“Yep,” I say, voice way too calm and clear. “I'm pregnant. Sure, why else would I be getting married in a hurry?”
I lower my voice, trying to get control of myself, trying not to completely lose it. “Look, I don't care what you think about my timeline. I care about having flowers at my wedding. Can you refer me to someone? Anyone?”
“On Valentine's Day weekend?” She sounds doubtful. “I can give you some names, but I don't thi?—”
“Just give me the names.”
She rattles off three florists, and I scribble them down on the hotel notepad with shaking hands. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. I’m not going to cry over flowers.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Danielle asks, and she sounds genuinely apologetic now, but it's too late.
“No.” I hang up before she can say anything else.
I stand there, staring at the list of names, feeling the weight of everything crashing down. The food poisoning, the exhaustion, and now this. I should’ve realized that the wedding planning being done so quickly without any hiccups was giving me false hope that everything would turn out perfect. Instead, everything is falling apart.
Calm down, Hope. They’re only flowers. You’re still going to marry Frost.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, phone clutched in my hand, and take a shaky breath. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. Frost is in there, probably feeling just as awful as I do, and I need to pull myself together. I need to fix this. I dial the first number on the list.
It rings four times before someone picks up. “Petals and Stems, this is Marcus.”
“Hi, my name is Hope Webster, and I'm getting married on Valentine’s Day. My florist just canceled on me, and I was wond?—”
“Valentine’s Day? As in three days?”
“Yes. I know it's last minute, bu?—”
“I'm sorry, we're completely booked. Valentine's Day weekend is our busiest time of year. You would’ve needed to book with us at least six months out, if not a year.”
Of fucking course.
“Do you know anyone who mig?—”
“Not on Valentine's Day weekend. I'm really sorry.”
I hang up and immediately dial the second number, but there’s no answer. The third number goes straight to voicemail. I drop the phone onto the bed and press my hands to my face.
I’m fine… It’s fine, right? People get married without flowers all the time. It's not the end of the world. Except it feels like it is. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted Frost to see me walk down the aisle with those star gazer lilies and the venue decorated with all the arrangements we picked out together. Now I'm sitting in a hotel room, still queasy from food poisoning, with no flowers and no backup plan.
I hear the shower turn off, and I quickly wipe my eyes, straightening my shoulders. I can't fall apart, not today. Today, I need a plan and quick. Flowers or no flowers, this wedding is still happening. I take a deep breath and grab my phone again. Maybe Amy knows someone, or maybe Vegas has a connection since this is his town.
The bathroom door opens, and Frost steps out, steam following him into the room. He's wearing jeans, his chest still bare with water droplets in his hair. I look up at him, ready to vent about the florist disaster, but the words die in my throat. Something's off. His expression is... blank. Not tired, not sick, but empty.
“Hey,” I say slowly, studying his face. "You okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice is flat. “Still not feeling quite right.”
I stand up, crossing to him. “Stomach still upset?”
“Uh huh.” He doesn't meet my eyes, moving past me to grab a shirt from his bag.
I reach out and touch his arm. “Do you need anything? I can get you more ginger al?—”
“I'll be fine.” He pulls the shirt over his head, and when his face reappears, he's looking somewhere past my shoulder. “You should get ready.”
There's something in his tone I can't place. “Frost?”
“I'm fine, Hope. Really.” He finally looks at me, and for just a second, I see something flicker in his eyes. Something that makes my chest tighten.
