“Erin’s super sweet,” Shortie said. “She’s just taken on more than she can chew at the moment. Her business is growing so fast that she can barely keep up, even with her brother helping.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I think it will be,” Shortie chewed his sandwich, considering, “if she doesn’t grow too fast. See, her business rests on giving brides that perfect day. If she overreaches and it’s less than perfect, then…”
“Disaster.”
“Exactly,” Shortie nodded, “and since my business is tied to hers, you can see how I’d be concerned.”
“But The Pie Plate is always busy.”
“Yes, but it’s reached capacity. There’s nowhere to grow, unless I want to open a new location. I don’t have the capital for that so catering it is.”
“I see,” Abby picked at her sandwich. “It must be stressful.”
“It can be,” Shortie shrugged. “Mostly, I just don’t want to let my gramps down. He built it up. I don’t want to fail him.”
“Fair enough,” Abby crumpled her half-eaten sandwich into the wrapper and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “Now I just need you to tell me where my interview actually is.”
“Let me walk you there,” Shortie stuffed the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth and led the way.
Chapter 5
“Here we are,” Shortie pointed to the basement door of a tall, white brick townhouse on Charlton Street, not far from Lafayette Square. “Good luck.”
"Aren't you coming in?" Abigail asked, her voice high and tight. Butterflies tangoed in her stomach, and her fingers shook as she smoothed her hair. Hopefully, she didn't look too terribly windblown.
“You got this,” Shortie waved and loped off towards LaFayette Square, in the direction of The Pie Plate.
When no one answered her second knock, Abigail turned to leave. As she passed the window, inside a blonde woman juggled a phone and tapped away at a computer, her back to the door. Was it possible she hadn’t heard her at the door? A few drops of rain spattered her jacket as Abigail huddled under the lintel. When more drops spattered the pavement, Abigail knocked again and then tried the door.
Squaring her shoulders, Abigail opened the door and stepped into the waiting area, done to look like a welcoming living room. In the warm, inviting space, every chair was occupied. Abigail identified three groups of women clustered together, along with a casually dressed man tapping on his tablet while another woman in jeans and a loose oxford shirt shifted heavy photo albums in her arms. As the chatter in the lobby reached fever pitch, Abigail stepped around the receptionist desk, just as a tall, blond man exited the back.
“Please tell me you’re the temp,” The blond man drawled. “I think I double booked us—or maybe Erin did—either way, we need someone to manage the schedule.”
“Um…” Abigail began but he just held out the desk chair for her. Obediently, she sat.
“We answer the phone with Always a Bridesmaid. How can we make your wedding perfect?” He handed her a pink message pad and a pen. “Now, the Carrera party?”
With that, a cluster of giggling women followed him into the back. Abigail looked blankly at the rest of the waiting horde and then down at the message pad. The desk phone trilled once and then again.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” the woman holding the photo albums asked.
Abigail picked up the phone. She took a message and hung up, surveying the crowd in the lobby. She drew a deep breath and pointed to the woman with the photo albums. “What can I do for you?”
Within just a few moments, she’d managed to reschedule the wedding photographer and the florist. The man tapping on his tablet had turned out to be a florist. She chatted with the mother of the two waiting brides and took down details of their day. So far, so good, even if she had yet to meet Erin herself.
A blonde woman dashed out of the back, her hair in a loose braid, wearing a smart lavender sheath. She tugged on a matching jacket before pausing next to the credenza Abigail was dusting. “I’m Erin Delaney. Who are you?”
"Abigail Browne." A small wrinkle appeared over Erin's nose, and then her blue eyes brightened.
“Shortie’s friend?”
Abigail wasn't sure if she and Shortie qualified as friends, but she nodded.
“Well, you’re off to a great start so far. Did Dylan tell you we’re triple booked this afternoon?”
“Is Dylan the blond guy?”
"Yeah, my brother," Erin said. "Can we chat after I meet with…um….?
"The Rubins?" Abigail supplied helpfully, and Erin shot her a grateful smile. Abigail agreed and went back to dusting. Erin led the second bridal party back. In just a few moments, Dylan escorted his chattering coterie out and called the final party back. Abigail straightened the lobby, plumping the cushions and aligning the magazines before making herself a cup of coffee in the small welcome area. She sat back at the desk, absently straightening and organizing so that papers weren't scattered over the top. In less than a half an hour, Erin escorted the Rubin bridal party out and leaned against the door. She put her head back and closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. Now that she wasn't in constant motion, Abigail noted the deep purple circles under her eyes and exhaustion written on her face.
“Here, I think you might need this more than me,” Abigail offered her coffee.
"Come on back and we'll chat,” Erin opened her eyes and grinned. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge under the coffee center and waved Abigail back to a small office. Light poured in from the street side window. Though the space seemed superficially tidy, Abigail noted the messy papers in the credenza drawer before Erin nudged it shut on her way past. "Shortie tells me that you're the one who caught that canine menace's leash on Saturday."
“I did,” Abigail nodded.
“And Shortie sent you over because you’re interested in being a bridesmaid.”
“Not at all.”
Erin’s brows raised, “Not at all?”
"I do need a job,” Abigail admitted, “and it seems like you could use some office help if you don't mind my saying so."
"You're right. We do. But my budget doesn't stretch to that,” Erin folded her arms on her desk and met her gaze. ‘The thing is, Abigail, I need bridesmaids. We've got a ton of weddings coming up this spring, and I need bridesmaids to fulfill our contracts."
“I’ve never been a bridesmaid.”
"We can ease you into it,” Erin smiled, and Abigail found herself smiling back. She instinctively liked Erin. "It's just like getting dressed up and hanging out with your girlfriends."
Abigail bit her lip. She’d never really had girlfriends of her own and preferred her own company. But she’d observed her grandmother with her friends enough that maybe she could pull it off. “Come to think of it, why wouldn’t a bride just ask her girlfriends to be her bridesmaids? Why would she hire one?”
"If you'd ever been a bridesmaid, you wouldn't have to ask,” Erin laughed. "I spend most of my time smoothing things over between feuding relatives and soothing girlfriend drama. We're a neutral party at an emotion-heavy time. Someone there for just the bride, with no agenda of our own."
“I see,” Abigail considered. If she were ever to get married, she’d need a platoon of bridesmaids to run interference with her own mother. Given her sad lack of a dating life, that seemed a distant worry. “How many other bridesmaids do you have?”
"At the moment, I'm the only bridesmaid, and Dylan is the world's only professional groomsman. When I started the business, up in Boston, my best friend, Lauren, helped out a lot. She still pitches in from time to time but, it's expensive for her to fly down and she’s working hard on getting her own business off the ground. Besides, the wedding is often the smallest part of it. It's also shopping for dresses, bridesmaid's luncheons, make-up rehearsal, hand-holding, the works."
“Wow,” Abby chewed her lip. She wasn’t sure she could do any of that but it did sound fun to
try. Plus, it wasn’t like she had other job offers lined up.
"Plus, we're expanding the business to more of a wedding planning focus," Erin said. "We don't just act as bridesmaids. Not anymore."
“It sounds like a lot.”
“It is.”
“You sure you don’t just want admin help?”
“Let’s negotiate. You can do admin part-time during the week and pitch in as a bridesmaid on the weekends,” Erin smiled and, despite her misgivings, Abby found herself smiling back. “Why don’t you think about it over night? If you’re interested, come back tomorrow. Staff meeting at ten sharp.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 6
Tuesday morning, Shortie headed over to Always a Bridesmaid around nine. As he was most days, he'd been up since just after four, doing the morning baking and handling the breakfast rush at The Pie Plate. When he arrived at the Westbrook's row house, Matthew and Dylan were already sweaty from a spirited game of horse in the driveway. Matthew missed his shot, and Dylan snatched the ball. Diving in, Shortie stole the ball from Dylan and shot a perfect free throw.
“Nothin’ but net,” Shortie hollered. “That’s the way to do it, Westie.”
Within seconds, Shortie lost himself in the game. No matter how long he’d been away from the court, a rough and tumble basketball game always focused and centered him. He lost himself in the staccato beat of the dribbling ball and the whoosh of the net as he put up basket after basket. His stiff shoulders loosened as his muscles warmed during the dance of the game.
“We’d better go in for the staff meeting,” Dylan broke the trance, all too soon for Shortie’s taste.
“Ugh.” They walked into the kitchen and Matthew jogged up the back staircase, calling over his shoulder. “Better you all than me.”
Shortie had never worked in a place requiring staff meetings before. Since Erin developed her grand expansion plans for Always a Bridesmaid, there seemed to be no getting out of them, no matter how much of a waste of time they seemed. Since he wanted to stay in her good graces as her favorite caterer and cake baker extraordinaire, Shortie attended, however unwillingly.
“Did you bring donuts this time?” Dylan demanded as they took their seats around the scrubbed pine table in the Westbrook’s comfortable kitchen. The bright seafoam cabinets and checkerboard painted wood floor should have overwhelmed such a small area. Instead, they transformed the narrow kitchen into a homey, bright, and welcoming space. As the newly married Westbrooks had yet to purchase a dining room set, the kitchen table served as a meeting place. Dylan and Erin squeezed onto the bench seat in the breakfast nook, leaving Shortie to chose one of the chairs across from them.
“Gotta get there early to snag one of my praline donuts. Sold out again this morning,” Shortie answered Dylan. “Brought banana bread instead.”
“Still pretty good,” Dylan gave him a thumbs up. “I’m starving. Where is it?”
“I left it outside,” Shortie raised out of his seat narrowly missing Abby as she walked up to the table, carefully balancing a full tray.
“I grabbed it off the front steps while you were playing,” Abby set a painted platter decorated with ladybugs on the table and fanned out napkins next to it. The platter held slices of Shortie’s banana bread, studded with chocolate chips, and accented with fresh sliced strawberries. A small bowl of glossy grapes perched in the center. Abby presented mismatched mugs and a coffee carafe next. After setting out a cream pitcher decorated with magnolia blossoms and a sugar bowl, she took her seat next to Shortie. This close, he caught her scent—soap, lemons, and sugar, enticingly sweet.
“Hey, Abby,” Shortie greeted her easily before snagging two pieces of banana bread as Erin called the meeting to order.
"If we're going to pull off the Hamilton wedding, we'll need at least two more bridesmaids,” Erin started. "The bride wants a full dozen. We can fly Lauren down, too, so that means only one more."
“Abby can do it,” Shortie put in.
“I’m not really a bridesmaid,” Abby protested and Shortie, his mouth full of banana bread, raised an eyebrow at Erin.
"We're still negotiating,” Erin answered. Abby wouldn't stand a chance against Erin. Her determination was legendary. If Erin said Abby would be a bridesmaid, then Abby would be.
Abby said nothing, though her full mouth thinned a bit as she twisted her hands in her lap. The morning sun streaming through the windows warmed Shortie enough to unzip his hoodie, but Abby wrapped her nubby brown cardigan around herself as though chilled. She hunched down in the chair as though trying to make herself as small as possible.
“Thankfully, I convinced her to go with those off the rack dresses so we can get everyone fitted—“ Erin muttered, more to herself than anyone else, before scrawling on her notepad, “But we’ve got to get shoes.”
“Bug,” Dylan cut Erin off before she could get too wound up.
“Bug?” Abby asked, her brow furrowing.
"It's my nickname," Erin explained. "It's short for ladybug."
“Ask what her nickname for him is.” Shortie teased.
"It's Pickle," Erin said shortly. "Now if we could talk about…"
“For like dill pickle,” Shortie explained. “Since his first name is Dylan.”
Abby shot him a brilliant smile. His pulse sped up just a bit. Though she worked hard to make herself invisible, Abby was quite pretty once Shortie looked past the awful sweater and shapeless clothes. At that thought, he took a too-big bite of banana bread. He coughed hard, his eyes watering. Abby rushed to get him a glass of water. Erin rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“We get it, Erin,” Dylan soothed. “You need all hands on deck for this wedding. Though I don’t get what’s so special—“
“What’s so special?” Erin cried. Shortie could have sworn he heard the dishes rattle in the cupboards from the high pitch of her voice. “It’s only the wedding of the year. Possibly the decade.”
“Why not the century?” Dylan put in as Shortie gulped down water, his throat burning, as Abby resumed her seat next to him.
"Exactly,” Erin nodded her face a mask of determination. "It's also advertising for all future Savannah weddings of the century. We need it to be perfection, and we only have a few weeks left to pull it off. Shortie, let's talk about the cake."
"Chill,” Shortie held up a hand before Erin could get going. If her voice got much higher, the windows would crack. "The cake is totally under control. I got this."
“Okay,” Erin nodded once and drew a deep breath. “We’re doing the Taylor wedding on Saturday. I just happen to know that Amy, the younger sister of the bride, is very close friends with Liz Hamilton’s younger sister, DeeDee.”
“Wait, how do you know all that?” Shortie asked, astonished.
“Ask me no questions—”
“Did you search their Instagram and cross reference it with Facebook again?” Dylan drawled in between bites of banana bread.
“Snapchat and Pinterest, if you must know,” Erin answered, with icy dignity while Dylan and Shortie laughed and Abby looked on wide-eyed, “and my mama-in-law knows half of Savannah.”
“You’re a bigger menace than Jasper,” Shortie shook his head. “Machiavelli had nothing on you.”
“Don’t you mean Sun Tzu?” Abby commented and Shortie high-fived her while Dylan laughed again. Erin glared for a second before she grinned too.
Over the years, he’d watched his grandfather create a family out of the people that worked at The Pie Plate. Together, they’d built something out of nothing. When Shortie took over, he’d come in as the boss. And while he’d run it for years, Shortie never felt as comfortable at The Pie Plate as he did now, working with Erin and Dylan at Always a Bridesmaid. Sometimes family formed in the most unexpected places. Once Abby got more comfortable, she’d loosen up a bit and fit right in with the rest of the office family.
“So, now, at the Taylor wedding we’re supposed to charm DeeDee?” Dylan asked.
“Exactly,” Erin straightened her shoulders like a general entering battle.
“Why? Liz Hamilton’s already hired us.”
“She skittish. If the Taylor wedding is less than perfect, it’s not good news for us.”
“So, we have to pull off a perfect wedding this weekend too?” Dylan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Don’t we always?” Shortie put in.
"Let's go over the logistics," Erin said. "Abby's going to join us to observe and see how it's all done, so she'll be comfortable being a bridesmaid next time."
Abby shifted next to him, her hands twisting in her lap again. Shortie shoulder-nudged her and whispered, “You can do it.”
"Of course she can," Erin said briskly. "Moving on to the cake."
Shortie groaned but sat up attentively to listen to Erin’s notes on the cake. An hour later, Matthew clambered down the back stairs to the kitchen and interrupted.
“Thank God,” Shortie stood and stretched. “I thought this would never end.”
“Me too,” Dylan rubbed a hand over his face to conceal his yawn, “but you two need to head out on your lunch date so…”
“Lunch date?” Abby asked.
"They go out to lunch every Tuesday," Dylan explained. "It's like a marriage-date night thing."
"I don't have much time for dating on the weekends," Erin explained as Matthew helped her into her jacket, carefully tugging her hair out of the collar before dropping a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. Hand in hand, they headed out the front door.
“I’m going to head back to the restaurant,” Shortie waved to Dylan and Abby, already tidying the table with brisk efficiency, before jogging after Matthew and Erin.
"So, Abigail's cute," Erin commented as he joined them on the sidewalk. They strolled together, as the weather outside was breezy and warm.
“Be careful, Shortie,” Matthew wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. Though they’d only been married a few months, his oldest friend seemed content in a way that Shortie had never seen before. Erin and Matthew were well matched. Shortie had no doubt he would dance at their fiftieth anniversary party. Some people were just lucky that way. “She’s an inveterate matchmaker.”
Kiss a Bridesmaid (Always a Bridesmaid Book 3) Page 3
