by Laura Briggs
Of course not. She was as free as a bird, just like Chad with his long Ecuadorian treks in the company of some local cliff guide. It was ridiculous to suggest that she would even consider settling down at this point in life, much less so quickly in a relationship—and to consider it at all, even with someone as outwardly attractive as Chad, would prove she was certifiable.
Crazy. That was the word for it, in Natalie’s book… yet, deep inside her, there was something appealing about the idea of not having her mom nagging her over the holidays just this once. No scolding from the other Grenaldis for showing up alone to every family event, or anyone telling her how sad it was that she didn’t have anybody to share her life yet. How could they say it if there was hope, albeit a small one planted in her family’s minds, that she’d finally found a chance for supposed romantic happiness?
They’d probably die of shock. No time to say “I told you so” with triumph at the sight of Natalie and Chad side by side at the dinner table. They’d be too amazed by Natalie actually being willing to bring someone to dinner to question whether it was the last holiday they’d be seeing him with her. Air castles would be built—who needed to know that she and Chad would blow them aside like clouds a couple of months later?
“What do you think?” Chad asked, with that tiny little joking smile that tended to betray the fact his lips were on the thin side. “You take me to one of your family’s Christmas parties, I introduce you to my mom and a couple of friends as my ‘serious’ girlfriend. Since we’re dating already, who would say we’re lying?”
“Nobody,” admitted Natalie, shaking her head. “Well, except for my shocked family members. But they’ll all be struck dead the second I actually escort a guy into my mother’s dining room.”
“How far do you think we’d have to go to make them happy?” Chad mused. “Fake proposal? Fake ring?”
“How about a plastic diamond?” said Natalie. “Kidding. I think showing up at Ma’s Christmas dinner would be good enough to impress.”
“We have a deal?” asked Chad, holding out his hand, business style. “Seriously fake-dating until after the holidays? Exclusively seeing each other until our families are past the celebratory period?”
“Until St. Patrick’s Day.” Natalie held out her hand, shaking Chad’s to seal the deal. “This might be the first Christmas dinner I actually enjoy in years, if we actually do it.”
“See? Dating me is worth it, even if you’re not much for rock climbing,” remarked Chad.
“Or South American stew,” added Natalie, pushing aside her bowl while making a face. “Is there any leftover pasta in the fridge?”
“Give it a chance, will you?” said Chad. “You need to broaden your horizons.”
Not that much, Natalie thought. So long as this relationship lasted, they were eating Italian. Maybe they should lay down a few ground rules for their so-called exclusivity contract.
He collected her bowl and put it by the sink, and ladled a second serving for himself from the dish on the table, as Natalie found herself humming a song under her breath, the one that Chad had given as an example of how they could dodge their respective families’ judgment over the holidays… at the price of further scrutiny and questions, she imagined, albeit cheerful ones. How could their relatives not ask what level of seriousness their relationship had reached, for instance? Or about the wheres and whens of all a serious relationship’s milestones? Nothing would satisfy her mom for long on the subject of happiness, probably, except maybe commitment itself.
Then again, what if everyone believed it without question?
Chad was gone by nine, with a suggestion that they have lunch together next Wednesday at a vegan sandwich shop the company’s latest shoe designer had introduced him to after a meeting. He took the stew’s leftovers with him, aware that Natalie would toss them into the trash if he didn’t—Natalie opened a leftover tomato pesto ziti dish from her fridge and dug in with relish as soon as he left, propping her feet on the kitchen table.
Her phone buzzed. Can u help bake Christmas bread nxt wk? her mom asked.
Maybe, Natalie texted back. Busy at work. And stuff.
She knew her mom would interpret ‘stuff’ as her personal life, including her love life, and waited for the usual text in reply, prepared to roll her eyes in response. As usual. Make time for family, ok? Not just empty flings.
This was Natalie’s cue for a cutting reply about how she was content with her life. Instead, her fingers paused over the buttons.
Christmas Eve dinner at our house, her mom texted in the pause. Can u bring bean salad?
Sure, texted Natalie. Her fingers touched the keypad again. Set 2 places for me.
The long pause was worth it. The reply popped onto the screen. Chad?
Yes.
He’s coming with u? If shock had a digital tone—or her mother knew how to insert emojis in a text—these words would express it in full force.
Natalie smiled. He wants to see my family, she added for effect. He said so.
The reply her mother fired back was lightning fast. Why?
Maybe he’s thinking of the future? This was a bold reply. With a smile fully crossing her lips, Natalie left that answer on its own. Salad is fine. Nite.
She tossed her phone onto a sofa cushion, and leaned back with a smile, imagining what kind of rumors would now spread through her family tonight. She had just tossed a bomb into their lives, metaphorically speaking—and her mother’s contact list would probably be a live wire for the next hour in the family phone chain. She might even be engaged by the end of that speculative exchange.
With a shake of her head, she finished off the pasta. Nobody would be crazy enough to believe that. Her, Natalie, not dating anybody else for two whole months would be a record in itself.
It might be a sacrifice worth making, putting aside her carefree life temporarily. Worth putting her dating life on hold, just one time, if she didn’t have to hear her life choices as the butt of disapproval and jokes over cranberry Christmas bread at the family’s holiday brunch.
Deep, calming breaths. Tessa was not being forced to drive Party 2 Go’s hotdog truck for a living again, not yet anyway. She could still find a way to keep Wedding Belles financially afloat, even if their only event for this month was disappearing fast and her dream career was stumbling on its shaky legs.
No shakier than her real ones at this moment, she thought. She owed Blake an apology—she owed Natalie and Ama realistic words about their future if business didn’t pick up for them. If the billboard failed, if this wedding stayed cancelled… she might not like to think about those things, but she had to.
The little room’s walls around her were off-white, dotted with graying spackle where Blake had patched them. The only decor was the pile of paint tarps, a scarred mantelpiece, Blake’s aluminum ladder, and a worn armchair and card table shoved in there for the purpose of stacking up supplies for Nadia and Lyle’s defunct ceremony.
Gazing around, Tessa remembered looking forward to painting this place, something that now seemed mostly like an additional expense they didn’t need. Maybe Blake had a point about ‘Valentine Red’ anyway. She had thought of it as part of their unique ‘ghetto chic’ style which someone like Mac couldn’t understand—but having four red walls closing in on her right now might be a little more than she could stand.
She should have bought the bargain green paint, called ‘Mint Chip’ or something like it.
She heard a double knock on the doorframe, and discovered Blake was standing there. “Can I come in?” he asked.
Tessa drew her feet out of the armchair and sat up straighter. “Sure,” she said.
He sat down on the edge of the card table. “I think we need to talk about what’s going on between us,” he said.
Flames of rose colored Tessa’s cheeks, along with the memory of her lips brushing against Blake’s, tenderly. The talk that wasn’t, she thought, flashing back to those words before his departure for Virginia.
&nb
sp; “There’s nothing going on between us,” she answered, quickly and emphatically, as if he was the one being crazy now. She didn’t want to discuss this, not now.
“Then you blew up at me just now for no reason?” said Blake. “I don’t think so. Look… I want to apologize for calling you jealous a moment ago. That was a petty way to put things, and I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”
“I’m not jealous, so you don’t have to worry,” said Tessa loftily.
“Then there’s nothing to talk about?” said Blake. “Call me crazy, because I’ve had the feeling there’s something we haven’t been saying for a while. Since… well, since a few weeks ago.”
Longer than that. But, in a way, it was nice to know it was that vivid in his mind. This was the fleeting reaction of Tessa’s brain before she mustered the courage to reply. “About that,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “About that. Maybe it’s time we cleared the air.”
The elephant in the room, the subject they had been avoiding for months. Finally, it was at hand, and there was no way to escape.
She took a deep breath. “I know what you’re probably thinking,” she said. “I thought it wouldn’t be awkward after a while, but I guess it is. I think it’s—it’s because I don’t know what to say to you. I was being too weird about the whole thing. So on an issue like paint or fixtures, I just exploded, sort of. Especially when it came to your decorating friend Mac.” She managed to say the name without a biting tone.
“I know the problem with her suggestions wasn’t about paint color or whether we change some feature in your building,” said Blake. “I already figured out that the problem you have with Mac is really about me.”
The fire consumed Tessa’s whole face as the emotions of confusion, elation, panic, and astonishment swept through her. Suddenly, her fingertips couldn’t feel her skirt’s fabric beneath them anymore, and unfinished thoughts were crashing into each other in her mind. What had he just said to her?
“I want you to know that working with her doesn’t change things with us in any way,” he said. “I know you probably assumed a lot of things when I told you about the Springer Street house, and how I was getting to work with a real crew again, and with somebody who knows their way around the home restoration community. But I didn’t mean to make you feel threatened by it, or that what’s going on here wasn’t important to me.”
“Are you—you mean that I—are you saying that we—?” Flustered, the words were not coming out right, because she didn’t know which ones to choose. If her heart wasn’t skipping beats, it would help her think clearly at this moment.
“You’re too professional for that kind of jealousy, I know,” said Blake. “But if you think that I’m going to quit this place, that isn’t true. Even if I land another project like the Springer house, I’m not going to let you down. I’ll still be around to see that this place holds itself together.”
Professional jealousy. As in, fear that Mac was going to steal Blake away from Wedding Belles itself, with its desperate need of repairs for crooked joists and dry rot. Not Tessa’s own personal fear of losing him to a smart, attractive professional woman who worked in his field. Relief flooded her and washed away the previous bonfire of emotion in a mere second’s time… replacing it with another feeling that was strangely crushing and somber. Almost like disappointment, really.
“I didn’t mean to sound angry,” she said, after taking a moment to collect her words. What she meant was strangely lost inside her, at this moment.
“You had a right to be, if you think I’m bossing you around when it comes to this place,” he said. “You’re right when you say that it’s your office, your fixtures. Your ‘Ghost of Romance’ wall paint, or whatever it is.”
Tessa’s lips twitched. “‘Romantic Blue,’” she corrected him. “And… you’re right. I was jealous, in a way. You are spending more time at your other work sites, and I felt like we were losing you, not just as a contractor, but as a partner. As a friend too,” she amended. “You’ve helped us out so many times. Working without you at this point would just feel… weird. Almost like working without Nat or Ama.”
“I won’t tell you what to do with your office ever again,” he said. “I’ll put your devil—your ‘Valentine Red’ on these walls, and never mention those green paint samples ever again.”
“Green is kind of a pretty color,” said Tessa. “Maybe sort of a soft gray-green.”
“So are we changing things? Because I’d like to know before I prime the walls.”
Tessa shook her head. “No,” she said. “‘Valentine Red’ will be fine. It was certainly cheap enough compared to having something mixed especially for us. We need all the cheap we can get, especially if we don’t want to lose our very talented contractor.”
They both laughed. “I’m glad we cleared the air on this,” said Blake. “I was starting to be afraid that things were going to be pretty awkward around here.”
“I was just under a lot of stress with the wedding and the tight business budget,” she said. “I took it out on you instead of facing up to it.” She laughed. “I guess I sounded a little crazy upstairs.”
“I’ve heard worse,” said Blake. “And from people besides you.”
“Thanks,” said Tessa sarcastically.
“Then we’re good,” he said. A smile twitched Blake’s lips again. “You know, before, when you were acting weird around Mac, I kind of thought that something else was going on. When you ripped into her work upstairs, for a moment I started thinking something crazy about all this… that it wasn’t just a professional problem between us.”
He had been studying the floor until he lifted his eyes to Tessa’s with these last few words. Even though his voice was casual, it was almost like a question had emerged now that Tessa was no longer expecting it to come, and was floating in the air between them. He had been thinking that ‘something’ wasn’t strictly professional. That, for instance, there was chemistry between them, and that her feelings were not those of a coworker and friend.
“Because of what happened before…” she began.
“At the first wedding, yeah,” he said. “And some of the stuff that happened afterwards.”
“I guess we didn’t talk about it, did we?” she said. Here we go, she thought, her body tensing, as if bracing itself for a sudden plunge on a roller coaster.
“No. But if there was something to say, then we could,” he said. “Obviously.”
Their eyes met, and neither of them said anything. A long second passed, and Tessa felt locked in place beneath those blue eyes, and the questions and fears inside her. Her tongue was stuck, and she felt the same sense of fear as when she’d stood on stage in the third grade play waiting to say her one and only line as a head of cabbage. Her knees would be shaking, except they were locked in this folded position with nothing to support.
Blake laughed a little bit; so did Tessa, although hers was from sheer nervousness. Her hands were shaking, as was the rest of her, although she supposed that could be attributed to her laughter to an outsider.
Now was the chance to say something different to him, and change the meaning of everything that had happened between them. Tessa’s lips moved, fear welling up inside like an underground water spring.
“That would definitely be crazy, wouldn’t it?” she said. Her eyes broke contact with his now. “I mean, for either of us to think that would be pretty ridiculous, right?”
“I guess so,” said Blake. A short laugh. “Like I said, it was just for a moment.”
Crushing disappointment. It was burdening Tessa, making her feel worse than before. She was shrinking away from the feeling, and from the impulse now deflated within her; it gave her laugh a hollow quality and made her feel strangely like crying, even more so than during her fit of temper upstairs.
Her cell phone trilled to life. Tessa answered it, recognizing one of the numbers for Accented Creations on its screen. “Hello, this is Tessa Miller,�
�� she answered.
“Ms. Miller, we have a problem,” said a clipped—and extremely upset—voice on the other end. “It’s a complete disaster. All the plants from greenhouse four through seven are completely ruined, including the ones intended for Mr. Groeder’s clients.”
“Ruined?” She motioned for Blake to wait as he rose from the table. “What happened?”
“An utter failure of the electrical system that operates the smart thermostats. Last night’s precipitation apparently shorted out the electrical box, and caused the thermostat for the first three greenhouses to fall below twenty degrees. What’s more, the explosion in the box shook loose one of the irrigation pipes inside and flooded the whole place before the temperature dropped. Every plant has frozen, and the floor is covered in ice—it’s like a skating rink in there—”
“It’s the florist,” she said, covering the mouthpiece. Blake sensed something in her voice and sat down again. Tessa switched the call to speakerphone.
“—then the thermostat malfunctioned and ratcheted up the temperature in the last greenhouse to one hundred and fifty degrees,” the voice on the other end declared. “The bouquets are wilted beyond repair. It’s hopeless.”
“Are you saying there are no flowers available?” Tessa met Blake’s eyes, this time in an exchange of professional concern and not personal searching.
“It might be possible to do something for you,” began the assistant on the other line, doubtfully. “But Mr. Groeder might prefer to contact another florist. We’ll return ten percent of his client’s deposit as per our disaster policy, and offer a discount on any future orders they place with us.”
Ten percent? That hardly seemed fair, Tessa thought—not that it mattered if the wedding was canceled. “Surely all the flowers in your greenhouses weren’t earmarked for someone’s special event,” she said. “Can’t you simply redesign the centerpieces a little, with some substitutes for anything you don’t have in stock? Even if you have to find another source to provide a few missing ones… they don’t have to be from an Accented Creations greenhouse per se—”
