Carol was tall, about five foot ten, with short red hair. She was strong and sensible. Her idea of glamor was jeans and a blouse rather than her usual uniform of khaki cargo pants and a T-shirt. She didn’t wear much makeup or bother with jewelry. Pallas frequently wondered how much of that was Carol’s personality and how much of it was necessitated by her career.
Carol worked for the animal preserve outside of town. She was in charge of the various animals—taking care of them, making sure they had what they needed. When she’d been two, her parents had moved to South Africa to live on a preserve. After their parents’ divorce, she and Violet had split their time between the preserve and New York City.
Pallas led the way into the kitchen. She put the cookies on the counter and got the oven started, then poured sangria for them both. They walked out onto the back patio.
Pallas frequently thought the garden was the best part of the bungalow. It was walled, with a trellis, and covered with climbing and creeping plants. She didn’t have to do much other than make sure the drip watering system was working and trim off a stray shoot or two. In return she had purple and pink flowers nearly all year long. There was a small gas fireplace when the evenings got chilly and enough privacy that she could dance around naked if she wanted, without anyone ever seeing.
Not that she did. She’d never been the dance-around-naked type.
“How are things?” Carol asked when they were seated on the covered patio.
“Good. Busy. Wedding season is ramping up. You know how we all get. What’s going on with you? Did your giraffe arrive?”
Because last week Carol had been excited about the arrival of a new-to-the-animal-park giraffe.
“Millie’s here and she’s settling in.” Carol didn’t sound all that happy.
“What?” Pallas asked.
“I can’t figure out if she’s having trouble adjusting or if she’s not feeling well. She seems off.”
“No giraffe laughter?”
Carol smiled. “There is that. She’s eating, but not as much as she should. I know it’s hard for the animals to adjust to a new location. They don’t understand what’s happening and why everything familiar to them is gone. I wish I could talk to her.”
Before Pallas could comment, she heard a voice from inside the house. She stood and turned to see Violet and Natalie walking in together.
Violet looked a lot like her sister—tall and redheaded—but the similarities ended there. While Carol dressed for comfort, Violet was all about style. She was an expert with a sewing machine and could transform the plain into the extraordinary. She believed in accessories, being girlie and making a statement. Her hair was long and curly, her makeup impressive.
Natalie was a petite brunette with big brown eyes. She also had her own style, but while Violet was cutting-edge chic, Natalie was more bohemian with an Earth Mother chaser. Her glasses were bright red, her maxi dress a patchwork of color. She wore a necklace made of metal shapes that were probably rescued from the local recycling center and each of her brightly painted toes sported a different geometric design.
Pallas got everyone drinks. Natalie had brought brownies, which meant they would have plenty of sugar to finish their meal. Always a good thing. She’d barely finished filling glasses when the final two arrived.
Wynn was a curvy woman with long black hair. Her mixed-race heritage had gifted her with killer cheekbones and a dark olive complexion. She was a couple of years older than the rest of them, with a ten-year-old son. Silver was tall and true to her name, a platinum blonde. Her wild streak was reflected in both her tattoos and her career choice. Silver owned a fifth wheel trailer she’d converted into a traveling bar called AlcoHaul. The party on wheels was popular with brides, not only because Silver was good at her job but because she got into whatever theme the bride had requested—dressing in costume, tailoring the drinks menu and frequently dazzling with the perfect signature cocktail.
Mini cheesecakes were added to the dessert collection. Everyone got a glass of sangria before heading out to the patio. When they were seated, Violet turned to Pallas.
“I have a lot of ideas for the black-and-white wedding. Easy ways we can transform the courtyard without spending a lot. I’ve been working on modifications for the servers’ outfits, too.”
Pallas groaned. “Why did I agree to her idea? It’s already going to be a nightmare.”
“It’s going to be great,” Violet told her. “Different is fun.”
“Different is more work.”
Silver raised her eyebrows. “There’s that go-to spirit we all love.”
“Sorry.” Pallas sipped her drink. “I’m grateful for the work. It’s just...she wants everything black-and-white, including the horses pulling the carriage. We have a limited horse selection. When I explained that, she asked if they could be painted.”
Wynn laughed. “I hope you told her no.”
“I did.”
The black-and-white wedding was an unfortunate offshoot of the regular princess wedding that Weddings in a Box offered. At first Pallas had thought that adding the black-and-white part would be no big deal, but she was starting to have her doubts. The wedding menu of services existed for a reason. There were certain things that were available and that was it. Going too far, going “out of the box” made events too different. Although even as she thought the words, a part of her whispered she was sounding way too much like her mother. And that was so not a place she wanted to go.
“She’s having to make do with the horses we have,” Pallas continued. “The linens were easy, as were the flowers.”
“Black roses?” Silver asked drily.
“White flowers with black vases.”
“Are you going to make a black cocktail?” Carol asked Silver. “There are a lot of white drinks, but black ones?”
“I have some ideas. We’ve been emailing.” Silver grinned. “You owe me, Pallas. I’ve steered her away from some of her more outrageous ideas.”
“Then I owe you forever.”
Violet pulled a small cloth bag out of her quilted jacket pocket.
Carol sighed. “Seriously? Again?”
“They’re beautiful,” her sister told her. “And it’s interesting.”
“Only to you.”
Pallas secretly agreed with Carol. She loved Violet and appreciated the other woman’s ideas and help with the costumes, but Violet was obsessed—with buttons. Not just any buttons. Antique ones. The older and more ornate, the better. Even more scary—she actually made money selling them to designers around the world. Violet was known to be a great button dealer—if that was the description for what she did. She had contacts everywhere. Mostly elderly women who went into family attics and flea markets where they bought buttons on her behalf.
Violet opened the bag and turned it upside down. Eight glittering buttons rolled onto her palm. They were deep blue and edged in gold.
Wynn leaned closer. “Oh my God! Are those sapphires?”
“Uh-huh, surrounded by eighteen karat gold.” She smiled impishly at her sister. “See. My buttons are fun.”
“If you say so.”
Pallas chuckled. “I’m going to put the quiches in the oven. I’ll be right back.”
She headed for her kitchen. Natalie came with her. “Can I help?”
“You can keep me company.”
“I’m good at that.”
Pallas set the small quiches on a cookie sheet, then set the tray in the oven. She leaned back against the counter.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Natalie nodded. “Of course. What?”
Pallas hesitated. “Nick Mitchell is working for me. He’s restoring those wood panels we use for backdrops. They’re in pretty bad shape.” She raised a shoulder. “I looked him up online and he’s t
his gifted, successful artist. I’m not sure why he’s helping me out. I’m not paying much and this is way beneath his abilities.”
Natalie grinned. “You do realize you didn’t actually ask a question.”
“I’m not sure what it would be. I guess I want to know if I should be worried or something.”
“You shouldn’t. I don’t know Nick very well, but I’ve known his brothers a couple of years now and they’re both good guys. Crazy artists, but decent men. As for Nick being better than the project—if he doesn’t think so, I would say go with it. I’ve seen Mathias spend two days on a vase that will sell for fifty dollars because he needs to get it exactly how he wants it, and don’t get me started on Ronan. Talk about a guy who needs to chill out. They take pride in their work, and when something captures their attention, they’re all in.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
As they walked back out to the patio, Pallas told herself she would do as Natalie suggested—in other words, shut up and be grateful. She smiled to herself. She was very lucky when it came to her friends. They were there for her and kept her grounded. As she took in the walled garden, the pretty house, and thought about her business, she once again thanked Gerald for giving her a wonderful life.
CHAPTER FOUR
NICK SANDED THE sliver of wood so the point was sharper, then used tweezers to carefully put it into place. This time the fit was perfect. The restoration of the panels was painstaking work, but worth it, he thought. Something this beautiful deserved to be made whole again.
“Do you have a second?”
He looked up and saw Pallas in the doorway. Not a surprise—this was her business and from what he could tell, she was in the office every day. However, right now something was very different and every cell in his body noticed.
Instead of her usual work uniform of jeans and T-shirt, she had on a long dress. But not just any dress. It was low-cut, with a tight, black leather corset over a white short-sleeved puffy blouse and full, black-and-white vertical strip skirt that fell to the floor.
She had curves he hadn’t noticed before—the kind of curves that got a man to thinking about touching and tasting. While he’d known that Pallas was female and someone whose company he enjoyed, he hadn’t exactly seen her that way before. That he did now was unsettling. Worse was the possibility that now there was no way to unsee her.
She held out the skirt with both hands. “I have a princess wedding with a black-and-white theme. My friend Violet wants to make these changes to the server costumes.” Her voice sounded doubtful. “We’ve used this basic style forever, but she added the corset and the overlay on the skirt.”
She spun around for him to see the back, then bent over to look at the—well, he didn’t know or care what. Not with her breasts practically spilling out. Was it him or was it hot in here?
“I can’t figure out if it’s sexy or slutty. I thought I could get a man’s opinion.”
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “It looks good.”
“Really? Do you think it will be a distraction?”
“Probably, but is that bad?”
“As long as the bride isn’t pissed.” She smiled. “I guess we’ll risk it. I’ll tell her we’re a go with the slutty dresses.”
“Sexy, not slutty.”
“I can only hope.”
She released the skirt and crossed her arms under her breasts. The full curves seemed to swell toward him, which made it difficult to think about anything but walking over and pulling her close. What he would do after that wasn’t totally clear. Mostly because there were so many possibilities—there was no way to pick just one.
“I always worry when we go outside the box.”
Her words were so at odds for what he was thinking that it took him a second to respond. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a menu the brides get to pick from. All the things we offer. This time it’s different.”
“How? Don’t you usually coordinate colors with the wedding party?”
“Yes, but not this much. She wants weird things. Matching horses and other things. There are packages. I understand them. But when people want to...”
“Color outside the lines?” he offered.
“Something like that. I get nervous. I’m not like you.”
“In what way?”
“You’re an artist. You’re trained to see possibilities. The unexpected. I’m too sensible for that. I always colored inside the lines. I like the lines.” She winced. “Oh, no. I was going to say ‘I like the rules’ but I won’t. I refuse to turn into my mother.”
An interesting assessment but one that made sense based on what Alan had told him about her. “You’re saying you’re not spontaneous or fanciful, but you throw weddings for a living. By definition, you’re fulfilling people’s dreams. That’s a little outside the box.”
“Maybe. I just worry that when we try different things, something will go wrong. A wedding is a big deal. I want everything to be perfect.”
“You can’t control every aspect of what’s happening.”
She smiled. “I can sure try.”
“Sometimes the mess-ups are the best part. It’s where the magic happens.”
“I’m too pragmatic to believe in magic.”
“Now you do sound like your mother.”
Pallas’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t say that. You’ve never met her.”
“You told me all I need to know.”
She drew in a deep breath, which was a hell of distraction.
“I want to say you’re wrong, but you’re not. It’s funny, I was just thinking about this last night. I’m Libby’s daughter and sometimes she’s the voice in my head. I’d love for that to change, but I don’t know how. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was a good voice, but mostly what I hear from it is disappointment.”
“Tell the voice to shut up.”
She smiled. “Good advice. I’ll try it next time.” She tilted her head. “It’s funny how we’re all so different. I have a twin brother—Cade. He and I are so completely different. He never wanted to go into the family business. I know he loves our mother but he never worried about making her happy. He always did his own thing.”
“You envy that.”
“I do. I hate disappointing her but I can’t seem to fall into line. It’s not a comfortable place to be. I envy Cade’s ability to simply be his own person.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know, now that I think about it, a lot of my friends are creative. Violet made this. Silver has her business and it has a creative side.” She wrinkled her nose. “Natalie’s a super gifted artist.”
“Natalie Kaleta? Our Natalie?” The part-time office manager-slash-artist from Willow Gallery?
She nodded. “Have you seen her work?”
He thought about the large pieces Natalie did—paintings, but using paper and found objects instead of paint. They were bright and textured and offered an optimistic view of the world.
“She’s very talented,” he said.
“Right? I’m surrounded by you artistic types. Maybe I should let that rub off on me instead of paying attention to my mother.”
“Does Weddings in a Box help?”
“Mostly. I like what I do. I like the variety.”
“As long as they stick to the menu.”
She grinned. “Yes, the menu is our friend.” The smile faded. “There are challenges. I’m not in the best financial shape, but I’m working on it.”
“Do you pass on costs to the wedding parties? If they want something off the menu do they have to pay for it?”
“Sure. They buy a package. Anything extra is on them.”
“Then why not offer crazy things? Make them pay for it. With the right markup, you’ll increase your profit
s.”
She shifted from foot to foot. “In theory,” she began.
“But?” he asked, doing his best not to smile, because he got it. On the one hand, Pallas knew exactly what to do to make her business more solvent. On the other, the thought of making changes made her uncomfortable.
“Some of the things the brides want are unreasonable.”
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
She sighed. “This black-and-white princess wedding. She wanted zebras.”
Nick thought about the grazing animals by his brother’s house. “The ones from the animal sanctuary?”
“That’s them. Zebras. Can you believe it?”
“You told her no.”
“Of course. I looked into it and I just can’t. According to the Library of Congress zebras can’t be domesticated. They’re unpredictable and are known to attack people. To be domesticated, animals must meet certain criteria. They have to have a good disposition and shouldn’t panic under pressure.”
“Has the Library of Congress ever met a cat?”
She laughed. “I didn’t ask. My point is zebras aren’t going to work at a wedding.”
“Sure they are. Just put them in a pen somewhere and have someone watch over them. The bride pays, you make money. It’s a win-win.”
“It must be nice to simply be able to do as you please.”
“It is,” he told her. “You should try it.”
She stared at him. “Why are you here?” She smiled. “I mean why are you in Happily Inc and not wherever you’re from? I’m not asking the existential question.”
“Good because I’m not all that deep.” He considered how to answer, then decided to tell her the truth. “I’m from a small town at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. It’s called Fool’s Gold. I moved here to get away from my father.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s honest.”
“I already know your family secrets. You might as well know mine.”
“I appreciate the fairness of that.” She nodded. “I know your dad is a famous glass artist, right? Ceallach Mitchell.”
You Say It First--A Small-Town Wedding Romance Page 5
