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“Did they deliver them to the porch or is everything at least in the house?”
“I haven't put everything in the house. What could fit in your room, I had them put it in there. If it didn't fit in there, I had them put it in the guest room. You know how I am. I got all my stuff sorted and situated so I started unboxing your stuff.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter. Again, this doesn't surprise me at all.
“I understand. Don't worry about it. I have a feeling I know where it came from. I'll see you later.”
An alarm on my phone buzzes. When I look down, I see a reminder to head over to Hope House.
As I'm heading to Hope's office, I notice her and another blonde woman in a colorful pantsuit heading towards the conference room. Journee sees me and rushes over.
“Hey Honey, did you tell me you were coming here today?”
Smiling, I shake my head.
“No. What's going on?”
“Interviews for the upcoming charity race that Mr. Shaw is participating in.”
“Who's with Hope?”
Journee shakes her head then pats my hand. I didn't even feel her grab it.
“I forget you don't follow the fashion world or magazines or anything really.” She sucks their teeth. “Her name is Paris Isabel Kelley. She used to work with Hope’s brother, Logan Alexander. They went their separate ways. I think there was a domestic dispute or whatever. Either way, Paris is this really amazing photographer. We have her book on our coffee table at home. I also follow her blog. the stories she tells some of the most entertaining I’ve ever read.” Journee tugs my hand. “Come with me. Hope asked me to sit with her while she waits on Mr. Shaw.”
I’m so happy to see Journee smile and practically all her wounds healed. I allow her to lead me towards the room.
“I apologize. Do you mind sitting with Journee and Ms. Kelley for a little bit? I’m sure Jaxson is running just a little bit behind. I have some paperwork to clear up for tomorrow’s fair. It’s something that slipped through the cracks even though Jaxson and I have been double and triple checking things.” When I nod, she squeezes my hand. “Thank you for understanding.”
“It’s fine. I probably should be in there anyway. Journee is floating right now. She’s a fan.”
Hope laughs then heads towards her office. I, in turn, join my friend and her idle in the conference room. My arrival time is perfect. Journee is about to drench the pour woman in water. I tap Journee’s shoulder just in time. I take the seat next to Journee and tune in to the woman’s story.
“I was recently the photographer for a wedding where the bride walked down the aisle to the theme music ofThor: Love and Thunder,” Ms. Kelley tells us.
I watch as Journee’s mouths drop open. I’m thinking this must have been an amazing sight. I do recognize the movie.
“Tell me you have pics. There has to be evidence since you witnessed this thing,” Journee says.
“Hell yes! This shit was epic. The bodice of the bride’s wedding dress was pure, starch white. From the waist down were the most stunning arrangements of colors I’ve ever seen. From the bottom up was black then blues through to a vibrant red. The colors kept going through, from a yellow to a pale beige to finally a staunch, perfect white that matched the bodice. The train followed the same pattern. I’d never seen a dress like hers before.”
“It sounds like it was unbelievably stunning,” I state.
“It was.” Ms. Kelley nods then continues. “The bride’s bouquet matched the colors of her skirt and train. It was breathtaking. The guests didn’t get to initially enjoy how beautiful it was. The bride is a theatre major with dreams of being on Broadway. Which means ...”
“This wedding was a full-on production and spectacle,” Hope adds as she walks in.
“You can say that again.” Paris turns to face Hope then quickly adds. “Don’t. It’s not necessary.”
“I forgot how well we know each other. Continue for the uninitiated.”
Journee snickers before Paris continues with her retelling of the events of this wedding. She’s just finished telling how the bride had someone toss her “the hammer” and her new husband caught it when I feel the tingle. Daire appears in the doorway. He doesn’t look like his normal self. He’s tightly wound, but it seems I’m the only one who can see it.
“Finally. I thought you were going to be a ‘no show’. Daire Deville meet ...,” Hope begins when she sees him.
“Paris Isabel Kelley. We’ve met,” he says.
“Not only have we met. We know each other quite well. Don’t we, Mr. Shaw?” Ms. Kelley asks.
