There's a finality in his tone that makes me step back. “Okay,” I say softly. “I'll see you tonight.”
He nods again, and I turn away to follow Amy toward the exit. Before we leave, I glance back one more time. Frost is staring down at his coffee, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense. He looks like a man carrying the weight of the world. I tell myself it's just the food poisoning and exhaustion. Deep down, a nagging voice whispers that something more is going on.
I push the thought away and follow Amy out the door. I’ll get down to the bottom of that later. Right now, I have flowers to fix. Everything else will have to wait.
Maybe I should tell him about the florist?
No, men don’t care about things like that. I’ll deal with it and give him time to feel better.
Three hours later, I'm elbow-deep in silk flowers, hot glue, and ribbon. Honestly, I'm having the time of my life.
“Pass me the wire cutters,” Mom says, holding a stem between her fingers.
I hand them over, watching as she expertly trims the excess, obviously in her element. I’ve never seen her this focused or precise unless she’s decorating for one of her extravagant dinner parties. I giggle when her tongue pokes out slightly, the way it always does when she's really concentrating.
Amy's across the table, wrapping ivory ribbon around a bouquet stem with surprising skill. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but this is actually kind of fun.”
“Right?” I grin, adjusting a lily into place. “Who knew we'd be building our own bouquets days before I’m supposed to walk down the aisle?”
“Better than panicking,” Mom says, glancing up with a smile. “These are turning out beautifully.”
She's right. The bouquets are gorgeous, with ivory and champagne silk roses, stargazer lilies, and a delicate spray ofbaby's breath. They look romantic and timeless, possibly better than what the florist would have delivered. Plus, they won’t wither away and die. I can keep them forever.
“These were made with love,” I say softly, running my fingers over the petals. “The originals would've just been... flowers.”
Mom's eyes glisten. “That's exactly right, sweetheart.”
Amy holds up her finished bouquet, tilting her head. “Not bad for a girl who usually solves problems with Big Lil’.”
I laugh. “You're multi-talented.”
“Damn right I am.”
We work in comfortable silence for a while. The only sounds are those of the snip of scissors and the rustle of ribbon. For a moment, I forget about the food poisoning, the stress, and the weird distance I felt from Frost this morning. This, right here, is what matters. Family… Love… And the people who show up when things go sideways.
“Okay,” Mom announces, stepping back to survey our work. “I think we're done.”
I look at the table. Two bouquets, mine and Amy's, and boutonnieres for Frost and Chaos. Plus flowers to hang on the tulle for the altar.
“They're beautiful,” I whisper.
“They really are,” Amy agrees.
Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We did good, girls.”
My throat tightens. “We did good.”
She pulls me into a hug, and I breathe in her familiar scent of lavender and vanilla.
“I'm so proud of you,” she murmurs. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”
I blink back tears. “Thanks, Mom.”
When we pull apart, she's smiling, but there's a hint of sadness in her eyes. The kind that comes with watching your daughter grow up.
“Alright,” she says, brushing her hands on her jeans. “You two should get going. Get ready for tonight.”
“You're not coming to the clubhouse?” I ask.
