“I handcrafted the floral arch myself,” she said. “Every peony, rose, and baby’s breath was plucked from a garden twenty miles from here.”
“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
“Can something be considered ‘beautiful’ if the audience never sees it?”
“You should show it to me,” I said.
“Because you feel guilty?”
“Because I actually want to see it.” I held back before I could say anymore, before I could admit that I was actually overly impressed with every single wedding she designed.
She stared into space for a few seconds, but then tugged at the mic in her shirt.
“Someone needs to stand guard at the bride’s suite for me,” she said. “I’m taking a walk around the ceremony area.”
I held out my hand, and she took it, letting me escort her away from the wing and down the lodge’s grand staircase.
She suddenly stopped walking as we approached the exit doors. Then she pointed at the bar.
“I designed the centerpieces on all those tables,” she said. “I did the garland in the lobby, too.”
“I figured that when I saw it last night.”
“How could you tell?”
“You always use one random tulip in everything you do…” I’d noticed that years ago. “I’m assuming there’s one on the arch you’re about to show me as well, correct?”
She blushed and continued walking.
Outside, rows of white wooden chairs—all dressed in satin green scarves—stood waiting for a wedding that would never come.
The arch towered over the invisible audience—its fat blooms cascading in an array of pinks, blues, and whites.
Katie stooped down and plucked a pink tulip.
“It’s very impressive,” I said.
“I volunteered to do it once the florist dropped out,” she said. “She claimed the groom never paid her invoice, but I knew that couldn’t be true.”
I looked away from her.
“Well, go ahead,” she said, leaning against the arch. “Give it to me now.”
“Why would you want our first time to be in public?”
“You wish.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell me the real backstory on this and don’t placate me with a fake therapist and diagnosis.”
“He did her a favor, and she’s better off without him.”
“He’s that terrible?”
“One of the worst clients I’ve ever had,” I admitted. “I’ll have to give you the details some other time, though.”
“Why not now?”
“Because you still have to talk to her this weekend, and you have the least believable poker face in the world.”
“That’s not even remotely true. I can totally—” She stopped herself. “Okay, fine. Makes sense.”
