Lights camera wedding, p.2
Lights, Camera...Wedding?, page 2
Those shouldn’t be her biggest concerns. They shouldn’t overshadow the loss of the man who was supposed to be the love of her life.
Were they?
Sludgy guilt slicked her insides. It couldn’t be true.
“Why now?” she pressed.
“I thought I could do it. But this week, dozens of my coworkers have asked me if I’m excited to get married. And every time, when I said ‘yeah,’ I wanted to puke. When my boss told me to leave the office to finish packing this evening, I had to run for my garbage can the minute he stepped out the door.” Air shuddered from his lips. “Is my timing bad? Sure. It’s necessary, though. Better now than after we complete more filming, or after we exchange vows. Make up whatever story that suits you. Blame me.” He stood. “I’ll cover my half of the costs.”
“Do you understand how much we’ll owe if we don’t go through with a wedding? The food, the flowers, decor for the entire lodge. Chantilly lace and truffles. Travel bills.” Her head was starting to spin. “And it’s not just the ceremony. It’s a whole weekend of events. Not to mention the cost of ten days of shutting down most of the lodge for Luke and Emma—”
He scoffed. “Your sister’s not going to charge us.”
“How could she not? It’s a week and a half of income! She can’t snap her fingers and fill rooms.”
“Christ, whatever. I’ll pay half of that, too.”
“Leaving me with the rest!” She swallowed, trying to temper her tone from shriek to calm. “You’re well aware I can’t afford that.”
“We took a risk on this, Bea. You read the contract just like I did.” So calm. Bored, almost. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was delivering a monthly report, not jilting his bride the week before the wedding.
“It’s not the contract that’s letting me down, it’s you.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stood. “I’ll go to a hotel for a night or two so you have time to pack your things.”
Wait. Packing? She held up a hand. “You’re kicking me out?”
“It’s...not your place.”
Ouch. But...of course. The condo was in his name, not hers.
“Right. Should have been another sign, I guess? That the sum total of my possessions I bothered to unpack is my French press and a handful of books on the shelf?” Humiliation engulfed her. “I’m supposed to go to Montana tomorrow. We are supposed to go.”
He shook his head slowly. “Go if you need to. Use the storage unit for as long as you need it. I won’t do anything to your stuff.”
Mainly because it’s not as nice as your own stuff.
Had he always only tolerated her presence?
“I’m not using your fricking storage unit.” She jolted to her feet. “Give me two hours. I already packed a lot of my clothes and personal items. I’ll bag the rest up and keep it in my office at the shop. And I’ll take the hotel room tonight. I don’t want to spend another minute in your condo.”
“Okay.” That weird, cold tone again. She hated it.
She wished Brody hadn’t hung up. That he’d witnessed this, heard the blow-by-blow, so that she didn’t have to recap it for him. The thought of explaining this to the people she loved made her want to puke, and Brody would be able to tell if she edited the sordid tale.
Unless he was furious with her for jeopardizing his cousin’s business...
She started shaking. Holy God. What were Emma and Luke going to do? Talk about people taking a risk—they had, on her.
She’d have to face them and tell them the truth tomorrow. And the production team. The host had been so kind. Would they have some sort of backup plan?
Her disbelief hardened to anger. “I’d complain that you’re leaving me to deal with the fallout, but at least it will save me from having to see your face.” She spat it more than said it.
How had she gone from wanting to spend the rest of her life with this man to not wanting to be in his presence?
Her knees were jelly, but she needed to buck up, find a solution.
“It was your idea. It’s not my mess to clean up,” Jason said. “Unless you avoid it and flit off to something different like you usually do.”
“You...you said you liked that I was a free spirit,” she said, words strangled. “Said I brought surprise to your life.”
“And I decided it’s not a trait I want to live with.” He looked away. It was close to an eye roll.
How dare he! She’d built up a good wall against people who didn’t appreciate her for who she was, but that hammer left a crack.
Maybe the fact it didn’t demolish you is a sign?
Maybe. She straightened her shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong—I think this is cruel timing. You signed on just as much as I did. It’s not my problem alone. But other than that? You’re doing me a big favor. I don’t want to marry someone who looks down on me.”
If I wanted to live with constant criticism, I never would have left home.
Come to think of it, he’d been flinging passive-aggressive frustration at her for a couple of months now, and she was so conditioned to accept it that she’d barely processed his increasing unhappiness. She could admit that to herself and acknowledge he was a massive jerk.
She flicked her hand in the universal gesture for “you’re dismissed.”
“Bea—”
“Nope. I have to keep packing.”
Except, instead of for two weeks and a wedding, she was packing up her whole life.
Again.
Chapter One
Brody found nothing so jarring as having near-constant communication lines severed with no notice. He sipped his coffee in the airy kitchen of his Seattle town house and glared at his cell screen. He’d woken up early, worrying about Bea. Texted a bunch. Even called.
No replies.
Concern tightened his chest. He’d suspected things were hinky last night when he’d witnessed—over Zoom, anyway—Jason arrive home. He’d heard nothing the rest of the night from her, and nothing this morning, either. No answer. What the hell had gone on? She and Jason were supposed to get on a plane at two o’clock.
He shot her off another where are you? before heading out for a run, even though he’d trained hard the previous evening with some of his athletes. He wasn’t sure he was physically capable of running fast enough to escape his thoughts, but trying was preferable to sitting at home fretting.
Also preferable to hunting Jason down and giving the guy a piece of his mind for that dismissive crack about Bea having packed up half their condo. Probably with his hand around the other man’s throat, so yeah, best he stayed far away from Bea’s fiancé.
He was looping around Green Lake when a text arrived from his cousin Luke.
Have you heard from Bea?
Brody winced, slowing his strides. Luke, their grandfather and Bea’s sister Emma co-owned the lodge where Bea was supposed to get married, though the transition to a wedding facility was mostly Emma’s baby. She was no doubt spinning off the planet with everything the upcoming nuptials would demand, and being engaged to Luke, he’d be her main sounding board.
Brody typed with one eye on the path ahead so as not to trip. Not since last night. Is something wrong?
Luke: She’s gone radio silent. Emma’s freaking out.
Good to know he wasn’t the only one overreacting, then.
Unless they weren’t overreacting.
Brody: She had a wedding order to complete this morning. She’s probably finishing it. Or packing.
Bea dreamed big and struggled to plan, which often overwhelmed her. Maybe she needed a hand... And God knew Jason wouldn’t think to offer one. He was probably at his office, leaving her to deal with all the last-minute organization.
She was the kind of woman that, if a person was foolish enough to want to fall in love, they’d better hang on for dear life because she was a goddamn rainbow among storm clouds. The sheer joy she surrounded herself with as she barreled her way through whatever caught her interest at any given time was enough to power a city block. Hell, even the dregs of that joy would do it. Jason seemed to make her happy enough, but Brody suspected he didn’t appreciate her like she deserved.
An opinion he hadn’t kept secret from her. But he’d also wanted to maintain their close friendship, so when it had become clear they disagreed on whether Jason was a good partner, Brody had said his piece and then agreed to her request to leave it alone.
Should he have? Should he push harder, save Bea from eventual heartache? Not just because Jason wasn’t her equal, but because marriage, commitment even, made a person too vulnerable.
He’d picked his mom up off the floor too many times to believe getting married was worth the heartache.
He blocked out the rush of the past before it could take over his thoughts.
Compartmentalizing, like he’d had to do to win races and medals and his coveted coaching position.
Or avoidance, given I’m not racing anymore.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring the voice that liked to pop in his head at the worst times, he slowed to a walk and typed another message to his cousin. I’m worried about her.
Luke: Yeah? You’ve always told me she can handle anything.
True. Ever since ten-year-old Bea showed up on Brody’s doorstep after his dad died, he’d been going along with her adventures. Following his little sparkler of a neighbor had changed his life more than any other decision he’d made. One hazy summer day she’d barreled onto his front porch, announcing she’d found an ancient map and needed his help to hunt down what was certainly lost treasure, and that he could be sad while he was doing it, but he had to come outside. Trailing after her into the woods surrounding the lodge had only scratched the surface of the places she’d eventually dragged him to.
Over time, he’d had his own things going on, too—competing internationally in a sport was no small thing. But regardless of whether she was in Costa Rica or Orlando—or just down the block in Seattle, trying and failing to get a gourmet ice cream truck off the ground—she’d cast rays of light into the shadows of his life. The ones that had rolled in like a hurricane when two uniformed people showed up on that same front porch.
She’d shown him how to be happy again. He hated seeing her anything less than the same, and her silence suggested things hadn’t gone well last night.
Another text landed on-screen a second later, finally from Bea.
Can I get a ride to the airport?
I? Just her?
Of course. What time? What’s going on? he replied.
Three little dots floated. He ran the equivalent of a few blocks while he waited for her to finish typing.
Her message finally appeared. In two hours, please.
Muscles jittering from the frustration of her half-assed response, he picked up to a jog again. The damp November air left a sheen of mist on his face.
Brody: Sparks, I’m worried. What’s happening?
After another minute, he called. No answer.
Well, now he was getting annoyed. Why did she need a ride? Was she going alone? Had Jason decided to stay in Seattle longer and not to take part in the wedding preamble?
Or is he canceling the wedding entirely?
Goddamn...
He didn’t want to think that was the case. For all his hesitation about Bea’s fiancé, he didn’t want her to get her heart broken.
Okay, time for a plan, to be prepared for any outcome. He hadn’t intended to head to Sutter Creek until Wednesday night, but his gut had nudged him long ago to book off the whole week from work, just in case. He was grateful that last week had been the final fall regatta—he hadn’t felt guilty about arranging with his assistant coach to take over training their team. Better yet, he didn’t need to feel guilty about changing his flight from Wednesday to now.
Whatever was going on with Bea and Jason, she might need support, and hell, he never minded a few extra days with his family.
He cut down the next path to the road—the quickest route home. He had an airport ride to provide and a suitcase to pack.
* * *
Bea carefully wrapped silk ribbon around the thick bunch of stems, folded the end and secured it with pearl-tipped straight pins. Tears pricked her eyes. If she went the rest of her life without holding a bridal bouquet again, that would be great.
Could a person run a successful florist business without doing flowers for weddings? Her upcoming schedule said no, but a woman could hope.
Or maybe she should leave it all behind. Walk away from the shop, move back to Montana and work for her sister or her parents until something new came around that lit her soul on fire...
Her stomach lurched.
No. She’d walked away from too many things, too many times. And usually, crafting floral masterpieces filled her well.
Just not the day after getting dumped.
By a man who didn’t light my soul on fire.
The crap timing of the breakup might be on Jason, but she was just as much at fault for the rest of it. She’d ignored blatant signs that she was making a mistake, and now she had a giant stack of garbage bags and boxes to show for it.
Packing had taken a lot longer than the two hours she’d predicted. She’d kept thinking she’d taped up the last container or fastened the last twist tie and then remembered something else she’d squirreled away, usually at the back of a cupboard behind something sleeker and fancier of Jason’s. Her small office, to the left of her biggest storage cooler, was now overflowing with all the possessions she wasn’t bringing to Montana.
Dazed and sleep-deprived, she blinked at the final order she had to fulfill before slinking back to Montana with her tail between her legs. The standard checklist she made sure to check three times every morning of a delivery sat next to the shallow box holding the bridesmaids’ bouquets.
Given the bride wasn’t pretending her mid-November wedding was actually happening at Christmas, like Bea and Jason would have done, the colors were lime and pink with some cream to ground it all.
Sending thanks to the Starbucks mermaid for the existence of triple-shot venti macchiatos, Bea took a long swig of her coffee and cross-referenced her list to her notes. Organization wasn’t second, third or even fourth nature, but she needed to do it to succeed at something she loved doing in a way she’d never managed to do before.
Thankfully, there were a lot of pretty highlighters and pens to liven up the tedium.
She picked a thick-tipped fountain pen filled with fuchsia ink and got to it.
Bride’s bouquet—check.
Extra dahlias in the maid of honor’s bouquet—check.
Six identical large posies for the bridesmaids.
Two smaller ones for her client’s nieces, and a box of glitter-doused petals for the nephew, who reportedly wanted nothing more than to fling “unicorn kisses” all the way down the aisle.
A lump formed in Bea’s throat.
Jason’s niece would have been their flower girl. Not with anything so déclassé as glitter. That was a direct quote from Jason’s mom, who’d made it more than clear she was appalled her son’s wedding would be televised. But Bea had planned to make every petal and delicate leaf beautiful.
If only she’d spent more time thinking about actually getting married to Jason rather than the bouquet she’d planned to carry down the aisle. She’d hurt them both in her carelessness.
And she’d hooped herself financially by signing the contract with the streaming service. Her stomach twisted at the deposit she now owed on those flowers. As the high-expense event for the Christmas episode of DIY I Do: Times Two, she’d planned for the swankiest flower suite of her career to date. The host-producers had loved that she’d be doing the flowers herself.
Jason’s mom, who’d totally missed the do-it-yourself angle of the show, had sniffed and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to hire someone more experienced, Beatrice?”
Her fiancé had corrected his mother on Bea’s name, but he hadn’t taken the time to defend her craft.
Ugh, he was no doubt headed to his family’s country club for lunch now, where they’d all sit around, tittering about how he’d dodged a bullet, and what had he been thinking, getting engaged to someone who dared show up for dinner in something other than navy, tan or twinsets?
Nor did she have the time to concern herself with the inevitable celebrations the Doucette-Smythes would throw over their son being free from her clutches. She had her own family to deal with.
Should she have called them right away after Jason had walked out? Maybe. But she’d been numb, and packing, and it seemed like news best delivered in person.
Or you’re putting it off.
That, too.
Focus, Beatrix. The list.
Right. Ten boutonnieres. Two, four, six, eight—nine. One short? Damn it.
Hands shaking, she ran to her cooler. Oh please, oh please, let there be one more succulent. The part-time employee she’d hired on in the summer was going to be keeping the shop open for the two weeks Bea would be in Montana, which meant the cooler was still full of flowers. The greenery was on one of the shelves at the back. Hopefully Sanjana hadn’t used up all the Kermit mums for the tabletop decorations she’d delivered to the wedding facility yesterday.
Bea peered around a bucket of gerbera daisies and a completed arrangement for a funeral home, and...
Yes. Victory. A dozen stems of the light green, tight-petaled blooms hid behind some purple-tipped amaranth, along with the lime leaves she’d ordered special for today’s client’s wedding.
Hands full of greenery, she went out to the front counter and started assembling. Her hands shook, throwing off her usually steady detail work. Every time she’d ended up leaving one of her other attempts at finding her life’s passion, she’d come back to this, working for florists or in greenhouses and garden centers. It had been Brody who’d pointed out that flowers could be her passion, if she wanted them to be.
