Chapter 18
18
Cara was on the phone with a customer when she heard the shop door open. It was only 8:30 a.m., but Bert was out on a delivery, so she was manning the store by herself. She placed a hand over the receiver and addressed the visitor. “Be with you in a minute.”
While her phone customer droned on and on about the exact right shade of red she wanted for the roses she was sending her recuperating granny, Cara sized up her visitor, who was wandering around the shop, examining some of the “make and take” arrangements in the walk-in cooler.
She was a bride, obviously. In her late twenties, tall and slender, with skin so pale it was nearly opaque, and fine, dark hair gathered into a hastily styled ponytail tied with a scrunchy. A scrunchy? Cara didn’t even know those still existed. The bride wore very little makeup and was dressed in a navy-blue suit and white silk blouse that fairly screamed job interview. The earpiece from her phone dangled from one ear, and she clutched a briefcase under one arm. Every once in a while, she glanced furtively down at her watch. The diamond solitaire on her left ring finger was impressive, at least two carats, Cara thought, and her pulse quickened. She needed to finish up with the sixty-dollar red rose order and get with this bride.
When she’d finally managed to persuade her caller that she’d only use the very freshest, loveliest, long-stemmed roses for her arrangement, she put the phone down with a sense of relief.
“Good morning,” she said, hurrying around from behind her worktable. “Is there anything special I can help you with?”
“No. Well, yes, I mean, are you the owner? Cara? I think my mother’s already been in to see you. I’m getting married in July, and we thought, I mean, well Vicki Cooper raved about the flowers you did for their wedding and…”
“I’m Cara. And you must be Brooke Trapnell. Is that right? Marie’s daughter?”
“That’s right.” Brooke nodded. A faint blush crept over her face. “I understand you met with my father and stepmother too?”
“Yes,” Cara said. “Just last week. I met them over at Cabin Creek. What a beautiful spot for a wedding. You must be very excited.”
Brooke was busy looking around the shop. She traced the tip of a white phalaenopsis orchid with her fingertip. “This is so pretty. What kind of flower is it?”
“It’s a phalaenopsis,” Cara said. “Do you like orchids?”
The girl was still concentrating on the orchid. “Hmm?” She looked up at Cara. “I’m sorry. What were you saying before?”
“Just that you must be getting excited. With your wedding only a few weeks away.”
The girl nodded, her face serious. “Patricia printed out this timeline thing from one of the wedding websites, and according to it, I’m already hopelessly behind schedule. On top of everything else, I’ve got a big trial scheduled a week before the wedding. I’m actually starting to feel pretty panicky.”
“Oh, no. Don’t be panicky,” Cara said. “That’s my job. Your job is to look beautiful and enjoy your special day.”
Brooke gave her a dubious look. “Half the girls I know have gotten married this past year. I’ve been a bridesmaid six times just since September, and it’s been hell. Every single time. Have you ever seen a bride who wasn’t panicky?”
“Well, there was this one girl this past weekend,” Cara admitted. “But she was probably the exception to the rule.”
“One of my friends, Melanie Eaves? Maybe you know her? Her caterer went out of business two weeks before the wedding. Mel got so stressed her hair was falling out in big clumps. She lost so much weight they finally put a feeding tube in her stomach.”
“Oh my.”
“And this other girl? She was a year ahead of me in law school at Georgia? Samantha Epstein? She ended up going so far over budget, her parents were fighting like cats and dogs, and they ended up filing for divorce. Like, the week before Samantha’s wedding. Her father refused to go the reception.”
“That’s too bad,” Cara said.
“Yes, well, at least that won’t happen with my parents. Patricia already took care of that, didn’t she?”
“Ummm,” Cara said, stalling.
“Anyway.” Brooke stole another glance at her watch. “Oh, God, look at the time. I promised my mom I’d come by and see you. About the flowers. She said you’d need to talk to me?”
“Yes,” Cara said. “Usually I like to spend some time with the bride, to talk about what type flowers you like, color preferences, style. Maybe you have a Pinterest board, or some pictures from the wedding magazines you’ve been clipping, something like that?”
Brooke shrugged. “Not really. I guess I’m not much into that kind of stuff. Whatever you and Mom come up with, I’m sure I’ll like.”
This was a first for Cara. A bride who didn’t have pages and pages of carefully clipped or pinned wedding photoraphs. Earlier in the spring, she’d done flowers for a bride who’d actually been scrapbooking her future wedding since the age of twelve.
“No favorite color or flower?”
Brooke flicked the phalaenopsis blossom. “This is pretty.”
“That’s a start,” Cara said. “We can do some really pretty arrangments with orchids. Probably not just orchids though, right? I’m thinking maybe something very simple and natural-looking?”
Brooke nodded vigorously. “Yes. Definitely simple. I don’t want anything too…” She waved her hands in the air. “Too fluffy. Or show-offy. Do you know what I mean?”
Yes,Cara thought, I do: the exact opposite of what your father and stepmother are envisioning.
“Anything else?” Cara asked. “Besides orchids for your bouquet? What about your attendants? And the groom and groomsmen? Any particular flower your fiancé likes—or hates?“
“Harris?” Brooke shrugged. “He’s a guy.” Her face softened. “A sweetie, but he’s probably even more clueless than me when it comes to something like this. As far as Harris Strayhorn is concerned, as long as we have an open bar and some kind of barbecue at the reception, he’ll be happy.”
“Like a lot of grooms,” Cara said, laughing. “I can help you figure out the boutonnieres—maybe in Harris’s school colors or something? And we’ll need to talk about flowers for the reception, as well as the chapel at Cabin Creek. Patricia showed me the dining room, which is lovely. But Patricia wasn’t clear on whether you’ll be doing a seated dinner or a buffet, so that’s something we’ll need to talk about.…”
“All that?” Brooke twisted the solitaire on her ring finger with her right hand. Around and around, looking down at it and then back up at Cara. “Just, I mean, can’t you make all the flowers sort of all look like the same thing?”
Cara heard a faint ringing coming from the vicinity of Brooke’s jacket pocket, prompting the girl to start patting all the pockets of her jacket, searching for her phone.
“Oh geez. I have to take this. It’s the office. Hello?” Brooke’s eyebrows drew together, her narrow shoulders hunched over. “Right. Yes. Absolutely. I’m on my way in right now. I can do a conference call in ten minutes. Will that work?”
She was heading for the door, already immersed in business.
Cara cleared her throat, and Brooke turned.
“Look. Just talk to my mom, would you? The two of you can work it out much better than I could.”
“What about your father?” Cara asked. “I think he and your stepmother have some ideas.…”
“No!” Brooke said sharply. “Patricia already took over my dad. She doesn’t get to take over my wedding too. I won’t let her.”
“Well okay,” Cara said. “But they have another florist in mind. I’m actually not certain they plan to hire me.”
“It’s my damned wedding,” Brooke said, her jaw clenched. “And my mother and I am hiring you. Period.”
She threw open the shop door and hurried down the sidewalk.