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Allison and I look at each other and nod, stating in unison, “Mimosas!”
I take my iPad out of my tote bag and turn it on. “I don’t know how far you’ve gotten into the wedding planning process, but I wanted to show you a few venues my partner and I—”
“No need to show me. I follow you on Pinterest and Instagram. I’ve seen all your work, and I’m sold. You did my cousin’s wedding. Nicole and Victor Talini. They married at Wolfson Manor last year.”
“I remember. They were wonderful to work with. How are they?”
“Expecting a bundle of joy due any minute.”
“Please send our heartfelt congratulations.” I place the iPad on the table and fold my hands. “Usually, Jillian and I meet with the bride and groom, and we get a feel for what you want and decide if we mesh well together before signing a contract. Your wedding is an intimate experience, and nothing should keep you from enjoying it.”
“Absolutely. I am ready to start, and I know this is going to work out.”
“Okay. Great. I’ll email the contract over for you and your fiancé to sign. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? I’ll put together a vision board and proposal this week. Will you be needing wedding planning services as well or design only?”
“The whole shebang. I will go bananas if I have to make sure everything stays on schedule. Can we start with the design first?”
I nod, and she claps her hands together at the thought. This is the best and worst part of the experience. The telling of the dream wedding. Every girl has a vision of what she wants. From the venue to the flowers, music, food, decor, favors, it all comes together to make a magical day. It also adds up fast with costs that are often astronomical.
Since Jillian and I started planning weddings together, we’ve met couples who have two hundred thousand dollars to spend and others with twenty. We pride ourselves on working with all budgets, but some are hard to make the dream happen with.
“Mimosas.” The waiter appears with our drinks.
Allison and I clink our glasses and take a sip.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Is your fiancé coming?” I ask her before I begin to order.
“Yes, but he’s running late, and I don’t want to hold you up,” she says as she orders two vegetable and egg white frittatas, one for each of them.
I almost hold off on the rather fattening eggs Benedict but order it anyway because I’ve made a lot of bad decisions this weekend and I’m not going to stop by depriving myself a good meal.
The waiter walks away, and Allison gets right to discussing her dream wedding.
“The Local, the old bank on Main Street, is high on my list of dream venues. It’s so unique. I want something modern and chic with a clean look. Everything has to be white. The linens, flowers, you name it, everything crisp white. I want a photo booth … and a DJ, not a band.”
Allison continues on with her checklist of wants for the event. I don’t have to write down a thing. Everything is pretty standard as far as weddings goes. Nothing unique or special. For a girl who’s wearing her grandmother’s heirloom ring, I’m surprised there isn’t something special on her list—an ode to a family member who passed or a nod to a family tradition. Everything about the event she wants sounds gorgeous. It also seems impersonal.
I give her some ideas to flow with the kind of event she wants. Crystal chandeliers, draped from the ceiling to add some elegance. A mixture of high centerpieces to draw the eye across the room, paired with cascading rose arrangements low on every other table for a romantic effect. I suggest bringing in a live entertainer for a portion of the event, perhaps dinner.
Each of my ideas has her nodding her head with vigor. I’m almost nervous to ask what kind of budget she’s working with because she has yet to say no to anything I’ve suggested. Nothing is too extravagant for her taste.
She’s currently telling me about a particular stairwell flower arrangement she saw me build online when I’m distracted by a man.
A very specific man with a soul-piercing smolder.
William Bronson. A man I only met days ago, yet it’s the third day in a row I’m seeing him. What are the odds? Really, what are the freaking odds he would be in this restaurant, five towns away, on a Sunday afternoon? The odds must be good because he’s here. Not only is he here, but he’s also walking toward me and stopping at my table.
I don’t know what to say to the man I leaped at and kissed last night and who stopped said kiss abruptly and put me in my car as fast as lightning. I can’t immediately speak because while my mind is reeling at seeing this handsome man, his face looks anything but excited to see me.
“You’re early!” Allison beams as she stands up and kisses his cheek.
Early?
I didn’t even know he was supposed to be here. If she’s saying he’s early and she’s excited he’s here then …
Fuck.
