“No, it is not,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please continue to the dance floor, sir.”
I tried to give her the napkin in my hand, but what I really wanted to do was ease the tension I saw in her shoulders.
“Are you sure you don’t need a bit of help?” I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at her slime covered cleavage- it really wasn’t my fault because she was about a foot shorter than me.
“Can you just mind your own business please. I’m kind of dealing with a lot right now, and this is my only nice work dress,” shesaid.
I was taken aback by that. “Workdress?” I questioned. I thought she was a guest.
She let out a sigh and nodded, not making eye contact as she tried to clean up.
It dawned on me then- why she was being so cruel to me- I really should have known!
“It’s like… your week, isn’t it?” I asked her. Like I said, I’m a man that was raised with three sisters. I wouldn’t hold it against her if it was. I totally knew the signs and she was exhibiting some for sure: snipping at me, almost crying, dealing with “a lot right now.” She was probably a very nice girl if it wasn’t this week.
She looked at me like I had three heads though. Damn, her eyes were justsolarge and green.
“Your uh… shark time?” Ioffered.
She stopped messing with her dress and her mouth fell slightly open. She still had a confused look on her face, so I triedagain.
“Like ketchup packet time?” I squinted at her.
“WHAT?”
I actually physically jumped back a bit from her outburst and put my arms up, afraid she’d hit me.
“Did you just call a woman on her period a… a ketchup packet?” Her jaw jutted out in defiance at me, waiting for an answer.
“Uh… well… I…” I couldn’t really find words to answer her. She was scaring me even though she was a teeny tiny thing.
She shook her head at me and huffed again before turning on her heel and tearing off. I could make out her saying something about why she was single as she left me in her wake.
Well, maybe that was just the low before the high of the night, I reasoned. I tried to brush off the interaction… because I had Mrs. TJ to find.
4.Ellie
My dress was a literal tragedy. I blinked furiously against my burning eyes as I tried to save it in the hotel lobby’s bathroom sink.
I left Nikki in charge of organizing the passing out of the cupcakes while I hustled back to the hotel to clean off this stain. The tent, which was part of the Traverse City Cherry Lane venue where my little wedding business operated out of, was only a short golf cart ride away.
I shook my head and tried a deep breathing exercise to ease away my frustration. In through my nose, make my stomach big, and out through my mouth, I directed myself. My business budget was pretty tight these days and it was causing me premature stress lines that no number of lotions or essential oils could fix. I hung on by a thread each of the past four summers according to my accountant father.
What also didn’t help my financial situation was that my coaching hours were always hurt in the summers because of stupid hockey. It was tradition for the professional team from Detroit to host preseason training camps at Pine Ridge Ice Arena in Traverse City through August, which cut out figure skating time. Forget a rink ever sacrificing hockey ice, no way, the bias was completely unfair and, I’ll say it- sexist. While more girls were joining hockey, and boys joining figure skating, which was amazing, there was still a dominance of boys on the ice for hockey, and girls on the ice for figure skating times, and what coincidentally always got axed from the rink schedule first? Figure skating.
I blew out a breath. Buying another couture dress to wear to my events would make a pretty big dent in my profits that I really couldn’t afford to take this year. I’d have to try my best to make this stain comeout.
And what was up with that a-hole guy? He must’ve been a hockey friend of Grey’s. He oozed hockey dude with his pricey in-style suit. I’m sorry, but those pants were just too tight and too short for him. And those fancy loafers with no socks, who was he kidding? I internally rolled my eyes. What an arrogant hockey jock. I could hear Nikki in my head trying to convince me that it wasn’t his fault, but ya know what? Iknewit was.
I moved to hold my dress under the hand dryer. I’d have to make this work for the night.
While inspecting my crappy dry-cleaning job, I jumped at the sound of my phone loudly buzzing against the bathroom counter.
Now, okay… I’m a 23-year-old working woman. I knew not to take phone calls during events, but also, it was my own company. And my mom was calling.
“How’s my girl doin?” The comfort of her voice immediately soothed me.
“Well, my dress is toast,” I complained.
