by Laura Briggs
He shook it a little with one hand, the flimsy aluminum rattling slightly, causing another little drip of lavender paint to shiver onto the drop cloths. “The paintbrush isn’t the best choice for working above your head,” he pointed out.
“I felt like getting a little exercise,” Tessa said, although her defenses were weakening just a little, as the confusion from moments ago churned steadily within. “So you can go back to your work. I’m fine.”
She avoided looking in his direction as she began painting—gently—a more accessible part of her future office. It would really help if he would leave now, so everything would settle into its normal place, inside of her and outside.
Blake hesitated. “If that’s how you feel about it, I’ll go. I just thought I would offer my help. Free of charge, if that’s the problem.”
That last remark was all that saved Tessa, who had softened enough to actually give his suggestion strong consideration. Now she banished that idea. Remember what he said before about you, she reminded herself.
“Feel free to charge for all your services, please,” she said. “I should be able to afford them, if I’m ripping off clients with fancy cakes and overpriced wedding venues.”
“That wasn’t— I was trying to apologize, in my own way,” he said, “by offering to help.”
“I don’t need your apologies or your help, thank you,” Tessa replied. If there was any reply from their contractor, she didn’t hear it—but it was probably only another derisive noise. Once her heart stopped beating so crazily, she wouldn’t care the least bit about his response.
“What was that about?” Ama peered inside Tessa’s office. “Were you two fighting?”
“Us?” said Tessa. “What about? He’s patching our walls, I’m painting them. What would we fight about?” She caught herself painting forcefully again. Her brush slowed, attempting finesse along the side trim.
“I see,” said Ama. A funny smile crossed her lips. She tapped her roll of wallpaper against one hand, thoughtfully.
“What?” demanded Tessa.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Ama drifted back into her own office as Tessa pretended not to pay any attention to this last remark.
Fourteen
What a silly reaction to a little touch between two humans. Tessa told herself this—with scorn—as she sat behind her desk again, working busily on the latest figures Natalie had given her for the local florist’s. It had been a complete accident, those moments of contact with Blake. He’d only been trying to prevent her from breaking her neck.
She shook her head and focused once more on double-checking the numbers for Molly’s bouquet options. Helping Natalie choose an affordable florist was her only concern right now, to keep Bianca from buying half the roses in the city to decorate Molly and Paolo’s ceremony site.
With lamplight in lieu of moonlight on the street, Tessa locked the door behind her and the handyman for the night. He set down his heavy metal toolbox as he replied to a text. They had said nothing when they encountered each other at the front door, which Tessa felt was for the best.
Blake tucked his phone back in his pocket. “I owe you a proper apology for what happened before,” he told her. “If you’re willing to accept it.”
She glanced toward him. “What?” she said, pretending to be astonished. “You’re taking back the insult you levied at me and my business partners by saying we were stealing from a defenseless old lady?” She said it with less sarcasm than before, though. “Are you sure you want to retract that accusation?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” A little smile—a sheepish one—crossed his lips. Tessa believed he really was sorry.
She gave a little shrug. “Did I really convince you it isn’t true?” she asked. “I need you to believe that we aren’t trying to mislead Bianca about anything besides you being a master wedding planner. We want everything else to be as perfect as possible for her family’s big day.”
“I believe you,” said Blake.
“You’re sure?” Tessa quirked an eyebrow. “Because I don’t want you to have a guilty conscience for helping us out or anything.”
“I’m positive. I think you’re probably the best planner for Bianca’s family. Even if they had someone else in mind when they tracked you down.”
“Thanks.” Tessa was surprised—and a little flattered—by this frank endorsement of her skills. Not that he could really mean it, since he hardly knew her. “But you should probably know you’re overestimating my talent a little,” she said. “Ama and Natalie, they’re great, but I’m the weak link in the chain, probably. The least experienced of the three of us, actually.”
His brow furrowed. “This is your career, though. You must have some experience in it.”
“It’s only been my job for a few weeks now,” she confessed. “Before now… I was driving around a truck painted to look like a dachshund in a sausage bun. Inflating bouncy castles and haunted houses, and cleaning up neon green cupcake frosting.”
“Sounds… awful,” said Blake, who then tried to hide his reflexive smile at these images.
“It’s all about perspective,” said Tessa. “It wasn’t my business, or where my heart was, so I didn’t like it. But my boss Bill, who started the business, adored it. Even before he had employees to help him, he frosted cupcakes in his own kitchen and biscuit-wrapped mini sausages. He loves kids and loves casual parties, so it was a perfect career for him.”
“But not for you,” said Blake. “Because… you don’t like kids,” he concluded.
Tessa rolled her eyes. “Look,” she began. “If you’re going to make fun of me—”
“Or was it the casual parties holding you back?” There might be a teasing expression on his face, if she could see it better in the lamplight. “You’re more the black-tie affair type, I can tell.”
“I like both,” Tessa said. “It’s not that. My heart just prefers helping people make different memories. There’s a sign I’ve bought to hang in my office below all the posters of elegant brides and close-ups of flowers. Dream Big. Plan Big. Live Big. I guess that’s how I see the world.” She shouldered her bag again. “Big, grand possibilities that you can only make happen if you try. And if you stay realistic that not everything can turn out perfectly every time.”
She smiled wistfully at the idea that someday, somehow, it would turn out perfectly for her. Even if just once.
“And how will Molly and Paolo’s day turn out?” he asked.
“That depends on us,” said Tessa. “We don’t know yet how we’ll handle it, do we?”
“I thought maybe you would say it depends on Bianca,” said Blake with a short laugh. “She seems to be the one calling the shots around here.”
“But we’re the ones who make it real,” said Tessa. “To really do our best, we have to be mind readers. We have to figure out the dreams that only the people who love them know—the secret wishes they only tell their best friends. If we’re very lucky, then we figure out enough of those impossible details to pull together an event that matters to them. The part that matters is the part that makes it perfect—not the other way around.”
Blake lifted his toolbox. “Sounds complicated. Good thing there’s three of you to plan it.”
“You mean four.” Tessa’s smile became a shrewd one. “Don’t sell yourself short in this field yet, Mr. Ellingham. You may have hidden talents.”
“Deeply hidden,” Blake replied. “And unless it involves a carpentry project, I’m afraid that’s where they’ll stay.”
“No more pressure,” Tessa promised. “From now on, you will be a silent partner as much as possible. After you call Bianca about the florist, that is.”
“Promise?” he said.
“Promise,” she answered.
“Good,” he said. “Because I will hold you to it, Miss Miller.”
His voice was softer now. He leaned against his truck, hands tucked in his pockets again, and his tone of voice, along with
the way he looked in the lamplight, sent a shiver through Tessa from head to toe. Good thing they weren’t standing any closer, she thought—a strange, wild impulse of a thought—or they might be back where they were after the painting mishap, when she landed in his arms. But this landing would be different: a totally intentional, vertical one that would put her back in that strong embrace.
Heat rose in Tessa’s face. Suddenly, she was busy searching for her keys, although she had put them in her bag only a minute before. “I expect you to hold me to— I mean, I expect to keep promises that I make people,” she replied, in a quick sentence reversal. “So you should. Expect it, I mean.”
“Can I give you a ride?” He glanced toward his truck. “Wherever you’re going, I can drop you off there.”
“Thanks, but I’m good on my own,” said Tessa. She wasn’t sure if she meant these words solely about tonight’s plans, or in a deeper sense. “I have a ride waiting for me. I’ll just be going. Goodnight.” She waved over her shoulder as she walked away on her own, beneath the glowing streetlights and the decorative building flags swaying faintly in the night breeze.
Fifteen
The Bloomery was adorably chic, nestled in the newest part of Bellegrove’s market district, and a favorite for Stefan’s clients who were the extra-picky kind. From antique flower varieties to the latest in award-winning roses, its selection was the most impressively high-end on Natalie’s list of possibilities, and, therefore, the least likely one they should choose. So, of course, it was no surprise that Bianca had set her heart on securing their services for her grandson’s wedding day.
Natalie had a friend who’d hired them for her wedding the previous summer, and as she informed Tessa in her latest budget estimate, Bianca’s biscuit tin couldn’t afford a corsage at that place, let alone a bouquet.
“What about Fleur-de-Lisa?” Tessa wondered, glancing over Natalie’s other estimates. “They’re new and they look pretty reasonable. And they sound fancy enough for Bianca’s taste,” she added with a grin, as she stirred some creamer into her morning brew.
“Probably,” Natalie said. “The manager is nice—I had some design classes with his daughter, actually. They offer great discounts, too, but I spoke to them this morning and they need more notice for an event like this one. They’re handling the flowers for some beach resort’s big opening banquet, and they’re understaffed right now. Maybe we could book them for our next client.” If there is one, she thought to add, but then decided against it. Even as a joke, it wouldn’t seem funny right now.
“So who does that leave us with?” Tessa wondered.
Flipping through her stack of papers, Natalie handed Tessa a brochure, saying, “I’m leaning toward this place for Molly and Paolo’s wedding right now. They’re fairly new, but they have a good reputation. My brother bought his girlfriend a bouquet there last Valentine’s Day, so I know their prices must be reasonable,” she joked. “No one is cheaper than Rob, believe me.”
“Rosies and Posies?” A grin played around Tessa’s mouth as she read the name aloud. “I like that, actually. It’s kind of whimsical sounding. Do you think we can get a discount with them?”
“Hopefully. I’m dropping by there later today. It’s on the way to my favorite fabric shop, so I’ll be in the neighborhood.”
* * *
She needed to find material for the grandmother-of-the-groom dress she had promised the others she would make for Bianca. Nothing in her own collection had seemed quite right, even though she’d spent over an hour sorting through it the night before. She wanted something subtle but elegant that would complement the colors they were using for the wedding. But first came the flowers, although Natalie wasn’t thrilled by the task of “bouquet stuffing”—nevertheless, she found herself standing outside the cozy-looking Rosies and Posies a little before noon.
Something about this place seemed promising to Natalie, since its rosy pink walls made for a warm and inviting atmosphere, while fresh-cut flowers were arranged in decorative pots and vases for attractive bursts of color. But the employee behind the desk wasn’t Maxine, the middle-aged shop owner whose profile was featured on the website. Instead, a slender young girl in a floral printed apron was manning the front counter, her olive-toned skin and rich brown hair instantly familiar to Natalie’s surprised eyes.
“Gabby?” she asked, seeing the girl’s face light up in response. “Ma never mentioned you were in the flower business now! How did you ever escape the pizzeria?” She was only half-joking with her cousin in reference to her family’s food obsession when it came to businesses—it was rare to find a Grenaldi in retail who wasn’t either filling cannoli or dishing up spaghetti.
“I didn’t,” said Gabby. “Not completely, anyway. I still work the evening shift three times a week at Norelli’s. But I’m working here part-time, too, because I’ve decided flowers would make a nice change. Gotta make room for your dreams wherever you can, right?”
“I know the feeling,” Natalie replied, laying her pocket book on the counter where Gabby was arranging a vase of daises. “Although, in my case it’s probably Dress for Less that’ll be making room for my dreams these days, instead of Kandace’s Kreations.”
“Kandace fired you?” Gabby’s Southern drawl was full of shock.
“Actually, I quit.” That was the technical truth, regardless of Kandace’s parting shot. “But the reason I’m here is because I’ve joined this new wedding business,” Natalie told her. “Remember my friend Tess? It was her idea, and it’s still kind of launching, but it has a lot of potential. I hoped maybe your boss would consider arranging the flowers for our first client’s wedding. Is she here right now?” She peered toward the back of the shop, where a curtain was partly pulled back to reveal an office setting.
“Sorry, but no,” said Gabby. “She had to help a client with their event downtown today. But I can leave your card on her desk with a note and she’ll call you back.” She glanced at the business logo on the card Natalie handed her, the rose and bells motif Tessa had requested beneath the gilded lettering. “That’s real cute,” she remarked. “I like the name, too. It’s the kind that sticks in your memory, if you know what I mean.”
“Let’s hope it has that effect on prospective clients,” Natalie agreed. “Mind if I browse a little bit? I’m looking for flowers in lavender and soft greens, mostly,” she added, remembering the bride’s preference for these during the ill-fated flower market venture.
“Try the pastels,” Gabby advised. “They’re across from the ‘flowers of the sea’ display,” she added, with a gesture toward a selection of delicate-looking blossoms in blue and white, with seashells interspersed among the vases and pots. “My boss Maxine swears by her selection as the best in the city.”
More customers arrived while Natalie was there, several of them regulars judging by the way they spoke to Gabby as she rang up their purchases and took down future orders. And no wonder—the prices were reasonable, the arrangements professional. She could definitely picture a business connection blooming between Wedding Belles and Rosies and Posies. And not merely because Gabby might give her a family discount, either.
As she turned down a row of rose selections, her eye was drawn to a deep-hued blossom in a color somewhere between wine and deep rose. It was striking for its sheer simple elegance, she thought. A perfect color for a dress, even.
Bianca’s dress.
The idea came like a lamp switching on in the dark. It was perfect, just the right color for the design she had sketched a few days before, though she hadn’t realized it until a moment before. Carefully, she lifted out a single stem from the bunch and carried it to the register, where Gabby was leafing through an issue of TeaTime from the register’s catalog stand.
“Nice choice,” her cousin commented, ringing it up for her. “That’s a new variety we got in a couple weeks ago. ‘Cheyenne Moon.’ Don’t you just love the creative names they come up with for roses? We got one in this week called ‘Kiss
Me Kate.’ Oh, and that pink and yellow striped number in the window is ‘Cheshire Cat’s Delight.’”
“Clever,” Natalie agreed. In her mind, she was debating the odds she could get her favorite fabric vendor to match this rose in silk or maybe chiffon. Then she could get to work right away. Bianca’s dress would be a gift, of course—she wouldn’t dream of charging their client for something she hadn’t even requested. It would be payment enough to see an actual client wearing something she had sewn as she celebrated her family’s big moment.
Smiling to herself, she tucked the blossom into her bag, its cellophane wrapping shielding it from the work folders inside. “Thanks a million, Gabby,” she said. “We’ll call your boss about the flowers. I think it could be the beginning of a brilliant working relationship.”
Sixteen
Tessa lugged the cardboard box to the top of the stairs and paused. No one was in sight.
Quietly, she eased down the hall, avoiding the floorboard that always creaked like a squeaky door in a horror movie. A few more yards, and she was safe inside her office, shutting the door behind her with her foot.
That wasn’t her real destination, though. Shifting the box’s weight in her arms, she opened the door to the adjacent room, the doorknob sticking slightly. It finally swung open to reveal a pile of similar boxes, a makeshift bed in the corner, and a pile of clothes beside the closet. Tessa’s clothes.
She didn’t mean to lie, really. She just didn’t want to worry the others by telling them that she had let her lease expire, and was relying on their business to put a roof over her head. Her new home, such as it was, happened to be the room adjoining her office in a building that was considered worthy of demolition mere weeks ago. No big deal, right?
But, of course, she knew it was. She’d had a hard enough time convincing her mother that she was moving somewhere safe—even though Tessa had emphasized the building’s old-fashioned charm and ideal location, leaving out the bits about dry rot, mold, and possibly hazardous floor conditions. Those were only temporary, anyway.