Chapter 20 Blair
BLAIR
Six florists and just over an hour later, we've secured two hundred white roses that are carefully wrapped and nestled in the back seat like precious cargo.
Liv even managed to convince two of the florists to spend a few hours at the house assembling centerpieces—something about "emergency rates" and "family crisis" that had them agreeing before they fully understood what they were signing up for.
I grin as Liv emerges from the last flower shop with the final armload of long-stemmed roses, her phone pressed to her ear as she coordinates whatever crisis has erupted back at the farm since we've been gone.
She's a force of nature when she's in her element, and watching The Boss in action is like witnessing a master class in chaos management.
"Marcus, I don't care if the watermelons look weird," she's saying as she slides into the driver's seat. "Just get the biggest ones you can find." She pauses, listening. "Okay. Call me back when you're at the garden center."
She ends the call and starts the engine. "Okay, roses done," she announces. "Now the cake. That's going to be the tricky one. Even in case of emergencies, most bakeries need at least forty-eight hours for a wedding cake, and finding someone willing to—"
"Already taken care of," I interrupt, holding up my phone.
Liv laughs and shakes her head. "Very funny. But seriously, we need to start calling bakeries and—"
"No, I'm serious." I meet her eyes. "The cake will be delivered in six hours. Same bakery Emma originally ordered from, same design. They're making it as we speak."
She stares at me like I've just claimed I can fly. "How on earth did you do that?"
I shrug. "Just used my charm."
What Liv doesn't need to know is that four thousand dollars is a pretty compelling incentive for a baker to drop everything they're doing.
"You better not be fucking with me." Liv's expression remains skeptical. She pulls out her phone and dials the bakery directly, keeping her eyes on me while it rings.
"Hi, this is Olivia Barnes calling about the Emma Barnes wedding cake for today," she says into the phone.
There's a pause, and I watch her face change from doubt to astonishment.
"You're... you're actually making it right now?
And it'll be delivered this afternoon?" Another pause.
"Yes, that's perfect. Thank you so much. "
She hangs up and stares at me again.
"Well done, Sailor," she says finally. "I have no idea how you pulled that off, but I'm impressed."
"You're welcome, boss. What's next? Should we head back with the roses?"
"They'll be okay for another hour," she says, putting the car in drive. "We need foliage first. Lots of it. For the tables, the centerpieces, and especially for that archway Marcus is hopefully picking up right now."
She pulls out of the florist's parking lot and heads toward the outskirts of town.
Within ten minutes, we're driving down increasingly rural roads lined with dense woods and overgrown fields.
Maryland is lush, with wild vines climbing telephone poles and trees heavy with leaves that are just beginning to hint at autumn colors.
"There," Liv says, pointing to a wooded area where the trees grow thick and wild. "Perfect."
She pulls over onto the shoulder and parks near a farm road that disappears into the woods.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask, looking at her stiletto heels.
"I've done worse things in higher heels," she says, handing me a pair of scissors she borrowed from one of the florists.
I was wondering why she needed them, but I get it now.
"Come on. We need ivy, wild grape vines, maybe some ferns if we can find them.
Anything green and trailing that'll look romantic draped over the archway and the table. "
I follow her into the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches and stepping over fallen logs while Liv scans the area for the perfect specimens. She points out specific vines and directs me to cut certain lengths.
"That one," she says, indicating a lush stretch of ivy. "And I need about fifteen feet of it."
I start pulling at the vine, trying to detach it from the tree it's been climbing. It's more stubborn than it looks, and I end up having to twist and yank until it finally gives way with a satisfying snap.
"Careful with the leaves," Liv warns, heading for another promising cluster. "We need them to look fresh and full."
Within twenty minutes, I'm buried under an increasingly ridiculous amount of foliage.
Ivy drapes over my shoulders like a green cape, wild grape vines are wound around my arms, and I'm pretty sure there are at least three different types of ferns tucked under my chin.
Liv keeps adding to my collection, stepping back periodically to assess my mobile garden with a critical eye.
"More ivy," she decides, pointing to another vine. "That section there."
"Liv," I say, my voice muffled by the vegetation, "I think I've reached my carrying capacity. I can barely see where I'm going."
She glances at me and starts laughing—really laughing. I must look absolutely ridiculous, like some kind of swamp creature.
"We're almost done and I’ll carry the rest," she says, but she's grinning now. "You look very... cute." She pulls a few more vines from a tree, cuts them and drapes them around her shoulders. "There. That will do."
As we walk back toward the car, me stumbling under my botanical burden and Liv picking her way carefully through the underbrush in her impractical heels, I can't help but admire her determination.
She could have easily said this was impossible, that there wasn't enough time or resources to pull off a proper wedding.
Instead, she's moving heaven and earth to make it happen.
"Just put everything in the trunk," she instructs as we reach the car. "Try not to crush the delicate stuff."
I start transferring the foliage from my arms to the trunk, and Liv transfers her own before helping me untangle vines that have gotten wound around my limbs.
Her fingers brush against my arm as she works, and I feel that same electric awareness from last night—though thankfully, this time she's sober and I don't have to exercise quite as much self-control.
Two small white butterflies flutter past, and one lands briefly on the car's hood.
I'm reaching for another armload of ivy when I notice Liv has gone completely still. Her hands are gripping the edge of the trunk, her knuckles white.
"Liv?" I ask. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't answer, just stares at the butterfly with pure terror.
"Hey," I say, moving closer to her. "It can’t hurt you."
"I know that," she says through gritted teeth. "I know it can't hurt me, but I can't—"
The other butterfly returns and lands on my right wrist that still has ivy tangled around it. Instead of shooing it away, I keep very still.
"Look," I say softly. "See? It doesn't even know we're here."
"Blair, please make it go away." Liv’s voice is tight with panic.
"Watch it for just a second," I say. "Really look at it. See how delicate it is? Its wings are so thin you can almost see through them. It weighs basically nothing."
I watch her force herself to actually look at the small creature on my wrist. Her breathing is still fast, but she's not backing away anymore.
"Something that fragile could never hurt you." The butterfly flutters its wings once, then lifts off, floating away toward the trees along with its companion.
"There," I say. "They're gone."
Liv lets out a shaky breath, her death grip on the trunk finally loosening. "God, I hate that I do that."
"Phobias aren't rational," I tell her, stepping closer. "You can't logic your way out of them."
"It's so stupid—"
"It's not stupid." I reach out to brush a leaf from her hair, and my fingers linger against her cheek. "Everyone's afraid of something."
The way she's looking at me right now—vulnerable and grateful and something else I don't dare to speculate about—is making me pause.
"What are you afraid of?" she asks.
I'm quiet for a moment, my thumb tracing her jawline. I should deflect. But I haven't felt this pull toward someone in years, and it makes me want to be honest. "Right now? I’m afraid of you."
Her lips part slightly, and her gaze drops to my mouth. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to kiss her, and that's exactly the problem. I inch back, clearing my throat.
"We should head back. The florists will arrive soon."
She blinks as if snapping out of it, then nods. "Right. Yeah. Let’s head back."