by Fifi Flowers
I was happy with my selection, but it wasn’t until after meeting Saffron that I was finally thrilled about it. She had spoken of her dream house when she was cuddled up next to me and I remembered every word. I actually went over them a million times in my head. At the time, I never mentioned my house because one, I wasn’t living there yet and two, my brain was hovering in a cloud of lust bordering on love. What she wanted sounded a whole lot like my house. Did she maybe live in the Palm Springs area? If only I could find her and share it with her...share it with her as in show her? Or share it with her as in living together? That last idea sounded pretty damn good.
Why didn’t I ask her more? It would’ve eliminated my need to question other people. I hated to have others knowing my business...especially when it came to my love life. But I had fucked up where Saffron was concerned and I had to wait for my friends to return from their honeymoon since my hotel connections didn’t pan out. The kitchen staff wasn’t helpful either as they only knew about the celebrity chef Owen Walker. I couldn’t call him and ask for the wedding planner’s information without lying to him. And more than likely, he would refer me back to the wedding couple who had hired her in the first place—my friends.
“Sorry, we don’t know. Sorry, no info on her. Sorry, have you checked...blah blah blah?” It was always the same. “Sorry.” I don’t know how many times I used or heard that word since the fucking wedding.
The longer I went without Saffron and ran into brick walls, I was wishing that I hadn’t attended the wedding at all. I hadn’t really wanted to go. I went for my friends. Then I was thrilled when the gorgeous wedding planner entered my life. It had been so long since anyone had made me feel.
I had done the whole love thing. Allowed my best friend to set me up with a woman that he could not stop talking about. She was the perfect woman. I had to agree she was pretty great to look at and she had a brain. We dated, we got engaged, and we got married with all of the festivities. My friend stood up for me as best man. Apparently, my wife thought he was more than the best man...he was the better man.
Vacationing, celebrating our one year anniversary down in Cabo San Lucas, we decided why not make it a big party and invite a whole slew of friends down to join us on the second half of our vacation. Who could turn down the chance to lounge in beautiful surroundings, drinking, eating great food, including lobster while sitting at a table set in the sand? Sunshine and fun...what could possibly go wrong?
The first few days we all hung out by the pool—swimming up to the bar and indulging in a variety of tropical drinks and local beers. We even all caught a shuttle van up the coast to a crystal clear cove perfect for snorkeling. Everything was going great as we had planned it until...it wasn’t.
Out drinking heavily at a nightclub, doing one too many shots off hard bodies that belonged to strangers and dancing in a big group things took a nasty turn for me. Instead of my wife rubbing her body against mine, she was practically dry humping the man who set us up and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.
About to break up their drunken display of affection, a fight broke out on the dance floor and people were scrambling to get out of swinging arms and fists. In the midst of all the commotion, I lost my wife altogether as she disappeared and I drank myself into a stupor. Practically carried out of the nightclub as they rolled up the carpet and locked up the liquor, I didn’t see my wife until I woke up the next morning. I never asked her if she had stayed in our room or another that night—I knew we were finished. And I wasn’t surprised when she asked me for a divorce soon after we returned from Mexico.
In hindsight, my ex-wife and the best man actually made sense. She had never made my heart stop. She had never taken my breath away. She had never smiled at me with such an intensity that had me beaming. She never made me feel like I couldn’t live without her.
Simply put, she was not my Saffron.
Chapter Eleven
Saffron
It was hotter than hell and I wanted nothing more than to be inside my nicely air conditioned condo or cooling off in the complex’s spacious community pool. I definitely had absolutely no desire to get dressed up and go into the shop for a meeting with a bride that had just turned up without making an appointment in advance. They were often shopping...browsing, not buying. But, being the trooper I was, I pulled myself up from my comfy sofa, away from my new magazine collection and slipped on my perfect wedding planner face.
I was always a professional no matter what the circumstance was with each bride or wedding... Well, I had always been that way until my very big slip up with one very handsome wedding guest.
He was quite irresistible. No one could blame me.
That is a stupid defense, Saffron. I told myself as I pulled into one of our designated spots in the back of the shop and checked my makeup before reluctantly leaving the cool air in my car. Thankfully I was mere steps away from unlocking the rear door and slipping back into air conditioning.
Depositing my handbag in my locker in our break room, I pulled out my tablet and was promptly greeted by London who wore a big smile. “Wait until you meet this bride she just selected the most princess dress ever and she has a huge tote bag filled with stuff to show you. She’ll be back in a few minutes. She stepped out for a quick bite.”
I loved when brides-to-be had a lot of stuff to look through, it was better than no ideas. That could always go one of two ways: I guessed wrong and they were unhappy and it was obvious by smiles that faded—it happened once. The other times I had somehow magically read them right and gave them what they didn’t know they wanted in a fabulous way. I preferred the notion of happily ever after.
Savannah wasn’t far behind London and delivered her own input with a laugh. “Your bride today works for your ex-boyfriend’s hotel chain.”
Shaking my head, I ignored a portion of her comment—the part that involved my personal life—and asked more questions. Then I turned back to Savannah since she rarely got involved in the dress selection or fitting. “How do you know so much, did you sit in on the fitting?”
“Nope,” she began with a smirk gracing her face. “I had my own meeting with her for a big corporate event.” Savannah wiggled her body around with a shimmy, a little victory dance.
I understood why she was dancing. That was good news. A big score from one client was something to be celebrated. More so if she had connections that could help out in our new venture. I surely didn’t feel like I could ask Ellis for favors after our so-called breakup.
Another reason we were thrilled to gain a good client was that our timing had been a little off since taking over the shop. We had sort of missed out on the full wedding season rush when we took over. We had done well with the springtime prom season dress needs and a few last minute summer brides. However, then we had partially shut down for a few weeks to get things to our liking with a bit of paint, a bit of sprucing up, and some minor construction. Little by little, it pulled together with old existing pieces of furniture reupholstered to look like new. We were all surprised how much the slightest changes had made the place look nothing like the old wedding shop. It had truly become ours and I especially loved the various areas we had for consulting with customers.
“Miss Saffron, your client is waiting for you,” Ava, one of our receptionists and sales assistants informed me. She was an adorable Southern girl who insisted on adding Miss to our names. We gave up after a week of telling her that the formality wasn’t necessary. How do you break someone of a manner they have been taught all of their life? You don’t...or not easily.
“Thank you, Ava. Where is she waiting?” I asked and she let me know that she had given the client a customized bottle of water and had seated her in the front salon area. Meaning, I would be trailing after Ava as she went back to her position—until called upon—behind a high desk placed in front of a dark sky blue wall that would one day feature our name.
Turning the corner, sure enough there was a very attractive young woman seated on
one of our newly fashioned grey sofas with lots of items sitting on a black coffee table in front of her. Upon seeing me approaching her, she stood and extended her hand and I noticed that she was professionally attired. Wearing a tan plaid pencil skirt and a tucked-in white blouse with navy leather pumps.
“You must be Saffron. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re the best around. I had to use you. Not sure what you needed. I went overboard to give you everything you need. Of course, if you have better ideas... I am open to your suggestions. Of course, I don’t want to tell you what to do. It’s completely your job and I know absolutely nothing about weddings, parties... Except for going to them.” She stopped to take a breath and then started up again, ending with her name and an apology. “Where are my manners? I bombarded you without giving you my name. Anastasia, like the cartoon or...” She turned bright red before finishing, “Christian Grey’s girlfriend... Again, I’m sorry.”
I tried not to laugh and smiled as I sat in one of the antique chairs we had striped with a wide black and white print. “No need to apologize. I am Saffron. Let’s have a look at all of your ideas, photos, and magazines. There can never be too much information. It’s one of the most important days of your life. Of course you want it to be perfect.”
Like I mentioned before, I always loved to see what brides-to-be collected for our first meeting. Most had a fairly good idea of what they wanted and had the basics covered; like the dress, the color scheme, the cake, and the location. Most had no idea about the overall details, how it fit together...and that was where I came in with the whole package.
The best and the worst brides-to-be were the ones that showed up with their entire vision board. They were great when they wanted me to magically make their dreams come to life. On the flip-side, they were a nightmare when they were controlling, rude, and challenging me to pull it off—luckily, I didn’t have many of those. And sometimes the toughest job was dealing with brides-to-be that had no clue what they wanted—as I stated before.
There were so many different scenarios—no two weddings or brides-to-be were the same. No two grooms were alike. No wedding guests were alike. But one thing was for certain, I would never put myself in that situation again. I had learned a lesson. If you are going to mess around with a guest: Do not run out on him. Do not leave without exchanging information. Unknown things could arise and the need to contact him could be very important. Things like baby bumps that could not be hidden and a change in my usual wardrobe styles.
When I realized that my monthly cycle hadn’t arrived two months in a row, I headed to the drugstore for a test. There was no doubt in my mind that there would be a big plus sign so I only bought one box. I had never skipped a period since I started in junior high school. I was amazed how calmly I took the news. I was okay with it. I wasn’t a child. I was a grown woman with my own condo—even if it only had one bedroom—and I had a good yearly income. The only thing I was uncertain about was telling my friends. I chose the happy client day to unload my secret when we walked a few doors down to our favorite martini grill place.
That evening there was a slight coolness to the air so we seated ourselves in an outside area with misters that made it even more bearable. Starving, we ordered a bunch of finger foods to be shared and some martinis...mine virgin.
“On the wagon?” Savannah raised an eyebrow.
Go time. I launched into the whole lost weekend. I call it that because I seemed to have avoided or skipped right over reporting back to my partners about how the wedding had gone. I had not said a word. So not like me. And as my story unfolded step by step, revealing the breaking of my rules, my friends knew exactly why I had not given details.
“So there you have it, I was a drunk wedding slut.”
“You are not a slut!” London retorted.
“Way to go! Is he hot?” Savannah chimed in. “Details!”
“There’s a bit more...” I hesitated before giving the last little, tiny detail. “I’m pregnant.” I held my breath, waiting for their reactions.
“Oh my gawd! Why didn’t you use protection?” London asked with a motherly tone that had me sitting up a little straighter in my seat.
“You really went all out and broke all of your rules. Shit! I’d high five you but... London’s right. What were you thinking?” Savannah agreeing with London, that was a first.
“We did use protection but obviously it somehow malfunctioned. I guess one of the condoms sprung a leak, ripped...was too old. Whatever happened… I’m having a baby and...” I stopped to take a drink of my virgintini before I told them the shittiest part of the deal. “I have no idea how to get a hold of him,” I told them and then went on to explain how I ended our night together.
“Call the bride.” Savannah insisted once I finished my story.
“And say what? I was a slut at your wedding and fucked one of your guests. Oh, and now I’m pregnant and need to find him.”
“Again, you are not a slut!” London reminded me before I gave the lowdown about the happy couple being off on an African safari. They were exploring various countries, the culture, the food, the wildlife, and the surf conditions according to Perry. The newlyweds deserved a honeymoon without interruptions and asking for a contact number didn’t sound right anyway. I didn’t have a decent excuse that wouldn’t garner questions I didn’t want to answer and, above all else, I didn’t want to appear unprofessional.
Chapter Twelve
Laird
Getting ready for the big planning meeting before my father’s departure, I went over various lists on my laptop. Looking at the screen, my mind ran to Saffron in a dark pink fitted dress with matching shoes walking around with her tablet. My thoughts quickly progressed to her out of the dress standing in front of me in nothing but her heels and lingerie—what a sight! A better view followed with her on her knees bent over so I could see the string of her lacy thong disappearing between two perfectly round ass cheeks. I could visualize her taking my erection between her lips—painted the same shade as her bra and panties—slipping me in and out of her mouth. Sucking, licking, teasing me while smiling up at me with lust darkened eyes partially hidden by her long lashes before nearly taking all of me in... Finishing me and licking her raspberry lips after she swallowed. Fuck!
Raspberries had become my favorite fruit but also a source of discomfort.
Who gets a stiff one just thinking about berries?
Apparently me! They got me thinking about Saffron. Thinking about her smile, her eyes, her smell, her taste...her touch. She had me touching myself to relieve the pain she caused my body. Just about every shower-time release included my memories of her. I even heard her when I did daily activities—wondering what she would think about things...even hearing her words.
“Seeing your tattoos, I’m surprised you’re so clean shaven...not even a little stubble.” I loved Saffron cuddled up at my side, looking at me with dreamy blue eyes while letting her fingers roam my body and face.
“Does stubble turn you on? Don’t answer that!” I didn’t want to hear about an old boyfriend. I didn’t want her thinking about him or remembering his rough beard on her thighs. The only plus was that I knew she didn’t get off on what he had done to her.
“You sure have a jealous streak.” She giggled and snuggled in tighter to me, if that was even possible.
“Only where you’re concerned.” That was a true statement. I never had another woman—besides my ex-wife—make me crazy thinking about her with another man. And if I really thought about it, I was never really jealous when I was with my ex...it was, truly, more of an afterthought. I cared after she had fucked my ex-best friend. Women who came after her and before Saffron were nothing but a filler.
“Well...if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never dated a man with long facial hair. I like the look of it on male models in magazines... My job requires that I look at a lot of grooms...” She stopped, giggled and said words I liked a whole lot better, “I think you would look amazingly
hot with a bit of stubble on your jawline.” Her index finger was running along my jaw. “You’re so handsome—” Anything she was going to say after that I never heard as I flipped her onto her back and devoured her mouth.
Remembering that moment, I reached up, looking in the bathroom mirror and felt my face that was getting a hint of roughness thanks to several hours since I had last shaved.
I’d always been a daily shaver...groomer, never one who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and thrown some clothes on. Appearance in the hotel business is key. Suit and tie, clean shave, combed hair and perfect manners to go with it. Even out in the field during the development phase it was important to be seen as the leader and not a fellow construction worker. Not that there is anything wrong with being a construction laborer. I have the utmost respect for them—they are essentially artists, sculptors, and engineers. They bring it all together and they need to be left alone to do their job and that means me staying out of their way but being available for their questions or if any crisis arises. So I didn’t blend in out on construction sites, but I meshed perfectly well in an office setting or out amongst guests staying at one of my hotels.
Maybe it was time to rock the boat a little, stir things up and try the stubbled chin look I told myself putting the shaving cream and razor away. Then I rubbed my face a few more times, looking from side to side as I turned my head. Assessing the shadow on my mug, it appeared that I had no funny blank spots where hair wouldn’t grow. Imagine when you decided you want to grow a beard and realize it’s not completely possible since you’re missing hair in various spots. Luckily, that was not the case but growing a nice looking stubble was not so easy, I quickly found out.
It actually required precision and a grooming tool which took some practice. It grew out fine for a few days and people complimented me. Then I attempted to style it a bit, trim it and then the next thing I did was shave it all off. I did that a few times until a young guy with the perfect scruff mentioned my yo-yo shaving routine.
