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“Veronica Charles was an absolute delight when we had her on last summer. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a slight delay with your delivery here this morning.”
I shake my head. This lady must be delusional. No one, in the history of ever, has referred to Veronica Charles as an absolute delight.
“I’m sorry, really, but I can’t afford to get fired.”
“Do you have a number I could reach Veronica at?”
I scoff, but my respect for this woman skyrockets. If she really means to call Veronica Charles at five fifteen in the morning, she’s got more balls than I do.
“Yes.”
Her eyes drift over to the dozens of red roses in the tall white buckets on my cart. “And if I can convince her to let you help us out, you’ll do it?”
“I… uh,” I say, my mind racing. I’m sure I could pull together ten minutes’ worth of quick tips on flower arrangements or how to extend the life of a bouquet of roses, but it’s not like this Samantha woman is going to get Veronica to agree, anyway.
“Sure, yeah. I guess I could.”
“Perfect. Let’s call her, then.”
Five minutes later, it’s a done deal. And I should’ve taken notes. After raving about the amazing decor at a charity fundraiser White Glove did at The Tavern on the Green, she attended a few weeks ago, and mentioning how Veronica’s name came up quite a few times in the conversation, Samantha let it slip that Ashley Adams, the bombshell of an anchor ofRise and Shinewho’s been dating a pro quarterback for over a year now, was likely going to be in the market for a wedding florist sometime soon.
And then she slipped in the small favor of borrowing me for a few hours.
“See? Everything’s squared away. You’re free until noon,” Samantha says, handing my phone back as I stare at her, my mouth wide open. “Oh, but we’d better get you to hair and makeup right away. And wardrobe too, of course.”
“I’ll take her,” Mindy says, linking her arm with mine.
“Great, but first I’ll need your details so I can prep Ashley.”
“Sure, yeah. No problem.”
My head is spinning, trying to process the fact that this morning, maybe even within the next hour, I’m going to be on national TV.
I should text my mom. It would brighten her day to see her daughter onRise and Shineand I’ll do anything these days to make her smile. But Samantha’s next question snaps me back to reality.
“Any chance you already have a profile onThe One?”
That name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“The One?”
Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “Please tell me you’ve heard ofThe One. They’re sponsoring this entire series.”
“Wait, the dating app?”
“Find what you’re looking for,” she says in a singsong voice, repeating the slogan every single person —hell, every person— in New York City could repeat in their sleep thanks to an ad campaign that’s been plastered across the Big Apple for the past year.
Why is she asking?
“Of course, I’ve heard of them, but I don’t have a profile.”
A look of horror crosses her face. “Oh, my God. You are single, right? Mindy thought you were, but—”
“I’m as single as a dollar and I don’t want change.”
Both of them still and shoot me a look.
“Come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t heard that one before.”
