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Rose chuckles, nudging me playfully. “Aria, I’m starting to see why you have been blushing since I arrived.”
I roll my eyes, trying to deflect the teasing. “Oh, please. It’s not like that. We’re just old friends catching up.”
Rose raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sure, Aria. Just old friends. Anyway, we should head inside and meet the florist. I’m dying to discuss the floral arrangements.”
We step into the florist’s shop, greeted by a fragrant burst of flowers in every hue imaginable. The florist, a cheerful woman with a keen eye for design, welcomes us.
“Hello to the lovely bride-to-be! I’m Lily, your floral designer for the day. Let’s make your wedding bloom with beauty,” she exclaims, her enthusiasm contagious.
Rose dives into a detailed discussion about her vision for the wedding. “I’m thinking a romantic palette–blush pinks, ivory, and touches of gold. Something timeless and elegant, you know?”
Lily nods, taking notes. “Lovely choice. And for the bouquets, any specific flowers you have in mind?”
Rose looks at me, seeking my input. “Aria, what about those peonies you adore so much? They would add a touch of whimsy, don’t you think?”
I nod in agreement. “Peonies are perfect, Rose. They’re romantic and classic, just like you want.”
As the conversation continues, Rose and I discuss centerpieces, aisle decor, and even consider a flower wall for the perfect photo backdrop. Lily offers insightful suggestions with her keen eye for design.
Lily smiles, impressed with our choices. “You two have a fantastic vision. With these floral arrangements, your wedding will be a breathtaking celebration of love.”
As we leave the florist’s shop, Rose can’t resist teasing me again. “Aria, you were practically glowing around Cade earlier. Do you have something to tell me?”
I playfully roll my eyes, steering the conversation away. “Oh, please. Let’s focus on the flowers, not my nonexistent love life. Now, what do you think about adding some greenery to the reception?”
Rose laughs, shaking her head. “Fine, let’s talk about greenery. But mark my words, dearest Maid of Honor—there’s something more going on there, and I’m determined to find out.”
And so, with laughter echoing through the charming streets, we head back, armed with a vision of a wedding adorned with the beauty of flowers and the warmth of shared memories.
As Rose and I part ways, I decide to treat myself to a nice dinner at a charming restaurant in Sweet Haven. The ambiance is cozy with soft music playing in the background as I peruse the menu. Just as I settle into my seat, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, well, Aria. Fancy meeting you here. Are you stalking me now?” Cade teases, a playful smirk on his face.
I turn around with a mock gasp. “Stalking you? Please, Cade. I have better things to do than follow you around Sweet Haven.”
He chuckles, taking the seat across from me. “Good to know. So, what brings you to this fine establishment?”
I grin. “Just treating myself to a post-wedding planning dinner. You know, celebrating surviving the floral escapade.”
Cade raises an eyebrow. “Surviving? It couldn’t be that bad.”
I lean in conspiratorially. “You didn’t see Rose debating between roses and peonies for an hour. It was a floral battlefield.”
He laughs, the sound filling the air. “I can only imagine. So, tell me, what’s the verdict on the wedding flowers?”
As I share the details of our floral choices, we find ourselves delving into memories of our school days. The conversation flows effortlessly, the restaurant providing the perfect backdrop for our trip down memory lane.
“I remember you were the queen of bake sales back in school. Always had the best cookies,” Cade reminisces, a nostalgic twinkle in his eye.
I grin, recalling those days. “Ah, the legendary chocolate chip cookies. They were a hit. I even had a secret ingredient.”
Cade leans in, intrigued. “Secret ingredient? Do tell.”
I lower my voice dramatically. “Love. That’s what made them special.”
He bursts into laughter, and I join in, the joy of shared memories filling the space between us. As we chat about school antics, teachers, and the mischief we got into, I can’t help but appreciate the unexpected connection we’re building.
“Remember Mrs. Johnson’s math class?” Cade asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
