3. Millie
CHAPTER 3
Millie
W illiam Blake Carter, still hot as ever.
When I hoped he forgot me, it was wishful thinking. I’m fairly certain I’m ingrained into his brain as much as he is into mine.
I managed to avoid Will when he was here six months ago to share the news of his engagement, so the last time I saw him was a little over a year ago. It wasn’t my choice to be near him after not seeing him for close to two years prior, but I also didn’t expect my mom to invite him to family dinner while he was in town.
If I would have known he was going to be there, I would have faked an illness or found a way to be unavailable. It’s what I typically did when he’d come into town after we decided to break things off three years ago when he told me he didn’t plan to move back to Willow Pines.
Not only did I lose whatever we could have had that night, but I lost one of my best friends. Someone I used to find solace in.
I’m cursing myself for not asking my mom how long he’d be in town, but that’d only pique her curiosity. The fewer questions Mom asks me about Will, the better .
“Hi, Miss Jane,” I greet the one woman who has supported me the most over the years.
Her blonde hair is pin-straight, pushed back with a brown headband bedazzled in dried coffee beans. The apron she’s wearing is the same color brown and under that is a plain black t-shirt and jeans. For as long as I’ve known Miss Jane, the only thing she changes is the scone of the week. Her outfits are of the same variety that it’s practically her uniform if she were to don one.
“Ah, Millie, you’re late,” she chides.
Every week, like clockwork, I bring a variety of extra flowers for her table centerpieces. In return, she supplies me with fresh coffee. It’s an unspoken exchange and one I’m grateful for.
“It’s not even eight yet. Don’t tell me you’re out of them already,” I whine. Miss Jane is known for her coffee and company, yes, but she also makes the best scones in town.
And when she shakes her head to confirm she still has some left, my lips curl up into a smile.
“You’re lucky I keep a secret stash.”
“Bless you. Mom will be happy. It’s the cinnamon ones today, right?”
Miss Jane hums in response. “Added some raspberries to them too.”
My mouth is watering thinking about them. I was in such a rush this morning to get to the shop, I forgot to grab a snack. Today’s busy enough that I will forget to eat unless people provide me food.
“You’re the best,” I say, taking the bag of scones and two drip coffees from her. “See you later?”
“At The Shed, yes. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure thing. Thank you.”
I wave while I walk out the door, making sure to avoid Will at all costs. There’s too many things left on my to-do list to spend time thinking about him or our interaction .
Luckily, when I get back to check in on Mom and the progress she’s made over the past fifteen minutes, it’s enough to distract me for the next few hours. We finish the centerpieces, check all the bouquets for the third time, and organize everything needed for the arch before we load the items into my work van. I’m holding my breath as we close the back doors, thanking the flower Gods the arrangements for both weddings fit.
“That was close,” Mom comments, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Yeah, I don’t have time to stop back here today. I need to go straight to The Shed from the other venue to check in with the vendors.”
Mom stays silent, and it’s because she knows that whatever she wants to say, she’s already said it to me a million times.
“Millie, you need to say no to people.”
“How do you find the time and energy to manage the event and take care of their flowers?”
And I’d roll my eyes, tell her it’s temporary, and walk away before the conversation had a chance to get any further. Except, I’ve been saying that doing everything myself is “temporary” for the past two years. I would’ve never predicted that saying yes to helping manage one wedding would turn into two, and here we are managing two to three events a month.
It’s not always weddings. Sometimes it’s a birthday party, or someone in town is throwing a company soirée. Either way, I’ve stumbled into running an events business without meaning to. And now it’s something I want to prioritize, but I worry that if I do that, Rose & Ivy will take a hit.
I can’t be in two places at once, no matter how hard I try.
The more I say yes to events, the more I say yes to flowers, the more I find myself stretched too thin.
But no one except Mom knows this, and I don’t plan to burden anyone else with my minuscule problems.
For now, I’ll continue on as I always have and when I find time to tackle the “brainstorm about my event business” task. I figure that’s also when I’ll consider trusting others to help me manage Rose & Ivy. But that task has been on the bottom of my to-do list for years now.
Mom is manning the store while I’m on event duty, so I make sure she’s all set before heading out to make the first delivery.
The first venue is in one of the historic homes downtown. Even though the theme requires a more thorough set up, the wedding itself is small and intimate. I park the van near the front entrance and carefully carry everything inside. After I greet their coordinator and hand over the bouquets, explaining the best way to hold them as the wedding party walks down the aisle, I head to the reception hall to place the vases on the tables. It takes me thirty minutes to make sure the centerpieces are perfect and the flowers and leaves are still in tip-top shape.
I’m walking out of the venue when I spot one of my best friends on the other side of the room. Ava Harris moved to town at the age of ten. Her parents wanted to move closer to her grandparents, who, lucky for me, lived in Willow Pines. She stuck around and went to the local college with me, her for photography and myself for business, and now works with our other best friends Florence and Riley at Travel With Willow .
Ava’s dressed in all black, blending in with the chair she’s lounging in, her nose in her phone. Her blonde hair is tied in a messy bun, with two curled pieces hanging on either side. It’s her signature photography look—she calls it “classy comfort.”
“Ava! Are you shooting today’s wedding?” I ask, walking in her direction.
She looks up from her phone, smiling when she sees it’s me. I meet her halfway as she stands and walks over toward me, giving me a hug.
“Yep, only the ceremony, thankfully. After, I have the Young wedding. You’ll be there, right?”
“Yeah, I’m on flower and coordinator duty today.”
She chuckles. “How fun.”
A tall woman calls Ava’s name from the hallway, saving me from spilling my thoughts about Will before I’m ready.
“Well, guess that’s my cue. See you later, Mills,” she says, trailing backward toward the door with the loud music and laughing ladies.
I wave and rush out of the venue before I bump into anyone else. A quick hello can turn to hearing about someone’s last vacation real quick, and I don’t have time for that.
Once I get back in the van and check the delivery off my to-do list, I head to the next venue.
On the far east side of town, The Shed is a literal barn, remodeled to act as a bar when it’s not being booked for events. It’s heated, thankfully, and the closest venue with a view of the mountains. When my time comes to get married, this is where I want to say ‘I do.’ It’s large enough to fit a few hundred people, there’s a decent size stage for a band, a bar on both sides, and a u-shaped loft-style balcony that feels like entering a new venue due to how secluded it is. It’d be the perfect spot to hide from people when my social battery drained.
For today’s wedding, it’s all about making sure the flowers and the arch are assembled and checking on the vendors to make sure they are ready on time.
Even though I didn’t plan to be an event planner, I’ve fallen in love with it. With florals, I’m able to be creative and try things over and over until I find a mix of flowers that work well together. With events, and weddings in particular, I can be strategic and find joy while watching someone else have the best day of their life.
I get to watch their eyes brighten when they see the love of their life at the end of the aisle waiting for them. And I get to experience the events I’ve spent hours designing and planning.
Like now, I get to witness Kelly holding the flowers for her wedding, and I get to help ensure her day is special. She doesn’t, and shouldn’t, worry about anything that may go wrong. That’s my job.
“These are perfect, Millie. I don’t know how you do it.” Kelly beams as she rotates the bouquet I handed her.
My cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thanks, Kelly. You picked a great theme for today. How’s it been this morning?”
“Oh, good. I believe all the vendors are almost done setting up.”
“Great,” I say. “I’ll finish here and take a look around. Text if you need anything, okay?”
“You got it.”
Kelly heads off in the opposite direction to get ready. I head to the front of the room where the arch needs to be placed.
It takes thirty minutes longer than estimated, but it’s done. One of Jeremy’s bartenders lended me a hand to help position the centerpieces.
Checking off the final task for my floral duties, I enter coordinator mode and begin my walk-through of the venue.
This to-do list is kept in a separate spot, printed off and plastered to a clipboard to make running through and checking off the items easier.
The bartenders have enough ice and alcohol for the open bar, Jeremy reassuring me five different times he has it covered. Linens line every table and water is already placed near the center. In the middle of the barn, there’s a runner for where the couple will walk down. Check , check , and check .
The only thing left on my list is to make sure the music and audio is ready to go. Since the ceremony and reception are in the same room, it’s imperative that we have working microphones and speakers.
Except when I reach where the audio should be, nothing is there. Rob Carter, Will’s grandpa and owner of Carter Records, is supposed to be in charge of the audio today. And unless he sent someone who works part-time at the store, he should be here .
I try ringing the store, but no one answers.
Okay… don’t panic .
I’m sure he’s on his way. Right?
After the third time calling, someone, not Rob , answers. It’s the last person on earth I want to be talking to at this moment.
“Hello, ah, shit, um, sorry, hello. How can I help you?” Will’s deep voice comes through the phone, reducing my legs to jello with his tone. He’s out of breath, and based on the loud noise I heard when he answered, I assume he dropped something.
“Is Rob there?” I ask, not wanting to stall and try my best to ignore the sounds coming from his mouth.
“Millie Mae, is that you?” Will provokes, and I can practically visualize him leaning on the front desk, his eyes trained on me, his damn dimples turning me on.
I sigh, trying to stay strong and ask again, “Is Rob there?”
“He’s not here.”
“He—what? Where is he?” I stumble over my question.
It’s not like Rob to forget something as big as a wedding.
“Um, not sure to be honest. I came in to take over for the day after Miss Jane’s. He left and told me he’d see me for dinner. Did you need something, Rose?”
The squeak from his chair bleeds through my phone speaker. Without meaning to, my mind flashes back to the many nights I sat in the store, in that same chair, laughing at everything Will said to me. Oh, how naive I was.
I swallow the request for him to stop calling me Rose. Previously, it would have made me want to kiss him. Now it makes me want to stab him.
“I, uh, yeah, Rob’s supposed to be doing audio at this wedding today.”
Will whispers “ fuck,” then takes a deep sigh. “I’m coming. Text me what you need?”
He’s what ?
“You don’t know where Rob is?” I ask, grimacing at how my question sounds.
Will gasps. “I’m offended you don’t want to spend time with me, Millie Mae.”
Gah, I don’t have time for this.
“Only because I don’t have any options am I saying this, but fine, please come and help.”
“See? That wasn’t hard. Text me what you need.”
Oh, fuck .
“Wait,” I rush out, hoping he hasn’t ended the call yet.
“Yes, Millie Mae?”
Goddamnit, he knows what he’s doing when he draws out my name like that.
“I, um, don’t have your number.”
“Did you get a new number?” Will asks.
“Still the same.”
He laughs in a way that tells me he can’t believe I would delete his number.
“I’ll text you,” he says, and the line goes silent.
I don’t have time to be shocked at his response or wonder how he feels because he texts me a few seconds later.
Unknown Number
Add “save Will’s number” and “text Will, the most handsome man in Willow Pines, what to bring to this event” to your to-do list
Add “forgive Will” to your to-do list
Three-dots appear, disappear, appear, and disappear again. No other texts come.
I hate how well he knows me, but I’m not surprised he realized I’m still mad over him leaving. I am, however, surprised by how much I want to check the last item he requested off my list.
But three years ago, I was straddled on his lap, breaking our kiss to ask him to move back to Willow Pines. Sure, I didn’t specifically ask to move back to be with me, but he didn’t say yes.
And now him being back in town complicates everything.