“It’s really beautiful. All the textures.” As she admired the work, Tiffany gulped down water. “You’ve got one more to go after that. I’d start it, but I’m not as good at the hand tied. I can get the centerpieces started though. I’ve got the list and the design.”
“Go ahead.” Emma used a cable tie to secure the stems, clipped the excess plastic with her wire cutters. “Tink should be here . . . Well, she’s already late, so she should be here.” She exchanged cutters for clippers and began trimming the stems. “If you take the centerpieces, I’ll get her started on the standing arrangements.”
Emma wrapped the stems in lace, anchored the lace with pearl corsage pins. Once the bouquet was in its holding vase and in the cooler, she washed her hands—again—rubbed in Neosporin—again—then set to work on the final hand-tied.
When Tink wandered in, guzzling from a bottle of Mountain Dew, Emma merely lifted her eyebrows.
“You’re late,” Tink said, “blah, blah, blah. I’ll stay late if you need me.” And yawned. “Didn’t get to bed—well, to sleep—until after three. This guy? Jake? He’s Iron Man, in all good ways. Then this morning . . .” She trailed off, blowing a streak of pink out of her eyes as she angled her head. “Somebody else got lucky last night. Jack, right? Hey, Jake and Jack. Cool.”
“I managed to get lucky and finish four hand-tieds. If you want to make enough to keep yourself in Mountain Dew, you’d better get started.”
“No problem. Is he as good as he looks?”
“I’m not complaining, am I?”
“Who’s Jack?” Tiffany wanted to know.
“You know. Jack of the excellent ass and smoky eyes.” Tink stepped over to wash her hands.
“
That
Jack?” Gaping, Tiffany stopped with a hydrangea in her hand. “Wow. Where have I been?”
“It’s still breaking news, so you’re pretty up to date. You going back for more?” Tink asked Emma.
“Work,” Emma muttered. “We’re working here.”
“She’s going back for more,” Tink concluded. “Nice bouquet,” she added. “The tulips look like they come from the Planet Zorth, but in a romantic way. What am I on first?”
“The standing arrangements for the terraces. You need—”
“Hydrangeas, the tulips, ranunculus,” Tink began, and rattling off the rest of the flowers and foliage, reminded Emma why she kept her on.
At five, she let Tiffany go and, leaving Tink working magic with flowers, took a break to rest her hands and clear her head. She stepped outside to stroll toward Mac’s studio.
Her friend came out, a camera bag slung on her shoulder, a can of Diet Coke in her hand.
“Five thirty rehearsal,” Emma called out.
“Just heading that way.” Mac detoured toward Emma.
“You can tell the bride the flowers for tomorrow are amazing, if I do say so myself.” When they met halfway, Emma stopped, stretched her back. “Long day, and a longer one coming.”
“I heard a rumor Mrs. G’s making lasagna. Big rafts of lasagna. Carter and I plan to pig out.”
“I’m there. In fact, the thought of lasagna inspires me. Tink’s finishing up her part. I’ll give you and Parker a hand with the rehearsal, indulge, then put in an hour or two later tonight.”
“There’s a plan.”
Emma looked down at her work clothes. “How bad am I?”
Mac took a survey while she chugged her drink. “You look like a woman who’s put in a long day. The bride will be thrilled with you.”
“I say you’re right. I don’t want to clean up, then have to change again.” She hooked her arm through Mac’s free one as they started toward the house. “You know what I was thinking today? I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
“Jack was that good?”
Snorting out a laugh, Emma bumped Mac’s hip with hers. “Yes, but besides that. I’m tired, my hands hurt, but I spent all day doing what I love. I got a call this afternoon after my flowers got to the off-site, the baby shower? The client just bubbled at me over the phone, just had to call me as soon as she saw the flowers to tell me how fabulous they were. Who else gets what we get, Mac?” She sighed and lifted her face to the sun. “We have such happy jobs.”
“While I agree, in general, here’s what I love about you. You can forget or ignore all the Monster Brides, all the Insane Mothers, Drunken Groomsmen, Bitchy Bridesmaids, and remember all the good stuff.”
“It’s mostly good stuff.”
“It is. Despite the nightmare of an engagement shoot I did today. The happy couple had a vicious fight before I’d taken the first frame. My ears, they still ring.”
“I hate when that happens.”
“You? Screams, tears, storming out, storming back. Accusations, threats, ultimatums. More tears, apologies, wrecked makeup, shame, and horrible embarrassment. Screwed up my day good and proper. Plus, due to red, puffy eyes, we had to reschedule.”
“Still, drama adds interest to the day. Then there’s that.” Emma gestured to where tomorrow’s groom swept tomorrow’s bride up for a spin on the walk to the house.
“Shit. They’re early. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Mac muttered as she shoved the drink at Emma and yanked her camera out of the bag.
“They’re anxious to get going,” Emma murmured. “And they’re happy.”
“Plus fairly adorable,” Mac added as she managed to zoom in for a couple of candids. “And speaking of adorable, look who just pulled up.”
“Oh.” Spotting Jack’s car, Emma instinctively brushed at her hair.
“He’s seen you look a lot worse.”
“Thanks very much. We both had a pretty full day, so I didn’t expect . . .”
He looked so good, khakis today and a crisp pin-striped shirt, which meant client meetings and office work rather than construction sites. The easy gait, the burnished hair shining in the sun, the quick, killer smile all added up to . . . yum.
“My ass looks fat in these pants,” she hissed to Mac. “I don’t care because they’re for work, but—”
“Your ass doesn’t look fat in those. I’d tell you if it did. The red sweats with the cropped legs? Your ass looks fat in those.”
“Remind me to burn them.” Emma passed the drink back to Mac, then tuned up her smile as Jack crossed to them.
“Ladies.”
“Man,” Mac responded. “I’ve got to get to work. Later.”
She loped off.
“Rehearsal,” Emma explained.
“Are you in on that?”
“Just as backup. Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah. I had to make a stop at a client’s not far from here, so I . . . Am I in the way?”
“No. No.” Flustered, she pushed at her hair again. “I was just taking a break, walking over to the rehearsal in case they needed me for anything.”
He slid his hands in his pockets. “We’re being weird with each other.”
“God. Yes. We are. Let’s stop. Here.” She rose to her toes, kissed him firmly. “I’m glad you came by. I’ve been at it since about eight, and wanted a break. Mrs. G’s making lasagna. Do you want in on that?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Then why don’t you go charm her, have a beer, and I’ll see you inside when we’re finished.”
“I’ll do that.” He caught her chin in his hand, leaned down to kiss her again. “You smell like your work. It’s nice. I’ll see you inside.”
As they separated, her smile bloomed.
E
MMA WALKED INTO THE HOUSE TO THE GOOD, RICH SCENTS OF dinner and Mrs. Grady’s big, bawdy laugh. The combination boosted her already happy mood. She heard Jack relaying what seemed to be the tail end of a work story.
“Then, when she clued in, she says, ‘Oh, well. Can’t you just
move
the door?’ ”
“She did not.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Every day and twice on Sunday. Are you moving the door?”
“We’re moving the door, which will cost her about twice as much as the armoire she fell in love with. But client is king.”
He took a sip from his beer, and his gaze shifted toward Emma when she walked in. “How’d it go?”
“Easy and fun, which is always a good sign for the real thing. They’re trusting luck and the weather forecaster on tomorrow’s predicted rain holding off until late evening, and going without the tents. So, fingers crossed on that.”
As she would in her own home, Emma got out a glass for wine. “They’re off to the rehearsal dinner. But I think we’ve got the better deal here.” She sniffed the air. “It smells great, Mrs. G.”
“Table’s set,” Mrs. Grady said as she tossed a salad. “You’ll eat in the dining room like the civilized.”
“Parker and Mac will be right along. I haven’t seen Laurel.”
“She’s fiddling in her own kitchen, and knows what time I’m serving.”
“I’ll give her a heads-up.”
“All right then. Jack, make yourself useful since you’re mooching, and put this salad on the table.”
“Yes, ma’am. Hey, Carter.”
“Hello, Jack. They’re right behind me, Mrs. G.”
She gave Carter a steely stare. “Did you teach anything useful today?”
“I like to think so.”
“Did you wash your hands?” she demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then take that wine in and go sit down. And no picking until everyone’s seated.”
She served family style in the big dining room with its lofty ceiling and generous windows. Because it was Grady’s Rule, cell phones were turned off, and Parker left her BlackBerry in the kitchen.
“Sunday Bride’s aunt stopped by,” Parker began. “She brought the chuppah, she just finished making it last night. It’s a work of art. I’m keeping it upstairs. Emma, you may want to take a look at it, in case you feel you should tweak any of the arrangements. Carter, you’re teaching the aunt’s sister-in-law’s older boy. David Cohen.”
“David? He’s a bright kid, who’s currently using most of his creativity to cut up in class. Just last week he gave a report on
Of Mice and Men
in the style of a stand-up comic.”
“How’d he do?” Mac asked him.
“I’m not sure how Steinbeck would’ve felt about it, but I gave him an A.”
“It’s such a sad book. Why do we have to read so many sad books in school?” Emma wondered.
“We’re reading
The Princess Bride
in my freshman class now.”
“Why didn’t I have teachers like you? I like happy books, and happy endings. And look at you, with your own Buttercup.”
Mac rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m a real Buttercup. Tomorrow’s event has a nice fairy-tale feel, though. All those fairy lights and candles, all white flowers.”
“Tink complained she was going snow-blind. But they’re beautiful. A couple more hours tonight, and they’re done. All the hand-tying and wiring makes this one very labor-intensive. Plus.” She held up a hand sporting new nicks and scratches. “Ouch.”
“You wouldn’t consider being a florist a dangerous career.” Jack took her hand, studied it. “But you’ve got the battle scars.” And kissed her knuckles.
There was a long beat of silence, speculative stares.
“Stop,” he ordered with a half laugh.
“You’ve got to expect it.” Still watching them, Laurel stabbed into her salad. “We’re making adjustments here. I think you should lay one on her, right here, so we can use the visual to help us adjust.”
“Wait! Wait!” Mac waved a hand. “Let me get my camera.”
“Pass the lasagna,” Jack said.
Leaning back, Parker sipped her wine. “For all we know, the two of them are just having a joke at our expense. Pretending to be involved, then laughing at us behind our backs when we buy in to it.”
“Oooh,” Mac murmured. “You’re good.”
“I am,” Parker agreed. “But really, it’s not like either of them are the shy type. Certainly not too shy for one little PDA, and among friends, too.” She shrugged as a smile tugged at her lips. “So I’m leaning toward practical joke.”
“Kiss the girl,” Mrs. Grady told him, “or this bunch won’t give you any peace.”
“Or lasagna,” Laurel decided. “Kiss!” She clapped her hands together. “Kiss!”
Mac picked up the chant. Even when she elbowed Carter he just laughed and shook his head.
Giving up, Jack turned to a laughing Emma, pulled her over and gave her a kiss that brought cheers and applause from the table.
“Looks like somebody’s having a party and forgot to invite me.”
The noise died away as everyone turned to the doorway, and Del. He stared at Jack, lifting a hand to stop Parker when she started to get to her feet.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re having dinner.” Laurel spoke coolly. “If you want some you’ll need to get a plate.”
“No, thanks,” he said, just as coolly. “Parker, I’ve got some paperwork to go over with you. We’ll take care of it another time since you’re in the middle of something that’s apparently none of my business.”
“Del—”
“You and I.” He interrupted his sister, never taking his eyes off Jack. “We’ll deal later, too.”
When he strode out, Parker released a long sigh. “You didn’t tell him.”
“I was still figuring out how to . . . No,” Jack said. “No, I didn’t. I need to go straighten this out,” he told Emma.
“I’ll go with you. I can—”
“No, better not. It may take a while, so . . . I’ll call you tomorrow.” He pushed back from the table. “Sorry.”
When he left, Emma managed nearly ten seconds. “I have to at least try.” She popped up, rushed after Jack.
“He looked pretty steamed,” Mac said.
“Of course, he’s steamed. His perfect balance has been shifted.” Laurel shrugged when Parker snapped a look at her. “That’s part of it. And that part’s only worse because Jack didn’t tell him. He’s got a right to be steamed.”
“I could go after them,” Carter suggested. “Try to mediate.”
“Mediators often get punched in the face by both parties.”
He smiled humorlessly at Mac. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“No, let them hash it out.” Parker sighed again. “That’s what friends do.”