by Aven Ellis
“Good morning, Collins,” she says brightly. “Did you have a nice day off yesterday?”
I smile at Aunt Suzanne. How I love my aunt. She has been my mentor, bringing me along and guiding me on how to be a good event planner. Someday, I hope to be as amazing as she is at pulling off everything from weddings to bar mitzvahs with ease.
If that’s what I really want to do with the rest of my life, that is, a voice inside me whispers.
“Good morning,” I say, an image of Luca flashing through my head, “And yes, yesterday was wonderful.”
I try not to blush too obviously as I slip out of my light trench coat and sneak a glance around the office. We’re a team of five here at Suzanne’s Soirées, and the family-run nature of the business makes it hard to keep anything secret. Suzanne’s best friend from her Michigan State days, Amy, is her partner, and she’s currently typing away at her keyboard. Amy’s niece, Charlotte, is a senior event planner, and I can see she’s laying out a presentation board for a meeting later today. Everyone is too distracted to notice my rosy cheeks.
Katie, Amy’s youngest daughter, steps out of the break room and grins at me. She graduated from DePaul this summer and was hired as our assistant with plans to be groomed to do events like I am now. I smile back at her. I like having someone my own age to work with, and Katie is smart, hard-working, and sweet.
“I brought the most amazing paleo pumpkin bread in today,” Katie says, her icy blue eyes shining at me. “You can’t even tell it doesn’t have white flour.”
I set my Madewell tote down on the desk next to hers and slap on my mask. Katie is always searching for the holy grail of diets to optimize her health, and currently she’s on a big paleo kick. Unfortunately for me, that means I have to eat stuff that in no way, shape, or form tastes like the treats I prefer.
Hmm. Katie and health-nut Livy would get along so well. I should introduce them sometime.
“Oh, great!” I say, feigning excitement for what is sure to be a huge letdown.
“I’ll bring you a piece,” Katie says excitedly, heading back into the kitchen.
Ugh. At least I have coffee to force it down if need be.
While booting up my computer, I see the light blinking on my phone. My stomach tightens with dread. I know both my problem clients have probably called; it’s only a matter of which one rang first. It’s either Pamela, mother of the bride-to-be, or Larissa, hormonal mom-to-be who keeps overriding her shower hostesses and calling me directly with requests.
I feel like Luca now. I’m in the net, waiting to have pucks fired at me. I’ll have to do my best to deflect them.
I gather up my courage, push aside the queasy feeling building in my stomach, and retrieve my messages.
“You have fifteen new messages . . .” the AutoVoice says.
Oh, no. This is not going to be good.
I tap my pen against my lips and bravely press the option to listen.
“Collins. Pamela. I wish you’d retrieve your messages on Sunday. Please call me ASAP on Monday. Remember, I am paying you a ridiculous amount of money to manage my daughter’s wedding, and I expect you to take calls on Sundays.”
I sigh. Great. I can’t wait to see what is so urgent that I should be working around the clock, especially considering this wedding isn’t until next October.
Which is a year from now.
I scribble down her name and continue listening to the messages, taking notes as I go. Pamela wants me to tell Trina that having a donut wall is not a substitute for a wedding cake, even though the couple is obsessed with donuts and specifically asked for the donut wall.
Katie silently slides a plate with a slice of very sad-looking pumpkin bread on it in front of me while I listen to Pamela rail about donuts.
I wish I had a donut.
I pop a piece of the pumpkin bread into my mouth and go on to the next message. Pamela. Again. Wanting me to find the perfect apple cider for an apple cider bar at the reception.
Hmm. Katie is improving in her quest to make the perfect paleo pumpkin bread. This one isn’t as dry as the last.
That’s not saying much, however.
Next message. Pamela. She needs to reschedule wedding dress shopping to next week instead of tomorrow, and can I please make that happen.
I continue scribbling. Calligrapher confirming baby shower invites for a November shower are done. More vendors. More Pamela. Then I get to my other problem client, Larissa.
“Hi, Collins! I know this might be a wee bit of a pain, but for the shower on Saturday, can I get a food truck? It came to me in the middle of the night. It would be so fun, and I’m craving waffles. Please see if you can schedule a waffle truck. Thanks! And if it goes over budget, I’ll pick up the balance on whatever my hostesses agreed to pay you.”
I need a whole box of donuts. One is no longer enough.
“Collins, Larissa again. I want a crepe truck. Not waffles. Crepes have more flair.”
“Collins, it’s Larissa. Definitely waffles.”
“Collins. Larissa again. Forget waffles. Tamales. I must have a tamale truck.”
“Larissa here. I think waffles would be best.”
I cram another piece of Katie’s semi-improved pumpkin bread into my mouth and try to pretend it’s a light donut filled with decadent bavarian cream and topped with dark chocolate ganache.
My imagination is crap.
I’m still eating cardboard.
I finish my messages and draw a deep breath of air. I’m about to go through my inbox so I can make a priority list for the day when my cell phone buzzes on my desk.
I flip it over as I ponder the possibility of finding a waffle-tamale fusion truck.
There is a new text from my mom:
Did you ever try that foundation? Are your freckles concealed? I can’t wait to see you with your new “face” on!
Hmm. I wonder how it would go over if I told her I texted Luca last night and told him he could throw that foundation out on my behalf? He agreed, telling me it was the best decision ever.
I text back:
I’m actually embracing my freckles now, Mom. I think they are unique.
I wait for her spin on why I’m making a mistake, and ta-da!
Of course they are unique, but I think if you were to cover them your EYES would really stand out. Enhance your best features, you know! ☺
If I didn’t already have a headache coming on, I’d smash my forehead into my desktop. I reply:
Gotta run. Have a meeting. Talk later. X
I’m about to put my phone aside when another text drops in. I pray it’s not my mom telling me more about the importance of freckle concealment. It’s not.
It’s Luca.
Happiness sweeps through me the second I see his name, and I immediately retrieve the message. There’s a picture of a Starbucks cup and the caption:
Good morning, Cinderella. Headed to the rink with my morning cappuccino. Are you drinking a Pumpkin Spice Latte?
I grin and snap a picture of the Starbucks cup on my desk. I text him back:
Good morning. Yes, and it’s the only thing saving me from crazy clients.
I pause as new emails drop into my inbox, a long slew of them, and I bite my lip. I’m good at this. I know I am. I’ve created incredible events and made magical, memorable moments for people. That means something.
But as I stare wistfully out the window, I wish I were at the barn. I wish I were in my boots, drinking coffee and about to work with a horse instead of with Pamela.
I shove that dream away, knowing it is impossible.
But seeing Luca live his dream makes me wonder if I’m making a mistake.
Beep!
Your clients should be horses.
My
heart stops. I can’t believe he just read my mind.
Luca knows me.
Better than anyone ever has.
I reply:
I think you might be right.
I draw a breath of air. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Ever. But with Luca, I know he understands what I’m feeling.
He responds:
We’ll talk about it at dinner. I know we can come up with a way to make it happen.
I allow my dream to fill my heart. I don’t see how it could work. I don’t see how I could find a way to make money and study and pay for classes and have time for an apprenticeship. But if anyone knows what it takes to make a dream a reality, it’s Luca. I trust him.
And maybe, just maybe, my dream isn’t dead after all.
Another text from him drops in before I can reply:
Speaking of dinner, do you like sushi? I failed to ask you last night.
I type back that I do, and he tells me where he’s going to get take-out so I can study the menu and text him my order later. Then Luca sends me one last message:
Gotta go to the rink now. And Collins? I can’t wait to see you tonight. Already miss every single freckle on your beautiful face.
He has no idea how moved I am by his comment. Luca loves the uniqueness of my freckles, and he thinks I’m beautiful with them.
Six o’clock cannot come fast enough.
Chapter 14
Planning ahead is key to a successful event . . .
Longest. Day. Ever.
I drag myself up the last flight of stairs, feeling as though clients have used me as a punching bag all day long.
Larissa demanding updates on the food truck. And changing her mind on the food truck. Not wanting to pay the $500-dollar minimum and eighteen-percent gratuity once I found a belgian waffle truck who was willing to let the one-week advance notice rule slide. Demanding an egg sandwich truck instead. Calling me back in tears saying she wanted the waffle truck after I spent two hours trying to locate an available egg truck . . .
Of course, the whole time my phone was ringing off the hook with Pamela problems, including: needing to know where I was on my search for the finest organic apple cider available, instructing me to tell the bride-to-be to wax her upper lip before the wedding, and demanding the wedding dress boutique host a ‘mother-of-the-bride’ trunk show so she could select her dress. Yep. It’s official. She’s my Momzilla. The first one our office has handled. Yay, me!
Thankfully, my appointment with Henry and Olive was a blast. They are planning their fiftieth wedding anniversary and were the sweetest, most inspiring couple I’ve seen. I know I’ll love working on their event.
But not as much as I’d like working with horses, my heart whispers.
Okay. My heart needs to shut up. That isn’t an option.
I put the key in the lock and turn it, grateful for the sanctuary that is my apartment. Even though it’s tiny and akin to living in a shoebox, it’s my shoebox. My mom isn’t around telling me to smile and be happy all the time, which, quite frankly, is exhausting.
I also have the freedom to live like I’m not in a fishbowl, which is exactly what being an only child felt like at times. Mom and Dad always watched me and were always involved in my business. I never recognized how stifling it was until I moved away to attend Purdue.
I step inside and exhale, taking in the furnishings I purchased at consignment shops and feeling a sense of pride. My apartment is equestrian chic, with a small, navy-plaid loveseat; a red wingback chair; and dark wooden tables. I found a fantastic Thoroughbred horse print at a Goodwill store and all I had to do was re-frame it. That is the focal point of my room. My old riding boots are polished and displayed next to the end table, and an oriental rug adds warmth. The end tables have pictures of me with Livy, Taylor, and Aubrey; my family; and some of me at events with Suzanne, like a lavish Indian wedding we did this summer. And, of course, pictures of me with Major.
It’s my home.
And now I’m about to share this world with Luca.
I still can’t believe he’s on his way over here. A tingling sensation sweeps through me again as it does whenever I think of him. I set my work tote down on the kitchen table, my fingers absently going to my lips as I remember his mouth on mine last night.
His kiss.
There’s nothing like it, nothing. We had insane chemistry, and the second Luca’s mouth claimed mine, it ignited a passion in me I didn’t know existed.
All I want is more.
I slip out of my coat and hang it up on the hook next to the door. I decide to change out of my work blouse and pants into something pretty, then touch up my makeup and try to keep my excitement in check while I wait for Luca to arrive.
I enter my closest and begin unbuttoning my blouse. I take it off and drop it into my laundry basket for dry cleaning then step out of my pants and retrieve one of my dresses, another vintage favorite. This time, I choose a red bateau neck with a fitted waist, adorned with a bow and a split pencil skirt.
I slip into it, hoping Luca will like it, before stepping out of my closet and heading into my bathroom. I study my reflection in the mirror, appraising my appearance. The dress fits me beautifully, thanks to the alterations Taylor made to it this summer. I reach for my big fluffy powder brush and dip it into my mineral foundation, tapping off the excess before lightly dusting my face. My freckles shine through, of course, but now I can view them as a bonus because they are what drew Luca into my life.
My freckles.
The one thing I always tried to hide, the one thing my mom tried to fix, the one thing I was most self-conscious about, is exactly what brought Luca into my life.
That means something.
It might mean everything.
I smile as I pick up my MAKE UP FOR EVER lipstick, remove the cap, and swipe the hue called beige coral across my lips. I set the tube of lipstick down and pick up my Laura Mercier Almond Coconut perfume. I lightly spray the base of my neck, then my wrists, and lastly, my hair. I put the bottle back on my makeup tray, and as I take one last look at myself, I can’t help but notice how happy I look. My skin has a slightly flushed appearance and my toffee-colored eyes have light in them again.
With a shock, I realize I never looked like this with Gabe. I was never this alive, this full of excitement, of joy. I wasn’t aware of it then because I thought maybe I was wishing for something that didn’t exist. Something I only read about in books or watched in romantic movies on TV. I thought Gabe was a nice guy and that was enough.
I was wrong.
And a part of me always wondered if there was more.
That’s why I broke up with him. I had to know if these feelings could exist and if I was brave enough to try and find the man who could bring them to life.
Now, I know they do.
I just hadn’t found them until I found Luca.
I hear my phone ringing from my bedroom, and my heart leaps in anticipation. It’s probably Luca, waiting for me to let him in. I hurry to pick up my phone and see Luca is indeed calling.
I quickly answer it. “Hello?”
“Yes, I’m here with an order of sushi for one Cinderella Brady,” Luca teases. “May I come up and deliver it, please?”
Oh, I like the way he flirts with me.
“That depends,” I say coyly.
“Depends?”
“On two things.”
“Go ahead.”
I smile as I walk into the living room and toward the front door. I hit the button for the entry downstairs.
“One, is it delivered by an insanely handsome man, and two, does it contain pumpkin spice?”
“I don’t know about insanely handsome,” Luca says, followed by the sound of him pulling open the door, “but I can con
firm I do have pumpkin sushi.”
“Oh, you are so lying,” I declare.
“Am I?” he asks, as I hear him climbing the stairs.
“There is no such thing as pumpkin spice sushi,” I say, opening my door and stepping into the hallway.
I see Luca coming up the final flight to the third floor, and my breath catches in my throat from the sight of him. He faces me as he puts down his phone, a smile tugging on his mouth. The butterflies go absolutely crazy.
“Everything comes in pumpkin,” Luca says, stopping in front of me with a white paper bag tucked under one arm. “I’m willing to bet your lips taste like pumpkin spice right now.”
Oh!
He dips his head down and lightly presses his mouth to mine, letting them linger there for a brief moment before stepping away.
My heart is racing. I gaze up at him, and all I want is for him to kiss me with those warm lips again.
“The verdict?” I ask, somehow keeping up our flirtation.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Sweet, but not pumpkin spice. Though I might have to do a more thorough investigation later to be sure.”
Yes. Yes, he will.
“Of course,” I say, gazing up at him with a serious expression. “You should investigate these matters closely.”
“The only matter I want to investigate is you,” he says, his voice low with desire.
Oh, I’m on fire now, completely on fire.
“I love your dress,” Luca continues, his gaze moving appreciatively over me.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I love dresses. They make me feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping down and kissing me again. “Elegant and beautiful.”