Best Laid Wedding Plans Read online

  “If anybody can, it’s you. So what brings you to my place? How can I help?”

  “I came to drop off an order for some lumber. It’s either fix that porch floor or tear the whole darn thing off.”

  “Yeah, I noticed last time I visited your folks it looked kind of rough. I meant to get back, but…” He spread his hands. “I got busy. Just not enough hours in the day.”

  “Don’t I know it. But that’s okay. I’m taking care of it.”

  “You need some help?”

  She shook her head. “I can manage.”

  “Yourself?” He held her at arm’s distance and studied her.

  “Hey.” She made a muscle. “I can swing a hammer. Nothing wrong with my arm.”

  He wrapped a hand around her upper arm, pretended to be impressed. “You’re right. My mistake.”

  “Your guys will cut the lumber to length before they deliver it, right? That’s the tricky part.”

  “Yep, they’ll do that. You get into trouble, though, despite all that muscle”—he gave her upper arm another squeeze—“you give me a call.”

  When she opened her mouth, he said, “No need to get your back up. Just makin’ a friendly offer of help.”

  She took a deep breath. “Then thank you. Cole actually offered to help, too.” Going for nonchalance, she said, “He’s in town.”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna hit Duffy’s Pub a little later for dinner and a couple beers.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Want to join us?”

  She laughed, knowing full well why he’d been reluctant to invite her. This was guys’ night out. Still, he’d been willing to sacrifice, and that meant a lot. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy.”

  “Why’d you come home, Jenni Beth?”

  “Ah, and there’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s go on back to my office. Sit down for a few minutes. Think I’ve got a couple cold sodas in my fridge.”

  She followed him through the store, waited while he answered a couple questions tossed at him by an employee, then dropped onto the sagging sofa in his cluttered office.

  “Here, let me get some of that.” He scooped up a book of wallpaper samples and piled it on the floor by the carpet swatches. Some paperwork ended up in the same heap.

  “You need a bookkeeper…and a cleaning lady.”

  “Got both. But I rarely let them in here.” He grinned. “They’d screw up my organizational system.”

  “Right. I can see that. A place for everything and everything in its place.”

  “Something like that.” He grabbed a Coke from the mini-fridge and handed it to her, then retrieved a second for himself. Settling onto his office chair, he kicked back, booted feet on his desktop.

  “So, what are you really doing back in Misty Bottoms?”

  She took a long cold drink of her soda, then filled him in on her plan.

  “What do you think?” she finally asked.

  “Honestly? I believe you’ve got your work cut out for you. If you can pull it off? Huge win. For you, your parents, and the town.”

  She nodded slowly. “I thought long and hard before I turned in my resignation at the Chateau Rouge Resort. I loved that job, but my folks need me here.”

  Beck nodded vaguely. “I see them around town once in a while. Mostly your dad. Your mother—well, they’ve both aged, haven’t they?”

  She raised her gaze to the ceiling. Fought back another round of unwanted tears. “Oh, Beck, I should have come back sooner. I figured they had each other. That they were okay. They’re not. My mom’s barely holding on.”

  She met his worried gaze and fought for a smile. “So, here I am. And as soon as Richard gives me the go-ahead, I’ll tear into the old place. Until then, I’ll start on the porch. That’s something I can tackle myself, physically and financially.”

  “My offer of help stands.”

  “I know.” She tossed her empty soda can into his recycling container and dug the itemized list out of her purse.

  Beck plucked the notepaper from her and scanned it. “Looks pretty thorough. You’re sure of the measurements?”

  The arched-brow look she sent him said it all.

  “Okay then. Let’s get this order placed.”

  As they stepped from his office, he glanced again at her notes. “Everything’s in stock. It’ll take my guys some time to get your lumber cut and the rest of the things pulled together. We should be able to deliver it sometime tomorrow. Will that work?”

  “It sure will.”

  “Don’t suppose you have a nail gun?”

  “Nope. I plan to use a hammer and do it the old-fashioned way.”

  Walking over to a bin, he scooped up a handful of nails. “You’ll want to use this kind, this size.” He held one up. “It’ll sink deeper and hold better. I’ll send some out with your lumber.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You gonna paint or stain the wood?”

  “The porch has always been white. Think I’ll stay with that.”

  “Let me show you the best.”

  When she grimaced, he said, “Jenni Beth, you know I’m gonna give you the family discount on everything, don’t you?”

  “I can’t ask you to do that, Beck.”

  “You don’t need to ask. I offered.”

  “Then again, I’ll say thank you.” Because quick tears heated her eyes and threatened to embarrass them both, she said, “Lead the way.”

  She followed him to the paint department.

  “When we deliver the lumber tomorrow, I’ll match up the color, figure out how much the job will take, and order it for you,” he said.

  Beck pointed out a couple other things she’d need. She dutifully made note of them, then made her escape, stopping a few times to speak to a former teacher, the pastor at her parents’ church, a neighbor. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing—that veiled reference to her brother.

  Once in her car, she blew out a huge breath.

  She felt shaky. Memories assaulted her.

  Being home should be easier. It wasn’t. In Savannah she could pretend her brother hadn’t been killed. That he was still alive and well and doing his own thing while she did hers.

  But here in Misty Bottoms? Wes, his friends, and his memory surrounded her.

  She could hide in a dark hole, but that wouldn’t solve anything. And Wes would expect more from her. Nevertheless, Jenni Beth took a moment, settled herself before starting the car. She adjusted the vents so cool air blew across her, hit the power button on the stereo, and laid her head back against the seat. Chris Young, in all his sexiness, serenaded her.

  A little steadier after a few minutes, she checked the dashboard clock. What was Cole doing? She laughed. Not sitting around wondering what she was doing, that’s for sure.

  Time to get back to business. Everything would still be open for another couple hours. Kitty would be her next stop. The familiar versus the unknown. While she was there, and since she’d skipped lunch, Jenni Beth decided she’d treat herself.

  Like a carrot dangling on a string, the idea of a sweet treat provided the motivation needed to get her butt in gear. Once in town, the ’Vette bumped along Anderson’s Alley, one of only three cobblestone streets left in town.

  Kitty’s Kakes and Bakery hadn’t changed one iota over the years. The pink and green awning shaded the street and front window. Inside that window, behind the shop’s stenciled name, trays of goodies lined the shelves and tempted even a saint to stop and indulge.

  Jenni Beth definitely wasn’t a saint.

  She’d barely made it through the door when Kitty let out a squeal. Wiping her hands on the stained white apron tied around her thick waist, she stepped out from behind the counter to wrap Jenni Beth in a warm hug.

 
“I heard you were home.”

  “I am. And I’m staying.”

  “Your dad told me that. He and your mom stopped in for coffee and a donut.” Kitty backed up and held Jenni Beth away from her. Studied her. “How are you, honey? You look a little tired.”

  “I’m good, and I have some rather ambitious plans. Plans I’m hoping you’ll want to be a part of.”

  Curiosity burned in the baker’s eyes. “Oh yeah? Nobody’s here. Sit. We’ll talk.” She waved at a small table jammed into the corner. “It’s time for my break, anyway. Want coffee?”

  “I’d love a cup—and a chocolate éclair. It’s been way too long since I’ve had one—and nobody makes them better than you!”

  “You’ve got it.” Over her shoulder, she said, “Cole Bryson stopped by for a couple of these earlier today. He’s in town, too.”

  Jenni Beth’s heart raced. She couldn’t seem to get away from the man. “Yes, I talked to him.”

  “He’s sure a good-lookin’ devil, isn’t he?” Kitty moved behind the counter, efficiently plated Jenni Beth’s treat and poured two coffees.

  Jenni Beth said nothing, assuming Kitty didn’t really need or expect an answer.

  Carrying the coffees and pastry to the table, Kitty asked, “So, what’s up?”

  Jenni Beth took one bite of the éclair and closed her eyes. “Oh boy. A moment of silence, please.” She chewed and smiled. “I’ve missed these.”

  Reluctantly, she returned the pastry to her plate and shared her plan.

  The shopkeeper listened quietly, then softly whistled. “You’re takin’ on an awful lot, sweetie.”

  “Yes, I am, but I know I can do this. My brides, Magnolia Brides, will need cakes and pastries, and they’ll want the best. Yours. Will you help?”

  The woman met her eyes. “I planned to retire, you know.” Nervous fingers shredded a paper napkin. “When Harvey got sick, we decided I’d better hang on a little bit longer. Insurance and doctor bills can run you into the ground, eat up everything you’ve worked for.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jenni Beth laid her hand over the older woman’s. “How’s Harvey doing?”

  “Better. Much better.” She smiled. “A few more treatments and we’re out of the woods.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “I hope you can make this wedding venue work. As for me?” She breathed deeply, then her face split in a grin. “Oh hell. I’ve always been a sucker for fairy tales and crazy-assed dreams. Count me in. Besides, weddings are such joy-filled events, aren’t they?”

  “They are! Thank you, Kitty!”

  She patted her hand. “Just tell me what you need and when, and I’ll have it ready for you. Keep in mind I’m not one of those fancy Atlanta or New York City pastry chefs, though.”

  “You don’t need to be. I’ve seen—and tasted—enough of your cakes to know you’re exactly what Magnolia Brides will want.”

  Jenni Beth couldn’t stop smiling as she finished off her éclair and coffee. “I have one more stop to make. The new florist.”

  Kitty made a face. “She’s not one of us, you know. She’s a Yankee.”

  A laugh bubbled out of Jenni Beth before she could stop it. “I’ve worked with lots of Yankees in Savannah. They’re good, hardworking people.”

  A blush reddened Kitty’s face. “Guess the War of Northern Aggression’s well behind us, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and thank heavens for that.” She carried her plate and cup to the counter. “Wish me luck.”

  Back in her car, Jenni Beth turned onto Church Street. Halfway down the block, she spotted the faded green railroad car that Brenda Sue had converted into a flower shop over twenty years ago.

  A new sign hung by the short flight of wrought-iron stairs. Brenda Sue’s Flowers had become Bella Fiore. Italian for pretty flower. Kind of ritzy for Misty Bottoms, but maybe the town needed more ritzy to draw people from Savannah.

  Jenni Beth parked and marched up the steps. One foot inside the door, she stopped dead, her hand still on the knob. God-awful gaudy. The decor hit her like, well, like a runaway train. Reams of gold ribbon, cherubs, and red velvet—in May! Belle Watson had come to Misty Bottoms. The place practically screamed bordello.

  Bella Fiore. One hundred eighty degrees from Brenda Sue’s down-home style with its gingham bows and sunflowers.

  This was Low Country. Late spring, heading into summer. Where were the pastels, the lilacs and peaches? The spring and summer flowers?

  Panic slammed her. Could she work with this woman? Let her anywhere near her brides?

  “Can I help you?”

  The minute the new shop owner opened her mouth, Jenni Beth heard Fran Drescher, from The Nanny reruns she and her mother sometimes watched. She even looked like Fran with all that thick black hair.

  Jenni Beth swallowed hard and extended her hand. “I hope so. Are you Pia D’Amato?”

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “I’m Jenni Beth Beaumont.”

  “From Magnolia House.”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on in and get off those feet.” She waved her hand in a come-here gesture.

  Jenni Beth peeked at her own practical sandals, then gazed longingly at the expensive Hermès espadrilles Pia wore. Mentally, she wished the woman well. Unless she had a sugar daddy or was a trust-fund baby, she seriously doubted Ms. D’Amato would be able to afford any more designer shoes. Not on the profits from Bella Fiore.

  Although that played right into the reason she’d come. “I have a proposal to run by you, Ms. D’Amato. One I hope will benefit both of us.”

  “Really?” Pia’s perfectly penciled brows rose as she dragged out the word. “You want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to decline another cup so soon after leaving Kitty’s, but politically, that wouldn’t be smart. “I’d love one.”

  Twenty minutes later, feeling hopeful, Jenni Beth left the little shop. This relationship could work. With a little collaboration, she and Pia should be able to provide Magnolia House brides with flowers. She’d have to keep a close eye on the taste level of Pia’s designs, though. Roses and baby’s breath. Dogwoods, magnolias, camellias, and Spanish moss. Bouquets and boutonnieres. Another piece of the puzzle that made up her dream snapped into place.

  As she slid into her car, Jenni Beth looked over her shoulder. Pia D’Amato was on the phone—and very animated. Good. Maybe she was already sharing their plans with her backer. Jenni Beth didn’t know who it was, but felt certain she had one. She sure didn’t seem strapped for cash.

  No. That would be Jenni Beth herself who filled those shoes.

  Chapter 9

  Cole’s thumbs drummed on the steering wheel in time to One Republic’s “Counting Stars.” It had been a good scouting expedition, and he’d found the perfect columns for Magnolia House, assuming Jenni Beth didn’t get her back up and dismiss them out of hand. And he’d made it back in time for dinner with Beck. He needed time with his pal, wanted his take on some of the changes going down.

  He adjusted the rearview mirror and took a quick look at himself, ran a hand over his jaw. Not good, but not too bad. If he was meeting Jenni Beth, which, unfortunately, he wasn’t, he’d need a shower and shave. Since his dinner date was Beck, he could probably forget both.

  But Beck mentioned running home to clean up after he finished his job, so he’d better, too. Besides, his mom wouldn’t appreciate him running around town looking like some ragamuffin.

  Cole turned onto Whiskey Road. If he hustled, he could shower, toss on some fresh clothes, and not be more than ten minutes late.

  When he rushed into the house, he spotted a note on the kitchen counter. His mom had put clean sheets on his bed and fresh towels in his bath. Checking the fridge, he found the homemade caramels, downed two, and closed his eyes to savor the
m. Nobody made caramels like his mom. She’d left him a quart of milk, some fresh bread, cold cuts, and leftover fried chicken—in case he got hungry.

  That was his mom. When it came to family, he’d won the lottery.

  * * *

  What the heck? Monday night and the parking lot at Duffy’s Pub was bursting at the seams. Football season had ended a couple months ago so that wasn’t the draw. Must be Meghan’s cooking. He sure hoped she had some of her shrimp and grits left. While Savannah boasted more than one top-notch chef, nobody came close to Meghan’s down-home cooking.

  Stuffing his truck key into his jeans pocket, he pushed through the front door and felt he’d come home. Music played, glasses clinked, conversations drifted over and around others.

  Beck waved at him from a side booth. “Get yourself in here. You’re already one behind.” He lifted the nearly empty bottle and wagged it at him.

  “He’s drinkin’ Bud. You havin’ the same?” Binnie asked from behind the bar.

  Cole leaned across the counter and pulled the waitress into a big hug. “You still puttin’ up with Duffy and all the lowlifes who come draggin’ in here, Binnie?”

  She laughed. “I’m waitin’ on my Prince Charming to ride in and rescue me from all this, but, darn, he’s sure takin’ his time about it.”

  “You’ve got my number,” Cole said.

  “Yep, I sure do. Just like another hundred or so women.”

  “Ouch.” He laid a hand over his heart.

  “So you drinkin’ Bud tonight?”

  “Is it cold?”

  “Duffy’s chippin’ the ice off it as we speak.”

  “That’ll do then.” He slid into the worn wooden seat across from Beck.

  “So what brings you to Misty Bottoms, pal?” Beck asked.

  “Work. Hit a couple sales, did some banking. Odds and ends.” He took the beer Binnie offered and thanked her for the bowl of peanuts.

  “You guys gonna eat or just drink your way through the night?”