Magical Weddings (101 page)

But he didn’t laugh, he frowned and opened his hands as if to prove he had no ideas he might be hiding from her. His face puckered with regret. He started moving toward her. She backed away. She still had three minutes left. Maybe two. But she wouldn’t waste them crying on anybody’s shoulder. She was going to figure this out. She always figured things out, it was what florists did. Clever florists could fix anything. All she needed was enough wire, enough floral tape, a plastic spool, a corsage pin, and she could fix anything but a blown transmission.

St. John caught up to her but only because she had backed against the window and had no more room for retreat. Their little dance was getting old. Intoxicating, but old. If he kept it up, she would have to stop running, if only to call his bluff.

He put his hands on her shoulders. She tried to shake him off but he just held tighter.

“I can figure this out,” she whispered to his shirt button. “I can always figure something out.”

“Listen to yourself.” He used the knuckle of his forefinger to lift her chin and make her face him. “When the only option, the only solution, is to create a new causeway in two hours, I’m afraid this cannot be fixed.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was brainstorming. I didn’t really expect to figure out how to build a causeway in two hours, I just hoped that silly ideas might lead to something doable.”

“Ah, I see. Then you’re not actually a nutter?”

“Well, I can’t say that. You have to be a little nuts to be a florist or you won’t be any good at it.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” He looked at his watch. “And now that your five minutes is up, I have a reasonable plan.”

“Reasonable?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Yes.” He pointed to himself. “Not a florist, if you’ll remember. So I suggest we send Pem and Jordan on their honeymoon and throw them a reception later on in the year.”

Mallory’s stomach churned. He was telling her to give up. There was no other choice. There was no other option. The problem could not be fixed. The reception was off—the reception that was going to keep Ivy and Stone alive. And if he needed a florist for a reception later on, he’d have to hire someone else. Ivy and Stone would disappear along with the little house scheduled for demolition.

It took her a while to realize that she was shaking. It wasn’t until St. John stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her that she finally felt her body vibrating against him. And she was crying. She was going to get mascara all over his pretty white shirt. It would have to be one more thing to add to the bill.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was crying about. Her failure to save the reception? The loss of her business? Or the fact that St. John was going to be in town, looking for a florist, and it wouldn’t be her? She wanted to believe she was crying for Pemberly.

She didn’t have it in her to push him away. For once, she was going to cry on someone’s shoulder. And if she would have known how truly comforting that shoulder would be, she’d have done it much sooner.

She’d been deluding herself. And in a business where delusion was a tool used on a daily basis, she had a talent for it. But she’d known, deep down, that the reception was iffy as soon as that pole had gone down. She just couldn’t face all the rest of the things in her life that were going down with it.

She took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself. The bride would be on-site any minute. Shattering a bride’s dream was the thing she most dreaded in life. And she would have to suck it up and do it.

The vibrating stopped. The tears turned off. She scrambled for some reason to stay where she was, to stock up on warm, James-Bond-scented comfort, but this was no time to be selfish. She slowly straightened away from him, embarrassed.

Her phone rang. St. John took a step back. It was London. Mallory pushed the button and put the phone up to her ear. “London, I’m so sorry. I can’t think of anything, can you?”

“Mallory? Pemberly’s here. I explained what’s happened. She wants to speak to you.”

“Okay. Put her on.” She was going to be sick.

“Mallory?”

“Pemberly, I’m so sorry!”

And together, they cried. Mal tried to console the bride. The bride tried to console her. After a minute or two of that, Mal put an end to it.

“Okay, Pemberly. We’ve had our cry. It’s time for you to clean up your makeup and salvage the rest of the day. Why don’t you call Bennett’s phone and talk to him while London and I put together a plan. You’re still up for a party, right? You’ve got guests coming, right?”

Pem agreed and handed the phone back to London. A second later, she heard St. John answer his phone.

“I’m sorry, London,” Mal said. “This is all up to you now. I can do nothing at all from here.”

“No problem. What do you need?”

“The fire department didn’t make you move that giant tent, right?”

“Right.”

“I need you to turn that tent into a small ballroom. It will need more flowers than we have in it. Take the florals off the carriages if you need to. Leave one carriage dressed up for the bride and groom. Have the drivers in costume stand at the sides of the entrance. Get the outdoor heaters hauled over from the carriage tent and place them to one side, so the people in line don’t freeze.

“Tell the caterer to get set up next to the hot chocolate station. With all the hot hors d'oeuvres planned for both the tent and the lodge, they should have plenty to serve. The boys put the extra linens in the back of your van. That delivery box is about four by four. Turn it upside down and use it as a table top. Find something for the guests to sign. A notebook. Anything. Or have someone run to Park City. A leather-bound journal from one of the outlet stores.

“Tell the photographer to take extra pictures of the guests. A picture of Pemberly with the firemen, maybe. We’ll cover the cost. Tell Pemberly to shake hands fast, to keep the line moving so no one is outside too long. We’ll light candles in the windows here. The lodge can at least be a backdrop.”

“Got it. The lodge already looks great, by the way.”

“Book, food, warmth, and Pemberly. Anything else?”

“If there is, we’ll take care of it. You two just keep warm. Any way you can. And save me a piece of that cake.”

Mal walked over to St. John and asked to speak to his sister, then asked her what she thought of the plan. Pemberly was happy with it, reminding Mal that the important part, the wedding, was already over. The party was just a bonus.

Mal handed the phone back to Big Brother and wandered around the room, filling her apron pocket with candles for the windows. She heard him end the call, so she turned back to say something, but couldn’t remember what. The last thing she remembered was the feel of the heavy candles in her pocket pulling her to the floor.

Then nothing.

Mal felt the smooth slide of warm water over her arms and wondered if she was drowning. The blackness receded into a lighter shade of black, like she was rising to the surface, but her face wasn’t wet. She opened her eyes.

“Mallory,” a man breathed in relief. “Are you all right, darling?”

007 was back. Or rather, he was still there. They were both still there, in Harmony Lodge. And she was on the floor. She tried to sit up, but he held her down with one hand on her shoulder.

“There is no rush. I suggest you lie still a bit longer.”

The smooth slide of warm water turned out to be the satin lining of his suit jacket which had been laid across her upper body. Her shoes were gone and there was a sharp edge behind her heels. A wedding present.

“You raised my feet,” she said. The sweetest thing a guy had ever done for her.

“More blood to the brain, you see.” He lifted her legs and slid the present to the side. “But before you try to sit, let’s talk about this faint of yours.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Not a claim you can boast any longer, I’m afraid. What have you eaten today?”

She had to think a minute. “I had milk this morning. A donut when I got to the shop. Then lunch was delivered around 11:30.”

“And did you eat this lunch?”

She remembered opening her container. Then a vase broke and she cleaned it up, then searched for a replacement. She couldn’t remember seeing that container again. A lovely burrito, gone to waste.

“I was distracted,” she confessed. “May I get up now?”

“Yes, you may.” He offered a hand and pulled her to a seated position. After she took a few slow breaths, he pulled her to her feet, then turned her around and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. They headed for the kitchen. “Unless you’d like to take a bite out of the wedding cake, we’ll see if we can find you some food.”

They passed the buffet table. Flowers and candles sat waiting for guests who would never come. She realized she was walking over the spot where the vase had broken earlier and hoped she’d gotten all the fragments, since she was now in stocking feet. Sweaty stocking feet, to be exact. And he’d taken her shoes off!

She was mortified.

The kitchen was darker than the ballroom. The windows, facing northeast, had little light coming through. It was probably around five o’clock and the sun was setting. There was enough light to see shadows, however, and she recognized the supply box. She tried to pull her arm free, but he wasn’t letting go.

“There should be a butane lighter in that box.” She pointed.

“I’ll get it. You must sit.” He led her to the corner where three chairs stood against the wall.

She dug in her pockets, but the candles were gone.

“I’ll get some candles. Don’t move.”

Then she remembered. “I’ve got to get candles in all the windows.”

He had already left the room. His voice boomed in the hallway. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

There was something about his tone that made her forget about candles, something that said he wasn’t going to be happy if she followed him back out of the kitchen. But there was plenty of time. She could wait another 30 minutes to get them lit. And sitting down felt wonderful.

Her stomach didn’t growl so much as it whimpered, and she was glad 007 hadn’t been there to hear it. Taking the time to eat would have been the smart thing to do, but being smart and being efficient sometimes couldn’t happen at the same time. And he didn’t need more proof she’d made a poor choice.

“I heard that, from all the way in the ballroom.” He walked out of the shadowy hallway with three fat candles.

“You did not.”

“All right. The hallway, then.” He set the candles on the counter, then turned to the supply box. “I am happy to see you capable of obedience.”

Mal gave a short laugh, but thought biting her tongue would be the smart thing to do at the moment. “Oh, be careful. There are probably knives in the box. Do you want me to find it?”

“I want you to sit still and be waited on. That’s what I want.” He straightened, with one hand in the air. “Ah hah.”

He flicked the lighter, got a flame, and lit the candles. And as little fire added more light on his face, she almost wished he hadn’t found the lighter after all. He was just too handsome for words. His features were too chiseled. His chest too broad. His eyes too…
too.
If she had to face him over candlelight, she wouldn’t be able to hide her drooling. She wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face at all.

She looked around the room for some kind of bag big enough to fit over her head. Maybe there were scissors in that box so she could cut some eye holes in it.

St. John moved away from her—thank heavens for small favors—and started pulling lids off large pink boxes. He popped something in his mouth. She looked away so she didn’t memorize the way he chewed.

He was suddenly standing in front of her, in the dark. He reached forward and felt her face, then found her mouth. “Open,” he said, then popped something in her mouth. “A pastry with some sort of cheese. To tide you over until I can find the plates.”

She wondered if it tasted wonderful in real life, or if it was because she was starving. She tried not to believe it was because he’d fed it to her.

“Chocolates,” he announced. In another box, tiny fruit tarts. In the fridge, he found a variety of cold shrimp appetizers and stuffed mushrooms. “All food groups covered,” he brought a heaping plate and a candle to sit on the middle chair. Then he fetched a glass of water and came back to sit on the only chair left. Since she hadn’t been able to find a sack for her head without getting up to look, she decided to focus her attention on the food, which was also making her a little drooly.

The second cheese puff, which she fed herself, was in fact not as good as the first. She glanced up to find 007 staring at her, mouth ajar. She put one hand up as a shield, to make sure she wasn’t playing Chew and Show. She swallowed. “What?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a bit peckish myself. Mind if I join you?”

“Your food,” she reminded him, then took a drink.

“Feeling better yet?”

“Much.” She resisted asking him to feed her another cheese puff, to test a theory.

“Try this.” His fingers held a plump chocolate a few inches away from her mouth. She took it carefully, but wrapped her lips around it so she didn’t look like a horse taking an apple. Unfortunately, her lips brushed his fingers, and he inhaled sharply.

“Good?” he growled.

“Mm hmn.”

She didn’t mean to lean forward. It was just an automatic reaction to
him
leaning forward. It would have been rude not to. And when their lips met, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the taste of the chocolate cherry cordial in her mouth improved in a heartbeat. And it wasn’t just the taste of things being affected by the man. Everything around her was morphing into a warped fairy tale where the princess was a frog, kissing a prince, but remaining a frog.

She was damn sure the guy wouldn’t have any interest in her at all if they weren’t the only two people in the world, at the moment at least. He was freaking James Bond and she was a flower shop girl. An American shop girl with green grunge under her fingernails, sweaty socks, and an apron pocket full of tiny pieces of flower stems that may or may not have been from that day’s work. The only thing he had in his pockets was money and maybe the keys to an expensive car.