by Fifi Flowers
What was the truth? Had I finally met my match? Was she a player? Did she jump into bed with other wedding guests and then disappear? She didn’t seem like that kind of person at all. I was not mistaken, there was something special between us... so why did she run off? There had to be a reason...a good explanation. Needing to find her, I wiped my mouth, tossed my napkin on the table, and stood to excuse myself.
“Rushing off so soon?”
“Back to wake her for another shag?” I really wanted to tell him to quit with the annoying-as-fuck accent. I don’t know when or why he decided to pick it up full time... For all I knew he was back with the old girlfriend or maybe found a new British girl, but that didn’t mean he had to turn his fake Britishness on us.
“Great to see you guys. I have a meeting with the staff before I head out. See you at the next one.” Those were my parting words to them and a few other people before I headed to the hotel business office.
At first I wasn’t sure what I was going to say and then it hit me, ask to speak with the catering manager. Surely, he or she would be able to connect me with someone they used even if she wasn’t their wedding planner.
“I’d like to schedule an appointment with the wedding planner...Saffron.”
“Sorry, we don’t have anyone employed with that name.”
“She was in charge of the late afternoon wedding in the main garden yesterday.”
“Oh, she wasn’t one of ours. The bride and groom hired her privately.”
Fuck! The happy couple was already gone. Off on their remote honeymoon. I would have to wait until they got back in a few months or at least when they arrived somewhere they were reachable. There had to be another way.
Not ready to give up—she could still be in the hotel—I went to the front desk where I had first caught a glimpse of her. “Excuse me, I don’t know the hotel guest’s last name...but her first name is Saffron. Could you ring her room for me?”
“I remember you...” A blush spread across the face of the young woman standing on the other side of the counter as she stumbled over her words, mumbling and typing. “Let me...hmmm...okay... Looks like she already checked out...early this morning.”
“Fuck! Why didn’t they get married at one of our hotels?”
“Sorry, sir?” A stunned face looked at me meekly like she was in trouble. “Can I help you with something?”
“No, thank you. Sorry.” I knew from experience that she was not authorized to help me with what I needed and it wasn’t like I could bribe her as they did in the movies. Instead, I walked away with my head down over my phone, typing away in case my friends, by chance, had a signal where they were. Not that I expected them to since they had planned a crazy honeymoon safari to rural locations in Africa.
What the fuck was my next step?
Chapter Nine
Saffron
I was a very strong (or stupid) woman to leave the yummy arms of Laird but I needed to escape without running into anyone. I wasn’t sure what guests had seen or figured out that we had both fled the reception together after our magical dance. I didn’t want to answer any questions or hear comments regarding my naughty behavior so I, quickly, checked out early, skipping the complimentary brunch provided for all of the wedding guests.
It was easy enough to find a place for breakfast on the way home and that was exactly what I did a few miles down the road. Eating alone, I watched couples who looked like they had just rolled out of bed and I began to question my own actions.
Why didn’t I leave my number?
Why didn’t he ask for it?
I did slip out before he woke up. But, why not exchange information with me at the beginning? Why? Because it was a one-time thing, so why leave my number and be humiliated when he never called me?
Over and over from the day after and beyond, I questioned my behavior along with the way I handled things. I was not a hit-it-and-quit-it, booty-call kind of girl. I always did the five-date rule before sex—even if there was no chance of a real relationship blooming—making them wait the appropriate amount of time. Sometimes we had continued a few more dates, some fizzled with no chemistry, and a few lasted for a couple of years. Those didn’t work out either since I refused to go on after two years passed and there were still no marriage proposals.
Wasn’t that why you got into relationships? Marriage, babies, houses, cars...the whole package. Well, maybe for girls but not so much for guys. Milk the cow for free as long as you can. Then either give into her demands or break up and look for a new pasture...a new heifer to mount. I seemed to always find the handsome ones that were non-committal. It would save a lot of time if the cads just spilled out their life plans in the beginning to save time and tears.
I was starting to think that it was just me. There was something wrong with me that made men see nothing more than a fun girl...a woman to be used over and over. It appeared that I wasn’t marriage material. I was leery of every relationship I found myself in. If they didn’t see themselves at least engaged to me or proposing marriage in a year, why bother? What was I doing wrong? Why did they run when I asked the questions like: What are we and where do you see us in five years?
Maybe I was stupid and unrealistic but I was in my early thirties heading toward forty and a life filled with caring for a slew of cats. Well, at least that was what everyone joked about regarding single women over a certain age. I really didn’t see that happening to me at all. I could just continue to work and give others their dream weddings. Live vicariously while spewing my brilliant ideas—no need to waste them stuck away on one of my own lists.
I had several lists that included photos of the dress, the venue, the music, the food, the florals...everything to pull off whatever theme was in my headline. I even went as far as writing up articles about each wedding I orchestrated. Not that I was a talented writer, by any means, but I enjoyed detailing the outcomes of my perfect wedding planning. On the flip-side, there were things that occasionally went wrong and documenting them was beneficial as well. Luckily most of my wedding arrangements went off swimmingly.
The Santa Barbara wedding was one of my favorites. It was also the only one that I ever let myself become a part of in anyway. Catching the bouquet...lining up to even attempt it was crazy. Dancing with the most beautiful fantasy man ever—wedding guest—was even more ludicrous. It was memorable. A portion of that would not be added to my article...that would be locked away in my mind labeled as dumb and adventurous and so not me. Definitely not something I would be telling potential clients or my business partners.
“Oh my gawd! What have I done?” I questioned myself out loud thinking about the possibility of having my name tarnished for acting inappropriately at a wedding I was in charge of. I had an amazing reputation. I had been interviewed and written about in premium wedding magazines. Not necessarily things about me the person, but about me being a highly skilled wedding planner. I could only hope that no one paid attention to my behavior at Perry and Makayla’s wedding.
What would my partners say? Savannah may congratulate me, but I wasn’t so sure about London. We had a brand new shop. New to us. It had been an established wedding shop that we had made our own by updating it with a new look, a new feel...a modernization, and we didn’t need bad publicity:
Avoid that place if you’re planning a wedding. The key planner gets drunk, grabs the bouquet and fucks hot male guests.
Those were not the words I wanted to read when our shop was being reviewed.
I liked that my regular life in the desert allowed me to sweep those negative thoughts under the rug. Moving through my usual routine, I was up early in the morning to hit the treadmill in my complex’s gym. With the timer set to one hour and my trusty tablet situated, I was able to cultivate my list of to-dos for the day and look over previous notes. Done with my brisk walk and some floor exercises on my yoga mat, I headed back to my unit to make breakfast. I was a breakfast-lunch-dinner-no-to-snacks girl. Not that my meal choices were alway
s healthy, but at least I didn’t eat in between. My favorite breakfast consisted of cut-up fresh fruit on a plate—the healthy part—alongside a bowl of sugary yummy cereal with whole milk.
I loved that I rarely had to rush in the mornings. A perk of being self-employed. It allowed me time to sip coffee—following my sugar-rush breakfast and shower—while scrolling through social media and online magazine sites. Working from home on my patio was divine; answering emails, texting messages and doing whatever needed to be done before I headed to a venue, went to meet clients, or ventured into the shop.
The wedding shop was still new to us but we were falling into our groove. London was in charge of the accessories which included every element for a wedding and the daily going-ons in the shop. She was also in charge of the few employees we had on staff since Savannah and I never could commit to a so-called normal schedule. Savannah handled party events and, like me, was mainly out in the field. Her work had nothing to do with weddings which had us thinking about removing “wedding” from the shop’s name which was simply “Wedding Shop.”
We just couldn’t decide on the right name as we didn’t want to mislead shoppers and remodeling was more important. The shop was so out of place in the downtown area that was a mixture of stucco Mission and Modern architecture. “Modern” as in stuck in the past—flat roof buildings, full glass and metal fronts. I absolutely loved the look and dreamed of living in a house with the same style. Wanting to bring the shop into the Palm Springs Modern Era, we stripped away the Victorian parlor elements, giving way to clean lines. All of us agreed to give the shop a relaxed, loungy vibe with sitting areas, including a private area for brides to try on dresses. We wanted all of our clients to feel welcomed and relaxed as we knew that social events could be stressful, especially weddings.
Thrilled with the results of our combined efforts we had all chipped in to tear old things out, picked out fabrics and furnishings...and painted walls once contractors finished. It was all coming together as we each added a portion of our paychecks toward our new adventure. If we could just figure out a name and order a sign, the shop would be complete. I was sure that we would eventually come to an amicable decision. In all of the years that the three of us had known each other we had never had a real squabble since becoming friends. Nothing had ever brought us down.
Fittingly, I met my best friends, London and Savannah, at a party. A slumber party—in our first year of junior high school—that was chaotic, unorganized...boring really. It was a boisterous Savannah who suggested a scavenger hunt and called out for paper and pens. Loving the idea of making lists, I quickly volunteered to help make up the list. It was London who surprised all of us with a collection of colored and scented pens. Shaking my head as she drew fancy letters, I imagined her as an amazing artist sketching in fancy cafés. Who else would carry around such a wide array of drawing implements? I received my answer later while taking an art class together.
Another clue about London’s artistic abilities was the game she came up with and succeeded in winning. Keeping the same four teams we had used to roam the neighborhood in search of items on the lists that we came up with, we assembled to design toilet paper outfits. What her team created on one of the girls was amazing—a hat, a top, a skirt and even gladiator-style sandals. The rest of us created mummies that were not stylish at all.
Fortunately, I had my own talents to contribute toward coordinating the party in the form of decorating cupcakes once I got a look into the kitchen pantry. Her mother must’ve been a total baking nut because it was filled with a million different cake mixes and tubs of frosting. Obviously she wasn’t a from-scratch baker but oh my goodness she had sprinkles galore in a variety of colors, shapes and sizes.
Suddenly a dull, drab party was turned into a dynamic event thanks to the three of us banding together. Needless to say, we were invited to parties and asked to help with school events—dances were a favorite. Once we got into high school, we all three used our skills and worked for Savannah’s aunt who ran a catering company until we separated for college. Graduated, we all returned to our hometown and, again, it was another party that pulled us back together and, eventually, led us to taking over the wedding shop where we had bought prom dresses at one time or another.
It seemed that our friendship and business venture was meant to be and was happening at the right time. If there was a right time for anything. My friends would be shocked to hear those words escape my mouth. But things had changed drastically since my whirlwind weekend of unexpected bliss with Laird. Things that were about to be evident in a matter of weeks and then I would have to confess my sins to my friends.
Chapter Ten
Laird
Moving to a new town, finding new housing was nothing new, but it was definitely a new adventure to be staying put in one spot. It also included a whole new aspect of development for me: Overseeing four hotel properties and coming up with possible ways to revitalize each one. Evaluating every aspect of operation and appearance and then deciding what enhancements needed to be made, if any. Of course, there was always room for improvements—some simple and some grand. Over the years I had viewed the desert properties on a few occasions but I had never visited them for more than a day or two. I was hopeful that they would hold my interest...maybe something new would develop in the area with my private life or in business.
Grabbing a bite to eat with my realtor in the downtown Palm Springs area, two buildings captured my attention—a wedding shop and an extremely interesting boutique hotel. I couldn’t very well talk to my agent about the bridal shop but I could bend her ear about the hotel. I loved the intimacy of it...so appealing, it was completely different from our large resort properties.
“The hotel is suffering a bit. They ran out of funds to complete the last wing to house a rooftop bar and pool,” Meredith explained at my mention of the hotel after placing her order and handing off her menu to our server.
My ears were immediately perked. “Were their plans approved? Were they permitted for that phase? Or was it just an idea on paper?” I had to stop my excited line of questioning to allow her to reply.
“Everything was a go but for whatever reason they completed all except that portion...” She stopped speaking, pulled out her mini-tablet and began to scour through folders which instantly had my mind running to Saffron and the wedding shop practically in my line of sight.
What were the chances that the sexy wedding planner was associated with that place? Chances are slim, my friend! She was working a wedding in Santa Barbara. She could’ve been located there or maybe in LA, but barring the distances...why would they hire someone from the desert? They lived in Florida, dumbass! She could’ve come from there or even Atlanta, Georgia since she had brought in the famous chef who was from there. My mind was reeling.
“Here it is!” Meredith exclaimed and captured my attention again. “The owners attempted to secure a loan based on the new finished construction and what they intended to add... Denied.” She paused to take a sip of white wine before continuing, “So they struck up a deal with a neighboring hotel for pool use while they put together enough money to get their facility done. Reservations were steady in the beginning with the newness and location factor.”
I could see why. The location was ideal for people that wanted action and the hotel itself was spectacular with its modern elements. White stucco teamed with giant glass walls and doors that opened wide to give a feel of openness—when the weather permitted. A few touches of light wood elements added a calm and warm feel in a soothing spa way. And the grounds mixed with lush green lawns, palm trees, and bougainvillea bushes blooming were gorgeous. It only lacked an inviting lounge area with a great swimming pool which was essential in the desert.
“Do they have a full liquor license and bar?” I asked, tipping back an ice cold imported beer. Mexico may have held some unwanted memories but I still loved their beer.
“Yes, a lovely one and a restaurant.” Meredith was smiling
. She was probably adding up the commission in her head if she could add the hotel purchase to the other percentage she was already earning from the home I bought through her.
The wheels in my own head were turning as we finished our lunch and I signed some final docs for my new home. I actually welcomed the distraction—not that I didn’t already have enough on my plate. But it could fill my downtime while I waited for Perry and Makayla to return to the states. Just thinking about them had me wondering if they would maybe want to invest in a venture since they had been talking about opening a restaurant of their own. I was starting to get excited.
Sure I had belonged to a big hotel family, but I didn’t have a property that actually identified as mine. None of the ones that we had or I had helped develop reflected me and my taste. But that boutique hotel spoke to me, called to me and suddenly I wanted it. I wanted to finish it. I wanted to make it a success. And I wanted a certain wedding planner using it...maybe we could use it together...our wedding?
People would definitely think I was crazy to even think such a thing, but I couldn’t keep myself from seeing us together. Being in the downtown area—for some reason—I was constantly reminded of Saffron...even my new house. When I first found the house I was just looking for the typical Palm Springs style home: modern, flat roof, lots of glass, and light color stucco. What they call Desert Modernism. Of course, I also wanted a pool along with a spectacular view of the mountains or the valley. I got a little of both.
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.
