Page 37 of Save the Date
“Hey. You never told me how your meeting with the Trapnells went,” Bert said, his hand on the passenger door.
“It went. The plantation? Cabin Creek—it’s unbelievable. If it weren’t for the bride’s father and stepmother, I’d love to design a wedding in that house. But those two? Gordon and Patricia?” She made a face. “It’s the first time I’ve ever hopednotto get hired.”
“Then why bother to talk to them?” Bert asked. “We’re not exactly hurting for work, Cara.”
“I know, I know. I keep telling myself that. But I really liked Marie, the mom.”
“That’s your problem, Cara,” Bert said, interrupting. “You likeeverybody. You get sucked into their dramas, become a part of their family, and then get stuck in the middle of their shit. You’re a florist, honey, not a family therapist!”
“You’re wrong. I absolutely don’t like Gordon, and it took me about five seconds to decide I detest Patricia. But Marie—she’s a different story. She’s sort of a lost soul, and I just get the feeling Patricia will totally mow her and Brooke down, if I don’t get the job. But don’t worry. They are sonotgoing to hire me. I told them about everything we had planned for Laurie-Beth’s wedding and they were really and truly appalled. Anyway, Patricia is totally gaga over this Cullen Kane guy from Charleston.”
“Oh yeah,him,” Bert said, with a sneer. “Just what Savannah needs. Another flower fairy.”
Cara laughed and gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Go on, get out. We’ve both got to get our beauty rest. See you in the morning.”
15
Cara caught sight of the stranger just as she was finishing the last details of the elaborate arch she’d constructed out of fallen tree branches, Spanish moss, deer antlers, grouse feathers, ivy, and dried hydrangeas. Since it was where Laurie-Beth and Payton would stand to say their vows she wanted to make sure an errant antler wouldn’t fall off and bonk the couple on the head. Concussions were never fun at a wedding.
She’d arrived at the cotton warehouse late Saturday afternoon, already behind schedule.
He was standing just inside the propped-open door of the warehouse, his arms crossed over his chest, and a late-afternoon ray of sunlight seemed to catch and illuminate his blond tresses, almost like a halo. He wasn’t a guest; the wedding wasn’t for another two hours, and anyway, he was dressed casually, in designer jeans—7 For All Mankind, she was sure, a silky black T-shirt, and black motorcycle boots. He had deliberate beard stubble, piercing green eyes, and he was tall enough and slender enough to be a runway model.
But she knew he wasn’t. The hair was the giveaway. She’d seen it on his website.
He was watching her, spying on the competition, and he didn’t care if she knew. Should she confront him, ask him to leave? But that would make him think she had something to hide. She decided to ignore him, for now anyway.
Cara stood on the top rung of her stepladder, and steadied herself with both hands on the side supports of the arch. She made another pass with the picture wire, looping it around and around Payton Jelks’s prized ten-point antlers, which she’d secured to the top of the arch, then tying it off on the backside of the arch, where it wouldn’t be seen.
She reached into the bag of extra feathers and dried flowers she’d slung over her left shoulder, pulled her glue gun from the holster she’d rigged on her belt, and went to add another cluster of dried hydrangea blooms, leaning ever-so-slightly to the right. Which was a mistake. It was like a slow-motion cartoon. She tried to counteract the wobble, inching to the left, but she overcorrected, and it was too late. She grabbed for the right tree branch. Also a mistake. It came away in her hand, and she tumbled to the concrete floor.
And her arch, her gorgeous, forest-fantasy arch, came tumbling right down around her.
She fell flat on her ass, but instinctively shielded her head with her arms, as antlers and branches and feathers rained down around her. She felt a sear on her calf, felt the hot glue gun ricocheting onto the floor.
“Shit!”
He was at her side in a moment, kneeling down beside her, pulling her to a sitting position.
“Hey! Are you okay?” He brushed feathers and moss and dried hydrangea petals from her hair and shoulders.
“Shit!” she repeated, looking around at the ruins. “Shit. Damn. Hell. Piss.”
He laughed, throwing his head back, displaying a set of perfect white teeth in contrast to his perfect golden tan. Actually, he was prettier than a runway model. He looked like something off the cover of a paperback romance novel. Biker boots and all.
“At least you didn’t get impaled in the throat with an antler.”
“At least,” she said sourly.
“Can you stand?” he asked, extending a hand to help her up.
“Guess I’d better, if I’m gonna get this thing rebuilt before seven.” She took his hand and managed to stand. Her tailbone was already starting to throb, her right shin was bleeding, and she could see a bruise blooming on her right elbow, where she’d tried to break her fall.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’m sorry about your arch,” he said. “It was really looking pretty kick-ass.”
“I know,” Cara said. “Was.”
