake was holding her. The muscular arms from beneath his flannel shirt’s rolled sleeves were wrapped securely around her, and were the only reason Tessa’s sneakers and skinny jeans were not decorated with lavender paint at this moment. They were holding her against a chest that felt decidedly toned beneath that shirt, conjuring the image of those washboard abs in Tessa’s mind, despite the distraction of the quick and steady human heart now beating gently against her back.
It was an embrace—that was the definition of it in anybody’s mind, including Tessa’s own. An embrace that created the intimacy of close eye contact when she turned her head to look at him, meeting a pair of eyes that seemed warmer than their usual steel blue as she gazed into them from this short distance. The frost had melted from their first disillusioning debate.
She had wrapped her hand around his arm in the second afterward—it was more like she was holding him in place than pushing him away. Was it her imagination or could she swear that his heartbeat was faster than normal in this moment?
“I’m okay,” she said softly. “You can let go now.” She didn’t try to free herself as she said this.
“I know.”
The distance in height between them was not enough to pre
vent them from being on the edge of a kiss when she turned her head again. His breath fanned her cheek, the edge of her parted lips. When she tried to right herself on the slippery tarp underneath her feet, she lost traction and her body moved closer to his. Her lips brushed his—that brief contact sent an electric thrill through every inch of her body, because it was almost like a kiss. Lip against lip, brushing against the sandpaper surface of his jaw as she moved aside from it; feeling his own face brush her cheek as he steadied her on her feet again.
“Are you all right?” he asked, a second later. He released her. Tessa let go of his arm.
“Fine.” She repeated this word once more, although it was less casual—and far less angry—than before. “Um… thanks, ” she said. “Thank you for breaking my fall.” She added this hastily in her confusion. She wasn’t thanking him for the near kiss. Obviously.
“No trouble.” His eyes made contact with hers as she stood up from collecting her sponge off the floor, and Tessa was flustered by this simple glance. Her hand trembled as she placed the sponge beside her paintbrush on the tray. Coming close to breaking a leg—that was the real reason for the strange fluttering inside her, like stray petals caught in the wind.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” There was concern beneath the surface of Blake’s voice, in place of the stiffness from their fight. At least that was the impression in Tessa’s mind. “That was quite a fall.”
“Well, no broken bones, huh?” She tucked aside a strand of hair that brushed against her cheek, avoiding even the chance she might look into his eyes again. “I’ll… I’ll just go on with painting the office now. The walls won’t color themselves.” She made herself busy stirring the paint in her bucket, although it was perfectly mixed already.
“If you need a hand, I have some time.” Blake was still lingering in the doorway behind her, his thumbs tucked in his pockets, and his body language as awkward as her own. “I could grab the roller and do the upper walls to save you the trouble… and further accidents involving this rickety ladder.”