The Key to Happily Ever After

by Tif Marcelo

  “Say no more.” He put a hand up. “I’m a believer. Now, is she?” His gaze flashed to Daphne.

  Pearl was glad for the change of subject. “I daresay yes. But it might be time to back off, for now.”

  “You’re the boss. I, for one, am starving. Want to grab something to eat?”

  “Oh.” She hedged on agreeing. It was one thing for him to fill in for Kayla, but another to grab dinner with him. “It’s after eight, way too late. If I eat, I really won’t sleep.”

  He stood, the muscles of his upper thigh flexing. Pearl looked away, her mind scurrying back into the studio, where he’d shown his physical strength. Today, he’d stripped shirtless, unveiling his defined abs. Unlike the men she’d encountered at their local gym, who ogled themselves in the mirror while they pumped iron, Trenton moved with a smooth, humble grace. It made him sexier.

  His voice was playful, though still a whisper. “Oh, so I see. I’m a part-time pretend boyfriend now. Good enough to flaunt half naked but not enough to take out for a late-night snack?”

  “You caught me.” She grinned up at him. “I’m a player underneath all this Athleta gear and sweat.”

  “It’s no wonder you were speechless when I called myself your one and only. Should’ve known I am anything but.”

  Pearl floundered at his teasing. If only he knew the truth! If Trenton had remotely suggested that they date for real, she would’ve dropped everything and said yes.

  Maybe it was time to call Love Unlimited for her consultation after all.

  With a hand on the yoga mat strapped across his chest, he gestured toward the front door. “C’mon Pearly-Pearl. My treat. We dropped ten pounds of water at this last session. I want to replace it with grub.”

  She regained her composure at his sincere smile. She might’ve had a sad dating life, but they were friends, and that was special enough. “Okay, as long as we’re someplace where we don’t need to stand close to anyone. I’m odorific. And, I’m paying.”

  He opened the door. “So I’m a hired man now? I should raise my rates. And make sure you pay for drinks, too.”

  They stood at the corner of Burg and William Street, waiting for the light to turn. Pearl squinted against the bright lights of cars passing while her body acclimated to the thirty-degree change in temperature. “What do you feel like having?”

  “Anything with meat and grease.”

  She laughed. “The Porterhouse it is.”

  A half block away, the Porterhouse was the go-to joint for burgers. Not exactly the fanciest place, or the quietest; it was a local haunt. In Pearl’s opinion, their sweet potato fries were the best in town. Their local brew wasn’t so bad either.

  As they crossed the street, Pearl heard her name.

  “Oh damn, it worked.” Trenton put a hand on her back, to steer her away from a driver who cut it too close to the sidewalk. Her heart shot into her throat at the contact, but it proceeded to make her speechless when she turned to the woman waving from across the street.

  “Pearl! Wait!” Daphne jogged across as the pedestrian light turned red, out of breath, with Carter behind her. “Where are you guys off to?”

  “Post-yoga munchies,” she said, though still in shock.

  At the pause, Trenton jumped in. “How about you all?”

  She glanced briefly at her fiancé. “We’re about to grab something to eat, too.”

  “Care to join us? Interested in microbrew and meat?” Trenton asked.

  “You’re singing my song.” Carter took Trenton’s side and started an immediate conversation, leaving Daphne with Pearl.

  As they followed behind the guys, Daphne broke the ice. “Pearl, to be perfectly honest, I was wondering if we could chat about some of your wedding ideas? I’m looking for a wedding planner.”

  The tension in Pearl’s chest eased, and triumph overcame the endorphins by a mile. I did it. With confidence, she said, “You’ve come to the right person.”

  nine

  Mood: “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours” by Stevie Wonder

  Mari’s priority as a wedding planner was to acquire what was right for her client, and a myriad of people were involved in the decision of what was right, from brides, to grooms, to family members who had a financial or emotional stake. With unlimited choices at the couple’s feet, her role was to vet each option in accordance with her client’s tastes.

  Mari was paid to wrap it up; she was also paid to follow her instincts and know when her client had begun to stray. She led her clients to the next task, capitalized on their momentum and speed. And for the event to have a chance at being successful, the client had to feel comfortable with her.

  The relationship between a wedding planner and a client had to be born out of trust.

  Trust. The thing Pearl had irresponsibly played with three days ago. The thing that could’ve meant the difference between a client who stayed or left. The thing that Mari currently didn’t have for Pearl after she’d blurted out Hazel’s secret, and she’d felt compelled to assist her at the courthouse wedding earlier this afternoon.

  Tonight, at Hazel’s cake tasting, Mari planned to regroup. Assess her client’s thoughts on what had happened the other day. Determine if Pearl had damaged the relationship by spilling the bride’s biggest secret. A week had passed since the sisters’ discussion about their finances—losing a top would not help ease the financial strain Rings & Roses was under.

  Mari sat at a separate table at Just Cakes answering emails while Hazel and Reid were hosted by its proprietor, Carolina Just. On an open planner page in front of her were scribbled bits of information she’d gleaned from the running conversation next to her. Hazel had expressed interest in a three-tiered cake with textured vertical stripes and fresh flowers, colors to be determined when she and Brad finalized their theme.

  “Reid!” Hazel snapped.

  Mari jerked up from her planner and Reid looked up from his phone a half second later. As if reorienting himself to the two women in front of him, he said, “I’m sorry.” He tucked the phone into his coat pocket.

  “You haven’t even had a taste.” Hazel frowned, gesturing to three square bite-sized samples on a platter in front of him.

  He sat up on the stool, ran his hand through his hair. “I’m ready now, li’l sis. Give it to me.”

  With upturned lips, Hazel handed her brother a napkin.

  Mari exhaled a quiet breath. Things seemed to be good between them. Hazel’s pregnancy announcement did not end in disaster. Reid had even appeared all the more doting toward his sister. So, despite the lovely jitters Mari felt around the man—she still couldn’t get their last conversation out of her head—she must try harder to keep all their interactions aboveboard. Nothing could come between Hazel and Brad and the altar.

  Carolina jumped in with an enthusiastic cadence, waking Mari from her thoughts, as she pointed out each sample. “Ms. Flynn has narrowed it down to three choices: Traditional red velvet with cream cheese frosting. A ginger spice cake with salted caramel buttercream. And a Black Forest cake with almond buttercream.” She had a saleswoman’s flare, matched with what Mari knew was her ability to deliver delicious cakes, and most of all, provide the visual masterpiece her couples envisioned.

  Only the best.

  At that moment, a phone buzzed. Reid took his from his pocket and glanced at it. “Can you . . . can you excuse me?” Reid stood.

  “Seriously?” Hazel sighed.

  He grimaced. “Work. I’m afraid if I put it off, I won’t be much fun the rest of the evening. I’ll be right outside. I know whatever you pick will be perfect.”

  Hazel returned a grave expression.

  Mari stood from her table. This was her cue. Nothing else would be accomplished today. Hazel needed someone in her circle to back her up. If she made this decision alone, there was sure to be a change of heart down the road. “Hazel, how about you sleep on it?”

  “Yeah? Is that okay?” Hazel asked Carolina.

  Caro
lina nodded. “Absolutely. There’s still time.”

  “But I do want samples to take home. Think you can hook me up with a chocolate cake for my midnight snack?” Reid grinned.

  “Of course, Mr. Quaid.”

  “Great.” He kissed Hazel on the cheek, and with a final squeeze of her shoulder, headed outside, phone against his ear.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hazel said. “He comes for me, not for the details. Like all men.”

  Mari corrected her. “No, not like all men, just some personalities.”

  “You’re right. I’m taking it out on him when it’s me who’s difficult.”

  Carolina left to package up the remaining samples. Mari sat on the stool Reid had vacated. “No doubt, the timeline adds a little bit of pressure, but you aren’t being difficult. You deserve what you want out of this wedding. If it means ginger spice, or a tower of doughnuts, then we’ll make it happen.” She tiptoed around her words now. Hazel was vulnerable, as all brides were months from the wedding. Their emotions were exposed wires. They absorbed every blip in attitude or slight shade of judgment from others. Worse, their vulnerability had the potential to turn into fear, and they could lash out. “But I think you should make these decisions for you. Make your choice and run with it. Brad told you he didn’t have a preference on the cake—to me, that means ordering your favorite cake on the planet. And can I say something personal, something from my heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “A bad decision is doing something against your spirit. A bad decision is going against your moral code. Maybe . . . maybe we can strike the word bad from any of the wedding plans—because nothing about this is bad. It’s joyful and it’s for you. You have impeccable taste, and you are obviously loved, not only by your fiancé, but by your brother.” Her gaze shot to Reid, now pacing the sidewalk. “I am confident in your choices.”

  Hazel’s expression softened; the crease in the middle of her eyebrows eased. She let go of a breath, her body deflating from relief. “I think I want the red velvet cake. And I don’t want vertical stripes. I want a naked cake, with hardly any icing. I end up scraping icing right off the cakes I eat. It sticks to my teeth.”

  “Then your wish is our command,” Mari said.

  “What do we do with Brad? What if he ends up hating my choice?”

  Carolina entered the room, now with a kraft box in her hand. “Then we make a groom’s cake.”

  “That sounds ridiculous. Two cakes for seventy-five people?”

  “This is the era of choice. We’ve done small weddings with several cakes offered. We bake cakes that cater to dietary restrictions. A gluten-free, diary-free cake, for example. A nut-free cake. The options are limitless. One cake, two cakes, cupcakes. Two cakes that represent the couple’s individual Hogwarts houses, even. Whatever you want.”

  The front door jingled open. Half of Reid’s body peeked through. “Listen, I’m going to be much longer than I thought, so I’ll head on and walk back home.”

  Hazel responded with the customary little sister expression, with apathy and her eyes rolling upward. “Sure. Why not?”

  Mari looked at her watch. This was a good stopping point. “I think we’re done here, too. We don’t see each other next week, correct?”

  “Yep. Brad and I are headed up to New York City for Hamilton, but we’ll be back for Easter. So, a week and a half from now.”

  “Excited to have him back?”

  “Absolutely. It will be nice to have my fiancé and not my brother here for these appointments, not that Reid hasn’t been wonderful. He flies out tomorrow.”

  “Ah.” Despite the airy tone in her answer, Mari’s insides fell. If she was really going to be honest with herself . . .

  No, no, there was no room for honesty about this subject whatsoever. She might’ve enjoyed Reid’s company, but their meetings were not social calls.

  Carolina gestured to the kraft box in front of them, waking Mari from her straying thoughts. “Leftover cakes.”

  “You are the best, Carolina,” Mari said.

  “I do what I can.”

  Hazel tapped her phone and it illuminated to a picture of her and Brad. “Yay. I might even have enough time to grab a pedicure today.” Her gaze rose, shy. “Or, better yet, are you free? Pedicures are so much more fun with a friend.”

  A friend.

  Mari bit her lip to keep the sudden rush of emotions from bringing tears to her eyes. Friendships were rare for her. She had acquaintances, but the rest of her life consisted of work and family. Her sisters were the only ones who appreciated her drive. More than once she’d been perceived as someone who didn’t let loose, someone who didn’t let her faults show.

  And those people were right. Straddling the extremes of who she was before, and who she strived to be now came at the expense of pushing people away.

  Which was exactly what she had to do now because this wasn’t the time to mix business and pleasure.

  “That sounds heavenly, but I’ll have to pass,” Mari grumbled lightly. “I’ve got a houseful waiting for me. And there’s a bridal expo tomorrow to prep for.”

  “I understand. Do you mind bringing the cakes to my brother since you’re next door?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Speaking of . . . I’m sorry that the house gave you so much trouble. No wonder things were awkward between you and him in the beginning.”

  “Ah, it’s in the past. Reid and I talked it out.”

  “It will for sure be in the past, since he mentioned selling it after the wedding. We’ll need it for some of our company flying in, but the For Sale sign should be up by September.”

  “Oh.” Although Reid had mentioned selling the property, the details surprised Mari. Self-admonishment followed. Why did she care? She stuttered the next answer. “That’s great . . . I mean, I don’t think it will stay on the market long. It’s such a seller’s market.”

  “I’m not in agreement. I like having my brother around. Anyway.” Hazel stood. “Thank you, for today. For setting me straight. Sometimes I need to remember that I can do this.” She leaned in for a tight hug.

  “You have totally got this.” Although Mari let go first, she clung to the word friend. Friends spoke what was in their hearts. Hazel had trusted Mari with her secret, and it only made sense for Mari to trust her, too, with her emotions. “Hazel, I’m sorry about what happened with my sister and spilling the news about the pregnancy—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. It’s not okay either professionally or personally. It was your news to tell. Pearl made a mistake, and I was in charge of that entire exchange. It won’t happen again. You can trust me.”

  Hazel held her hands, squeezed them. “I know I can, and I do. You and I are fine, and I appreciate this. It proves I was right all along. Brad wasn’t sure about having a wedding planner, but I insisted, and it led me to you.”

  Mari blinked away her anxiety. “And you get to have a naked cake.”

  Hazel half laughed. “Hell yeah.”

  They walked out of Just Cakes together, parting at the corner of Burg and Mary. Then, with the kraft box in her hands, Mari’s relief flipped to nervousness.

  She had a house call to make.

  Reid’s front door opened without Mari having to touch her knuckles to the wood, and a painfully gorgeous and barefoot Reid greeted her with a playful smile. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. You were taking forever to knock.”

  To that, Mari had no words, no quick retort, though one thing rose within her: defiance. God, he was so confident. Attractive, yes. But borderline cocky.

  And she loved it. All these years, she’d dated safe, dated men who were lovely and respectful, but who didn’t light her up. At most, she’d spend the evening at their place, but eventually end up in her own bed, in her own double-brushed microfiber sheets, where she’d spread out like a starfish and fall asleep with the TV on.

  With this man, because of his pure aura alone, she’d b
e willing to mess those sheets up. With Reid, a familiar coil curled within her, a delicious feeling of . . . being turned on.

  As if reading her thoughts, Reid lazily leaned against the door frame and raised a brow.

  She snapped out of it and stuck the box out between them. “Your cakes.”

  “Perfect timing. Thanks.” His eyes wandered from the box to her. “Would you like to come in?”

  The suggestion glued Mari’s shoes to the front step. “Oh no . . . it’s late.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight. I can’t eat this cake alone. Or is this against your rules, too?” At her hesitation, he continued, laughing under his breath. “Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Always hard to convince. Because this isn’t an out of this world question. It’s cake, Marisol. We’re neighbors. You’re my sister’s favorite person. I promise I’m not going to try to convince you to walk me to the Whistling Pig.”

  “Ha,” she retorted, then her stomach growled—the traitor. Cake was tempting. She’d inspected the slices Caroline had packed up. Mari had a thing for dark chocolate.

  And then it appeared again—a grin on his face that would be the end of her if she wasn’t careful. A grin that knew her answer before she said it.

  “Sure, okay,” she relented, stepping inside, taking in the interior of the town house, flipping her thoughts to a blank page. There wasn’t a lick of historic home left in it. From the front foyer, one could see clear through to the back windows, with most of the interior walls removed. Tray ceilings replaced crown moldings. Recessed lighting throughout gave a modern air. The floors were dark and sleek. The prominent wooden banister had been replaced with metal. “This is . . . wow.”