transported pots, vases, baskets, greenery, garland, swags, and candles.
“MB’s pulling in.” Parker’s voice sounded through Emma’s headset and made her snort. Monster Bride.
She put the finishing touches on the mantel, lush with white and silver candles, white roses, and lavender lisianthus, before making the dash to wade into the outdoor arrangements.
She set more lilacs in more urns, muscled enormous silver baskets filled with calla lilies in eggplant and snowy white, hung cones of flowers dripping with silver ribbon on the white-draped aisle chairs, and guzzled water like a dying woman.
“Man, is this the best you can do?”
Rubbing the aching small of her back, Emma turned to Jack.
He stood, hands in the pockets of a gorgeous gray suit jacket, eyes shaded against the beaming sunlight by Oakleys.
“Well, she wanted simple.”
He laughed, shook his head. “It looks amazing, and somehow elaborately French.”
“Yes.” She pointed a finger at him. “Exactly my plan. Wait!” Panic leaped in her chest like a terrier after a bone. “What are you doing here? What time is it? We can’t be that far behind. Parker would—” She broke off as she checked her watch. “Oh, thank God. You’re really early.”
“Yeah. Parker mentioned to Del since I was coming, maybe I could make it early and pitch in. So I’m here to pitch.”
“Come with me. Tink! I need to get the bouquets. Finish up—ten minutes—then start on the Ballroom.”
“On it.”
“You can help me load. I’m heading over to get them now,” she said into her headset. “Oh, slip a Xanax in her champagne, Parker. I can’t move any faster. Ten minutes. Have Mac stall her.”
Moving at a jog now, she reached the van she used for transport, then jumped behind the wheel.
“Do you do that often?” Jack asked her. “Drug the bride?”
“We never do it, but we want to with some of them. And really, we’d be doing everyone a favor. This one wants her bouquet and she wants it now because if she doesn’t love it, there’s going to be hell to pay. Laurel breezed by earlier and told me Mac told her the MB made her hairdresser cry and had a fight with her MOH. Parker smoothed it out, of course.”
“MB?”
“Think about it,” Emma suggested, and jumped out of the van to dash into her workshop.
He did as he followed her inside. “Mean Bitch. Monster Bitch. No, Monster Bride.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” She hauled open the door of her cooler. “Everything on the right goes. One rose cascade bouquet, twelve, count them twelve, attendant bouquets.” She tapped one of the boxes. “Do you know what this is?”
“A bouquet. A purplish sort of thing. Pretty cool looking, actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s kale.”
“Get out.”
“Ornamental kale, variegated purple and green. Bride’s colors are purple and silver. We’ve used a lot of silver accents and tones from pale orchid to deep eggplant, with lots of white and green in the arrangements.”
“Son of a bitch. Cabbage bouquets. You didn’t tell her what it is.”
“Only after I made her fall in love with it. Okay, bouquets, corsages, boutonnieres, both the pomanders—she has two flower girls, two halos of white roses and lavender, and holding vases. Check, check, double check. Let’s load them up.”
“Do you ever get sick of flowers?” he asked her as they carried boxed bouquets.
“Absolutely not. Do you smell that lavender? Those roses?”
“Impossible not to, under the circumstances. So, a guy’s taking you out. First date or some special deal, and he brings you flowers. You’re not like: Oh, flowers. Great.”
“I’d think he was very thoughtful. God, every muscle in my body is begging for a glass of wine and a hot bath.” She stretched her back when Jack closed the cargo doors. “Okay, let’s go knock the MB’s socks off. Oh wait. Your jacket. The one you lent me. It’s inside.”
“I’ll get it later. So, did she get
“MB’s pulling in.” Parker’s voice sounded through Emma’s headset and made her snort. Monster Bride.
She put the finishing touches on the mantel, lush with white and silver candles, white roses, and lavender lisianthus, before making the dash to wade into the outdoor arrangements.
She set more lilacs in more urns, muscled enormous silver baskets filled with calla lilies in eggplant and snowy white, hung cones of flowers dripping with silver ribbon on the white-draped aisle chairs, and guzzled water like a dying woman.
“Man, is this the best you can do?”
Rubbing the aching small of her back, Emma turned to Jack.
He stood, hands in the pockets of a gorgeous gray suit jacket, eyes shaded against the beaming sunlight by Oakleys.
“Well, she wanted simple.”
He laughed, shook his head. “It looks amazing, and somehow elaborately French.”
“Yes.” She pointed a finger at him. “Exactly my plan. Wait!” Panic leaped in her chest like a terrier after a bone. “What are you doing here? What time is it? We can’t be that far behind. Parker would—” She broke off as she checked her watch. “Oh, thank God. You’re really early.”
“Yeah. Parker mentioned to Del since I was coming, maybe I could make it early and pitch in. So I’m here to pitch.”
“Come with me. Tink! I need to get the bouquets. Finish up—ten minutes—then start on the Ballroom.”
“On it.”
“You can help me load. I’m heading over to get them now,” she said into her headset. “Oh, slip a Xanax in her champagne, Parker. I can’t move any faster. Ten minutes. Have Mac stall her.”
Moving at a jog now, she reached the van she used for transport, then jumped behind the wheel.
“Do you do that often?” Jack asked her. “Drug the bride?”
“We never do it, but we want to with some of them. And really, we’d be doing everyone a favor. This one wants her bouquet and she wants it now because if she doesn’t love it, there’s going to be hell to pay. Laurel breezed by earlier and told me Mac told her the MB made her hairdresser cry and had a fight with her MOH. Parker smoothed it out, of course.”
“MB?”
“Think about it,” Emma suggested, and jumped out of the van to dash into her workshop.
He did as he followed her inside. “Mean Bitch. Monster Bitch. No, Monster Bride.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” She hauled open the door of her cooler. “Everything on the right goes. One rose cascade bouquet, twelve, count them twelve, attendant bouquets.” She tapped one of the boxes. “Do you know what this is?”
“A bouquet. A purplish sort of thing. Pretty cool looking, actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s kale.”
“Get out.”
“Ornamental kale, variegated purple and green. Bride’s colors are purple and silver. We’ve used a lot of silver accents and tones from pale orchid to deep eggplant, with lots of white and green in the arrangements.”
“Son of a bitch. Cabbage bouquets. You didn’t tell her what it is.”
“Only after I made her fall in love with it. Okay, bouquets, corsages, boutonnieres, both the pomanders—she has two flower girls, two halos of white roses and lavender, and holding vases. Check, check, double check. Let’s load them up.”
“Do you ever get sick of flowers?” he asked her as they carried boxed bouquets.
“Absolutely not. Do you smell that lavender? Those roses?”
“Impossible not to, under the circumstances. So, a guy’s taking you out. First date or some special deal, and he brings you flowers. You’re not like: Oh, flowers. Great.”
“I’d think he was very thoughtful. God, every muscle in my body is begging for a glass of wine and a hot bath.” She stretched her back when Jack closed the cargo doors. “Okay, let’s go knock the MB’s socks off. Oh wait. Your jacket. The one you lent me. It’s inside.”
“I’ll get it later. So, did she get
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