One-Off

by Lynn Galli

  “Good. What about the border or ribbon?”

  “Do you have plaid?” Ainsley asked her.

  Her head turned back to the order desk, a frown pulling at her features. “I’m sure if the ribbon exists, we can get it.”

  “We’ll use blue or green bows on his and yellow on hers,” I supplied. “You can choose the paper and the typeface, but Dallas should get one of her colors on her invitations. She’s already had to compromise on the colors.”

  Her jaw set but I didn’t care. I was looking at three more weeks of this crap, and I wasn’t going to compromise on everything Dallas wanted. Didn’t Colin know that weddings were mostly for the woman? He should be willing to back down on some of this crap in order to keep Dallas happy. He couldn’t have been planning every detail of this thing since he was twelve like Dallas.

  “Lots of couples decide to do that.” The woman must have sensed the tension.

  “Yes, of course,” Ainsley agreed. “That will suffice. And I think this one.” Her finger pointed to an elegant script that was readable but not overly decorative.

  “Let’s get a sample in that one and what’s your next favorite?” I asked Ainsley.

  Her eyes met mine and she almost seemed happy with something I’d done. “This one.”

  “Give those both a try on the light grey linen. This is the text.” I handed the woman a piece of paper so she could run off the samples.

  Ainsley reached for a copy of the text and read through, frowning at times. “It’s plain.”

  “It’s straightforward,” I argued.

  “They’re getting married at this church on this date and time and want the pleasure of your company?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  She sat back and studied me. “You really aren’t a romantic, are you?”

  “What are you getting at?” I tried not to sound prickly. I didn’t consider myself a person who got goofy over love, but I made an effort for the women I took out.

  “Aside from the fact that you never dated in grad school?” Her eyes flickered. “Can’t be easy dating from the closet.”

  Smug, know-it-all bitch. Had she been setting me up all night just to deliver that line? “You don’t know anything.” Just because I didn’t wear my sexuality on my sleeve like she had in college didn’t make me closeted. I didn’t even have time to date in grad school, and what did she care anyway?

  “You’re not a lesbian? My cousin got that wrong, did he?”

  “What does that have to do with being romantic?”

  “I’m just wondering why you felt you needed to deny who you were in grad school.”

  My head was shaking before I said, “I wasn’t.”

  “Had lots of sex with women when I wasn’t at the apartment, did you?” Those flashing eyes were becoming distracting. “The roommates never mentioned that. You must have been really stealthy.”

  “I’m not discussing this with you.” Or anyone.

  “But you are discussing it, lass.” Her eyebrows rose, daring me to deny it. “You knew I was gay. The roommates never left that alone. Yet you never said anything.”

  “What does any of this matter?”

  “How about hiding who you were? Not being honest with us or yourself?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was being edged into a corner and didn’t care for that feeling at all. “We didn’t do a lot of sharing back then.”

  She looked at me for a long time. Disappointment, intrigue, and bother came through. “Nay, we didn’t.”

  That sounded vaguely like she might be regretting that.

  Eight

  Well after most of the day’s classes should be over, Red Square on the Georgetown campus still looked to be in the middle of a morning class changeover. I fought my way through the stream of students, feeling old but damn glad I wasn’t in school anymore. I wasn’t exactly happy to be here, but it was the easiest on both our schedules.

  The idea of working with this woman for another three weeks grated my skin. She still had the ability to wind me up over absolutely nothing. I’d spent so many of my nights at Columbia bickering with her over the stupidest things. Once we even argued about which side dishes went best with lamb. As a Scot, she felt she knew everything there was to know about lamb. I just wanted to needle her but ended up getting as hot about it as she had. I don’t even eat lamb. Absolutely no outcome to the argument would have made a difference in my life, but I hadn’t been able to let it go. The arguing felt like an addiction at times, not just a break from studying or something different to my agreeable and often frivolous college friends.

  The ICC building came into view before me. If I timed this right I’d catch her getting ready to leave. Then we could get this florist appointment over with quickly and I could go home to relax for the first time since Dallas dropped the news of the looming deadline.

  Not one open seat remained in the packed auditorium. I’d hoped to slip in, gather Ainsley, and get out, but she hadn’t even finished talking. She stood on the stage, a vibrant photo of a castle nestled on rocky hills covered the screen behind her. She was describing a battle that took place at the castle. Everyone was riveted to her narrative.

  Her voice carried, her presence commanding. That wild hair of hers was tied back into a billowy ponytail. From my spot it looked practically tame, but one tug on the fastener and it would bunch out to surround her shoulders. The gold wire-rimmed glasses did nothing to take away the breathtaking color of her eyes. She wore a silk blouse that molded to her torso and a pencil skirt that ended two inches above her knees. Below that the most sinful pair of leather boots began, skimming over her calves and down to encase her feet. Delicate buckles cinched the legs tighter, adding texture and tantalizing grips.

  Sexy boots. Really? I didn’t think she had it in her. She’d always dressed so conservatively at Columbia. Not that I’d noticed back then. I didn’t notice anything other than my studies until I had those degrees in hand and that internship turned into the job of my dreams. I barely noticed that I didn’t like dating guys until well into grad school.

  I leaned against the back wall. My eyes roamed over the students, a mix of ages from late teens to late twenties. I focused on Ainsley. Her fervor was almost palpable. She absolutely loved what she was saying. It made her glow bright and sure as a beacon in the darkened room. The resemblance to her cousin was so evident I didn’t know how I never spotted it before. They had the same angle to their jaws and spacing between their eyes. Her features were more delicate than his chisel, but the family resemblance was there. Seeing how she commanded the room the way Colin took control of every camera shot, they were more like siblings than cousins.

  “Thank you, Dr. Baird.” A woman in a knit skirt and peasant top stepped up beside Ainsley. “We’re honored to have you with us tonight. If only we could persuade you to stay.” Her hand beckoned the audience into rousing applause. “Our guest lecture series has reached to the highest status thanks to you.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.” Ainsley smiled and gave what looked like a curtsy when the audience broke into applause again. Pink tinged her cheeks, making her appear vulnerable. She’d always been larger than life and a little snide when I knew her. Our two roommates loved her. Even my friends fawned all over her as soon as she opened her mouth and that lilting accent spilled forth. Vulnerable was a rarity for her.

  It took a while before the majority of the audience filed out of the auditorium. Ainsley was still being mobbed by a small group. My eyes flicked to my watch. We’d be late if she went any longer.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted to no gain. “Pardon me.” Louder this time. Ainsley’s eyes found mine through the group. They narrowed slightly but went back to professor mode quickly. “I hate to interrupt, but,” I said and pointed to my watch so Ainsley would take the hint.

  “Oh?” the other professor asked. “Something we’re keeping you from, Dr. Baird? I’d hoped to pick your brain a little mor
e about ideas for expanding my European history course. And of course, try to convince you to take the guest lecture spot for next semester.”

  The twinkle in her eyes set my teeth on edge. Did she honestly think no one would notice she was trying to seduce Ainsley? After a lecture, surrounded by students, and for all she knew, Ainsley’s date for the night. She worked here, didn’t she? A little decorum should be the overriding theme in this setting. My eyes went back to gauge the flirty signals she was tossing Ainsley’s way. Correction: a lot of decorum was warranted.

  “We are late, I’m afraid,” Ainsley confirmed. She didn’t look regretful, but she didn’t look eager to leave the woman’s company either.

  “Oh, too bad. How long are you in town? Maybe another night?”

  Ainsley flashed her a smile. Nothing in it shut down the flirtation. Briefly I wondered if she was doing this for my benefit. To show me that everyone else liked her, some even enough to date her. “Perhaps,” she agreed.

  The smile slide from her face as she approached me. Yeah, same here. We turned without speaking and headed outside.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked as we approached my car.

  “Yes.” I bit back the irritation at her intentional baiting. One time I’d gotten the roommates lost when we were walking around New York. One time, and she never let me forget it.

  Her head turned and I felt the stare burn a hole in my cheek. “Thanks for coming to collect me.”

  My step faltered. Had she just thanked me for something? The last time was when she was sick with the flu and laid out in our apartment. The other roommates purposefully spent three nights at their boyfriends’ places to avoid catching whatever she had. I’d canceled my study groups to keep the flu contained and spent three days making sure she had soup, crackers, ginger ale, and tissues. She’d been so surprised by my caregiving, it earned me a month free of snarky comments. I would have done it for any of our roommates, especially someone so far from home. No one liked being sick. Having someone around to make sure she didn’t die when she felt like dying was the least anyone could do.

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t realize you were giving a guest lecture while you’re here.”

  “You thought I’d be leeching off my cousin for a few weeks?”

  I shook my head in disgust. The moment of civility had passed. “I didn’t know you’d be here at all, but seeing you in the tux shop weeks ahead of the wedding, yeah, I figured you’d be on vacation.”

  “When Colin encouraged me to visit, I thought about taking a break, but I’ve been getting requests for guest talks for years. I thought I could combine the pleasure trip with a little business.”

  “Do you have more lectures planned?”

  She nodded. “Next week at American University and the following at University of Maryland.”

  “The material sounded interesting and it was well received.”

  “You’re surprised.”

  I opened the passenger door for her. “I’m not. I read your thesis, remember?”

  She’d been shocked when she saw me reading through the copy she’d left for our roommates to read. They’d skimmed sections, but I read the whole thing. It was scholarly and publishable. She hadn’t gotten angry that I’d read it and even seemed to appreciate that I’d taken the time when our other roommates hadn’t.

  “Aye,” she acknowledged when I joined her in the car. “I also remember the red marks you made.”

  I cringed. My curse, when I read something I proof it. “I probably saved you half a grade point with those edits.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “You keep forgetting that the majority of your professors were American. They don’t find the extra ‘u’ in words necessary. You could pull that with the Scottish professor you stalked across the Atlantic, but not your others.”

  “I didn’t stalk him,” she insisted.

  “He was at St. Andrews, where you were headed, until he took a position at Columbia. Suddenly, you’re going there instead. That’s the definition of stalking.”

  “It is not. He was the best option, really the only professor that could get me into the postgraduate field I wanted at Cambridge and later Glasgow. If I’d stayed at St. Andrews, I might not be where I am today.”

  Her tone made me backtrack on the tease. I knew how exclusive her PhD field was, having the right professor on her team went a long way with the admissions committees. “I was joking.”

  “I,” she started and paused, pursing her lips. “I can’t always tell.”

  That was a big admission on her part. “I could be less subtle.”

  “That would help.”

  In college I used to think she always needed the last word. I could still be right about that, but I wasn’t sure in this case. We had to work together for a few weeks. I needed to start giving her the benefit of the doubt. If only to avoid aging before my time.

  Nine

  I pulled to the curb in front of a flower shop that Gary suggested. It looked more posh than substance and nothing like the floral shop owned by a friend of mine. We got out of the car and entered the shop to discover I’d been right in my assessment. Dainty arrangements decorated a few tables, but no other stock could be seen.

  “Where are all the flowers?” Ainsley asked in a hushed voice.

  A woman in tight black everything slinked toward us. “Ms. MacKinnon?”

  I extended my hand and watched as she bounced her eyes back and forth between Ainsley and me. I waited to see if she’d comment. I assumed Gary told her to expect two women, not a man and a woman.

  “Fabulous.” Her tone didn’t suggest that exactly, but she reached behind the counter and brought out an iPad. She gestured to a sleek chrome table. On it, the floral arrangement consisted of five red roses and one white with some leafy greens. “Let’s take a look at what we can do for your wedding.”

  I frowned and wondered if I needed to clarify whose wedding we were planning. Not that the woman seemed concerned as she opened her tablet and began finger swiping through various photos of arrangements.

  “Are there preferences you have?”

  Of course there are preferences. Do people really come into a floral shop for their wedding flowers and not have preferences? I wasn’t much of a flower person, but even I have preferences.

  “Nothing white,” Ainsley said.

  The woman swiveled her head to look at her. “White is traditional for weddings. It’s a must.”

  That was the best way to get me to do the exact opposite. “Why?” I asked Ainsley.

  “White flowers are often used in funeral arrangements in Scotland.”

  I could see where that might make someone shiver seeing a white floral arrangement at a wedding. “It would be nice to find colors that complement the wedding colors so we aren’t drowning in blue, green, purple, and yellow.”

  “That’s an interesting mix,” the woman said diplomatically while still showing signs of a frown.

  “It’s a compromise.”

  “Ah, who wanted what?” Her finger waved between us.

  “We’re planning for my friend and her fiancé.”

  “Oh.” She straightened, physically distancing herself. I could see the hope of a commission drain from her expression. She thought we were there to peruse the offerings, not make decisions and place orders.

  “Yeah,” I said because I wasn’t sure what to do with someone who looked like she was almost refusing to serve us.

  “Skye.” Ainsley startled me with the use of my name. She hadn’t addressed me by name since she’d arrived. “My headache has gotten worse. Can we reschedule?”

  What headache? I caught the look of relief on the woman’s face and figured out what Ainsley was doing. I honestly didn’t think she had the acting chops to pull this off. “Sure. We’ll have the planner call to reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “No problem.” Tight black everything swept from the table as if leading an entourage into the
back of the shop where she must hold the flowers hostage.

  Ainsley and I made our way back to the car. I reached for the passenger door at curbside to open it for her. Ainsley gave me and the open door a lingering glance before slipping into the car.

  “I’ve never been to a flower shop that didn’t have any flowers.” She looked back at the store.

  Sitting in the car, I now realized how uneasy I’d been inside, like we were being interviewed before they’d allow us to order flowers. “Gary’s going to have a heart attack.”

  “You must know of other florists.”

  “There’s a small shop by my office. She doesn’t do weddings, but we can ask if she’ll make an exception for Dallas.” I put the car in gear and got us going in that direction. “I can take care of this if you really have a headache.”

  “I just said that to get out of there. I felt like we were in a sketch comedy version of a flower shop.”

  I laughed and Ainsley’s eyes widened in surprise at the sound. When she knew me in grad school, I was a pretty serious thing, especially around someone who seemed irritated by my very existence. That was going to have to change. We’d need all the humor we could find if we were going to get through this to the wedding.

  The atmosphere in the next shop was completely different. About half the size of the last place, Morgan had flowers, plants, and trees displayed everywhere. The front held as much inventory as the back storeroom. Even without liking flowers, I loved this place. It helped that I really liked the owner.

  “Skye,” Morgan greeted as she came out from the behind the counter. Her champagne blond hair was twisted into a messy bun with most of the ends hanging free. Despite having worked alone in the shop all day, her hazel green eyes were bright and shiny. “What brings you in? Another staff retirement?”

  Ainsley turned a surprised gaze my way. “You’re a regular?”

  “Everyone likes flowers.”

  “You don’t.”

  My head jerked into a double-take. How would she know that? Her fleeting smile didn’t tell me anything. It wasn’t like I hated flowers. They weren’t one of my least favorite things.