by Nora Roberts
A taste, she thought, of things to come.
“Em!”
Bent over between the urns, her arms full of tulips, Emma turned her head. And Mac snapped her camera. “Looking good.”
“The flowers are. I hope to look better before the consult. Our biggest client to date requires careful grooming.” She placed the pots. “All around.”
In a suit as boldly green as her eyes, Mac stood, legs spread, feet planted. “Not much time left to beautify.”
“Nearly done. This is the last.” With her system bursting with flowers and scents, Emma took a deep breath. “God! What a gorgeous day.”
“You’re pretty chirpy.”
“I had a really good date last night.” After stepping back to examine the portico, she hooked an arm with Mac’s. “It had everything. Comedy, drama, conversation, sex. I feel . . . energized.”
“And look starry-eyed.”
“Maybe.” Briefly, she dipped her head to Mac’s shoulder. “I know it’s too soon, and we’re not even talking about—or anywhere near—the serious L. But . . . Mac, you know how I always had this fantasy about the moonlit night, the stars—”
“Dancing in the garden.” Instinctively, Mac slid an arm around Emma’s waist. “Sure, since we were kids.”
“I dreamed it last night, and it was Jack. I was dancing with Jack. It’s the first time I ever had the dream, or imagined it where I knew who I danced with. Don’t you think that means something?”
“You’re in love with him.”
“That’s what Parker said last night before I went out, and of course, I’m all no, no, I’m not. And, of course, as usual, she’s right. Am I crazy?”
“Who said love was sane? You’ve sort of been there before.”
“Sort of been,” Emma agreed. “Wanted to be, hoped to be. But now that I am, it’s more than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.” Emma sidestepped, pivoted, pirouetted. “It makes me happy.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“God, no. He’d freak. You know Jack.”
“Yes,” Mac said carefully, “I know Jack.”
“It makes me happy,” Emma repeated as she laid a hand on her heart. “I can stay there for now. He has feelings for me. You know when a man has feelings for you.”
“True enough.”
“So I’m going to be happy and believe he’ll fall in love with me.”
“Emma, solid truth? I don’t know how he could resist you. You’re good together, that’s easy to see. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
But Emma knew Mac’s tones, her expressions, her heart. “You’re worried I’ll get hurt. I can hear it in your voice. Because, well, we know Jack. Mac, you didn’t want to fall in love with Carter.”
“You’ve got me there.” Mac’s lips curved as she danced her fingers at the ends of Emma’s hair. “I didn’t, but I did, so I should stop being so cynical.”
“Good. Now I’ve got to stop standing around and go transform into a professional. Tell Parker I’m done, will you, and I’ll be back in twenty.”
“Will do.” And with concern showing now, Mac watched her friend rush off.
An hour later, dressed in a trim suit and low heels, Emma took the lead in escorting the future bride, her eagle-eyed mother, and the mother’s fascinated sister around the gardens.
“You can see what we’ll have blooming next spring, and I realize the gardens aren’t as flush as you need or want.”
“They just can’t wait until May or June,” Kathryn Seaman muttered.
“Mom, let’s not go there again.”
“It is, however, prime time for tulips—which I know you favor,” Emma said to Jessica. “We’ll plant more this fall, white tulips, and peach tulips—you’ll have a flood of them, and blue hyacinths. We’ll also fill in with white containers of peach roses, delphinium, snapdragons, stock, the hydrangeas. All in your colors, popped out by the white. I plan to back this area here with a screen covered with roses.”
She turned her smile on Kathryn. “I promise you, it’ll be like a fantasy garden, and as full and lush and romantic as anything you could wish for your daughter’s wedding.”
“Well, I’ve seen your work so I’m going to take your word.” Kathryn nodded to Mac. “The engagement photos were everything you said they’d be.”
“It helps to have two gorgeous people wildly in love.”
“We had so much fun, too.” Jessica beamed at Mac. “Plus, I felt like a storybook princess.”
“You looked like one,” her mother said. “All right, let’s talk about the terraces.”
“If you remember from the sketches at the proposal,” Emma began, and led the way.
“I’ve seen your work as well.” Adele, the bride’s aunt, scanned the terraces. “I’ve been to three weddings here, and all were beautifully done.”
“Thank you.” Parker added a polite smile to the acknowledgment.
“Actually, what you’ve done here, built here, has inspired me to look into plans for doing something similar. We live part of the year in Jamaica. A destination wedding spot. And a perfect place for a good, upscale, all-inclusive wedding company.”
“You’re serious about that?” Kathryn asked her.
“I’ve been looking into it, and getting more serious. My husband’s going to retire,” Adele told Parker. “And we plan to spend even more time in our winter home there. It would be an excellent investment, I think, and something fun.”
She gave Emma a twinkling smile and a wink. “Now, if I could lure you away with the promise of unlimited tropical flowers and balmy island breezes, I’d have my first real building block.”
“Tempting,” Emma said in the same light tone, “but Centerpiece of Vows keeps me busy. If you move forward with your plans, I’m sure any of us will be happy to answer any questions you might have. Now, for this area . . .”
After the meeting all four women collapsed in the parlor.
“God.” Laurel stretched out her legs. “That woman sure knows how to put you through your paces. I feel like we had the event instead of just talking it through. Again.”
“Unless there are any objections, I’d like to black out the Friday and Sunday around the event. The size and scope of this wedding will more than make up for that lost revenue, plus the publicity and the word of mouth will bring in more.” Parker toed off her shoes. “That would give us the full week to focus exclusively on this.”
“Thank God.” Emma heaved a long, relieved sigh. “The amount of flowers and landscaping, the type of bouquets and arrangements, centerpieces, swags, garlands, ornamental trees? I’d have to hire more designers to get it done. But with that full week on the single event, I think I can stick with the usual team. I can add someone else if need be for the actual dressing, but I’d really prefer to do as much of this as I can personally, and with the people I know.”
“I’m right there with Emma,” Laurel said. “The cakes, the dessert bar, the personalized chocolates, they’re all on the elaborate and labor-intensive side. If I had the full week on nothing else, I’d actually get a couple hours’ sleep.”
“Make it three for three.” Mac raised a hand. “They want full photo documentation of the rehearsal, and the rehearsal dinner, so if we had another event on Friday, I’d have to assign a photographer to that as I’d have to cover the Seamans. As it is I’m putting two more on the event itself, plus two videogra phers. Keeping Sunday black means we don’t have to kill ourselves and our subs breaking down, and redressing.”
“Which doesn’t even begin to address what they expect of you,” Emma said to Parker.
“So we’re agreed. And,” Parker added, “I’ll let the MOB know we’re clearing our decks for wedding week so we can give her daughter’s wedding all our time, attention, and skill. She’ll like that.”
“She likes us,” Emma pointed out. “The concept of a company founded and run by four women appeals to her.”
“And her sister. Who else did the sneaky
Adele try to lure to Jamaica?” Laurel asked.
All four women raised hands.
“And she didn’t even realize it was rude,” Parker added. “
Our business. It’s not like we’re employees. We own it.”
“Rude, yes, but I don’t think she meant any harm.” Emma shrugged. “I elect to be flattered. She considers my flowers fabulous, Laurel’s cakes and pastries superb, Parker’s coordinating unmatched. Added to that, Mac blew it out of the park with the engagement photos.”
“I did,” Mac agreed. “I really did.”
“Let’s all take a moment to congratulate ourselves on our brilliance and talent.” Parker offered a toast with her bottle of water. “Then get back to work.”
“If we’re taking a moment, I’d like to thank Emma for last night’s entertainment.”
Emma sent Laurel a blank look. “Sorry?”
“I happened to be taking a little air on my terrace last night before settling in for the night, and noticed a car barreling down the drive. For a minute I thought, uh-oh, something happened. But no, not quite yet.”
“Oh my God.” Emma slapped her hands over her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“When no one immediately jumped out gushing blood, or jumped out at all, I actually considered running down, prepared to do triage. But momentarily both car doors flew open. Emma out of one, Jack out of the other.”
“You watched?”
Laurel snorted. “Duh.”
“More,” Mac demanded. “We must have more.”
“And more you will have. They fell on each other like animals.”
“Oh, we did . . . too,” Emma recalled.
“Then it’s the classic back against the door.”
“Oh, it’s been so long since I had the back against the door,” Parker said with a delicate shiver for emphasis. “Too long.”
“From my view, Jack’s got the move down cold. Or hot, I should say. But our girl holds her own. Or was it his?”
“Jesus, Laurel!”
“She wrestles his jacket off, tosses it. Rips his sweater off, heaves it away.”
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Mac said.
“But the gold medal move was the belt. She whips that belt off—” Laurel flicked an arm through the air to demonstrate. “Then lets it fly.”
“I think I need another bottle of water.”
“Unfortunately, Parker, they took it inside.”
“Killjoys,” Mac muttered.
“The rest was left to my very . . . fluid imagination. So I want to thank our own Emmaline for the view from my balcony seat. Sister, stand up and take a bow.”
To enthusiastic applause, Emma did just that. “Now I’ll leave you and Peeping Thomasina to your salacious thoughts. I’m going to work.”
“Back against the door,” Parker murmured. “I’m small enough to be jealous.”
“If I were small enough, I’d be jealous of her having her back against anything. But it’s okay, because I’ve declared myself in a sex moratorium.”
“A sex moratorium?” Mac repeated, turning to Laurel.
“That’s right. I’m in a sex moratorium so I can be in a dating moratorium, because for the last couple of months dating’s just been irritating.” Laurel lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Why do something that irritates me?”
“For the sex?” Mac suggested.
Eyes slitted, Laurel shot a finger at her friend. “You’re only saying that because you’re getting laid regularly.”
“Yes.” Mac considered, nodded. “Yes, I am getting laid regularly.”
“It’s rude to brag to those of us who are not,” Parker pointed out.
“But I’m getting laid with love.” Mac drew out the final word so Laurel laughed.
“Now you’re just getting sickening.”
“I’m not the only one, at least on one side. Emma said you were right, Parks. She’s in love with Jack.”
“Of course she’s in love with Jack,” Laurel interrupted. “She wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise.”
“Um, I hate to disillusion you, Bright Eyes, but Emma’s had sex with men she wasn’t in love with. And,” Mac added, “has gently refused to have sex with more men than the three of us combined have scored.”
“My point exactly. What happens when the four of us go to a club, for instance? Four very hot chicks? We get some hits, naturally. But Emma? They swarm like wasps.”
“I don’t see—”
“I do.” Parker nodded. “She doesn’t have to sleep with someone just because she’s attracted. She can and does pick and choose. And she’s picky and choosy rather than promiscuous. If it were just lust, she could and would answer that call elsewhere, because to answer it with Jack is complicated, and risky.”
“Which is the reason she waited so long to act on it,” Mac pointed out. “I don’t see . . . Yes, I do,” she corrected. “Damn it, I hate when I don’t have a chance to be right before you’re right.”
“Now that she’s realized what I could’ve told her weeks ago, I wonder what she’ll do.”
“She had her dancing in the garden dream,” Mac told them, “and it was with Jack.”
“Okay that’s serious. Not just in love,” Laurel said, “but in love.”
“She’s okay with it. She’s going to enjoy the moment.”
No one spoke.
“I think,” Parker said carefully, “love is never wrong. Whether it’s for the moment, or it’s forever.”
“We all know Emma’s always wanted forever,” Mac pointed out.
“But you can’t have forever unless you take the moment.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Laurel looked at her two friends. “That’s what we’re here for.”
In her office, Emma caught up on paperwork while she let a facial mask deep clean and hydrate. Just how many women were lucky enough to be able to deal with skin care and generate invoices at the same time? In their bare feet, with Norah Jones crooning out of the speakers?
And how many of those who might be lucky enough had also had crazed jungle sex—twice—with an amazing man the night before?
Not many, she’d wager. Not many at all.
While the mask worked its magic, she placed an order with her suppliers for flower foam, plastic ties, wire, clear and colored stones, then did a cruise through to see what might be on sale, or on special, and added liquid foam and foam sheets and three dozen light bases.
That would hold her for a while, she thought, placed the order, then brought up her wholesale candle supplier to see what they had to offer.
“Knock, knock! Emmaline! Are you home?”
“Mom? Up here.” She saved her shopping cart, before pushing away from the desk. She met her mother coming up the stairs. “Hi!”
“Hi, my baby. Your face is very pink.”
“I . . . Oh, I forgot.” Laughing, Emma tapped her fingers on her cheek. “It needs to come off. I started on candles and got caught up.” She detoured to the bathroom to wash off the mask. “Playing hooky?”
“I worked this morning, and am now free as a bird so came by to see my daughter before I go home.” Lucia picked up the jar of mask. “Is this good?”
“You tell me. It’s the first time I’ve tried it.” Emma finished splashing cool water on her face, then patted it dry.
Lucia pursed her lips. “You’re too beautiful for me to know if it’s because of the lucky genes I passed to you or from the jar.”
Emma grinned. Studying her face in the mirror over the sink, she poked lightly at her cheeks, her chin. “Feels good though. That’s a plus.”
“You have a glow,” Lucia added while Emma sprayed on toner, followed up with moisturizer. “But from what I hear that’s not from the jar either.”
“Lucky genes?”
“Lucky something. Your cousin Dana stopped in the bookstore this morning. It seems her good friend Livvy . . . You know Livvy a little.”
“Yes, a little.”
“Livv
y was out with a new boyfriend, having dinner, and who did she spot in a quiet corner across the room sharing wine, pasta, and intimate conversation with a certain handsome architect?”
Emma fluttered her lashes. “How many guesses?”
Lucia raised and lowered her eyebrows.
“Let’s go downstairs and get something to drink. Coffee, or something cold?”
“Something cold.”
“Jack and I went to an art opening,” Emma began as they started down. “A really terrible art opening, which is actually a good story.”
“You can come back to that. Tell me about the wine and pasta.”
“We had wine and pasta after we left the opening.” In the kitchen, Emma got down glasses, filled them with ice.
“You’re being evasive.”
“Yes.” With a laugh, Emma sliced a lemon. “Which is silly, since you’ve obviously figured out Jack and I are dating.”
“Are you evading because you think I won’t approve?”
“No. Maybe.” Emma opened the sparkling water her mother liked, poured it over ice, added slices of lemon.
“Are you happy? I already see the answer on your face, but you can answer yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would I disapprove of anything that made you happy?”
“It’s sort of odd, isn’t it though? After all this time?”
“Some things take time, some don’t.” Lucia turned into the living room, sat on the sofa. “I love this little room. All the colors, the scents. I know it’s a place that makes you happy.”
Emma came over, sat beside her mother. “It does.”
“You’re happy in your work, your life, your home. And that helps a mother—even of a grown woman—sleep well at night. Now, if you’re happy with a man I happen to like quite a bit, I’m happy, too. You need to bring him to dinner.”
“Oh, Mom. We’re just . . . dating.”
“He’s been to dinner before.”
“Yes. Yes. Del’s friend Jack has been to dinner, to some cookouts, to some parties at the house. But you’re not asking me to bring Del’s friend to dinner.”
