Loe raamatut: «The Wedding Planners»
The Wedding Planners
Planning perfect weddings…finding happy endings!
It’s the biggest and most important day of a woman’s life—and it has to be perfect.
At least that’s what the Wedding Belles believe, and that’s why they’re Boston’s top wedding-planner agency. But amidst the beautiful bouquets, divine dresses and rose-petal confetti, these six wedding planners long to be planning their own big day!
But first they have to find Mr. Right….
This month:
Sweetheart Lost and Found
by Shirley Jump
And don’t miss the exciting wedding-planner tips and author reminiscences that accompany each book!
For more tips and bridal fun please visit the Wedding Belles at http://harlequin-theweddingplanners.blogspot.com.
Shirley tells all about her own big day:
“You seriously can’t take me anywhere without a calamity happening. I’m a walking America’s Funniest Home Video. Even my own wedding had a near-disaster. My husband got laryngitis the day of the wedding (hmm…was that a convenient way of not having to say any vows?), so his vows came out as a squeak. I forgot our toasting glasses and we had to borrow other guests’ champagne glasses when the best man made his speech.
But all of that was nothing compared to my veil catching on fire.
Let’s just say tulle and candles aren’t a good mix. When my husband and I went to blow out the unity candle, it was before he kissed me, so my veil was still down. I tried to blow through the tulle. The netting swooped forward into the flame and, whoosh, caught on fire. Not a big flame, thank goodness, but a nice little spark. So here I am, madly blowing out my veil, then trying to lift the veil and get the unity candle blown out at the same time. I have a nice round hole in my veil as a memento.
Don’t even get me started on the time I tripped and fell on the church altar in front of two hundred people at someone else’s wedding. And just don’t ask me to do a reading at your wedding—not unless you’re planning on splitting the prize money from AFHV with me.
At least in my fictional world of Sweetheart Lost and Found I can create weddings where almost nothing goes wrong!”
Catch up with Shirley’s latest news at www.shirleyjump.com.
Sweetheart Lost and Found
Shirley Jump
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
MILLS & BOON
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To Kathy, who has brought music and laughter
into our lives, and who graciously forgave me for
tripping on the altar in the middle of her wedding.
Planning perfect weddings…finding happy endings!
In April: Sweetheart Lost and Found by Shirley Jump
Florist: Will Callie catch a bouquet, and reunite with her childhood sweetheart?
In May: The Heir’s Convenient Wife by Myrna Mackenzie
Photographer: Regina’s wedding album is perfect. Now she needs her husband to say “I love you!”
In June: SOS Marry Me! by Melissa McClone
Designer: Serena’s already made her dress, but a rebel has won her heart….
In July: Winning the Single Mom’s Heart by Linda Goodnight
Chef: Who will Natalie cut her own wedding cake with?
In August: Millionaire Dad, Nanny Needed! by Susan Meier
Accountant: Will Audra’s budget for the big day include a millionaire groom?
In September: The Bridegroom’s Secret by Melissa James
Planner: Julie’s always been the wedding planner—will she ever be the bride?
Callie Stevens is the florist at The Wedding Belles. Here are her tips for your big day:
A little visual can go a long way toward making sure you and the florist are on the same page. So bring along pictures of floral arrangements you like, or flowers you find special, to give your florist an image of the perfect bouquet.
If you get married around a holiday, remember that the church will probably already be fully decked out with great flowers. Save some money by utilizing the beautiful arrangements already in place.
To save money, don’t go for cheap flowers—choose one striking bloom in a less expensive vase arrangement for a centerpiece, or a simple bouquet with a few colorful flowers. Sometimes less is more.
On the big day be sure someone has been designated to be in charge of distributing and pinning on the boutonnieres and corsages so you don’t have to worry about that detail.
If you want your guests to be able to see each other across the table, be sure to keep centerpieces under fourteen inches high. Also, keep highly fragrant flowers to a minimum at table settings, as some guests may have scent allergies.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
CALLIE Phillips slipped the final flower into the cheery wedding bouquet, stepped back to admire her handiwork and marveled at the irony of her career choice.
A woman who didn’t believe in happily ever after, crafting floral dreams for starry-eyed, Cinderella-was-no-fairytale brides.
Callie fingered the greenery surrounding the flowers symbolizing hope. True love. A happy ending. Her clients at Wedding Belles were paying her to act like she believed fairy tales came true. But all the while Callie created those dreams with vibrant blooming white roses and delicate pastel freesia, she hid the fact that the petals had long ago dropped from her own jaded heart.
“My goodness, will you look at that. Another beautiful creation, darlin’.” Belle Mackenzie, the owner of the Wedding Belles and Callie’s employer, breezed into the basement floral design area. She was impeccable as always in a skirt and bright red sweater set that offset her gray hair and shaved years off her fifty-plus age. “You are incredible. Whatever made you think of this combination?” Belle bent to inhale the fragrance of the burnt-orange tulips, paired with deep purple calla and crimson gloriosa lilies.
“The bride, actually,” Callie said. “Becky was just so outgoing, and this design seemed to suit her personality, not to mention the unique colors of her wedding party dresses.”
“I don’t know how you do it. You read people like novels.” Belle smiled. “Best thing I ever did was hire you.”
Callie smiled. “No, I think it’s the opposite. Best thing I ever did was walk in here and apply for a job.” Belle had taken Callie under her wing years ago, seeing a budding creative talent and someone who needed a stable, maternal figure. She’d taught Callie the art of flower arranging, even paid for her to go to classes, then when she’d expanded her wedding planning company into the much bigger Wedding Belles, had given Callie the job of florist. And through that job, a group of close friends who had since become Callie’s rock.
Giving Callie’s unstable life a firm basis for the first time in her life.
Now Callie spent her days discussing calla lilies and Candia roses with starry-eyed brides, but never for one moment believing she would hold another bouquet, opening her heart a second time, believing once again that one man would be by her side forever.
Just the idea of forever made her consider heading for the hills. She’d tried it once, on a whim, and it hadn’t worked at all. Callie wasn’t slipping on that gold band of permanence again under any circumstances.
Belle gave her a grin. “We all make a good team, don’t we? The Wedding Belles.”
“Even if one of us has never been swayed to the dark side?”
Belle’s laughter was hearty. “You mean the white side of the aisle? It’s not as bad as you think over there. And one day, darlin’, I’ll convince you that falling in love and getting married isn’t the prison sentence you think.”
Ever since Belle had hired her three years ago, she’d been working on convincing Callie that marriage was an institution for everyone, sort of like a One Size Fits All suit. Callie wasn’t surprised—the gregarious owner of the wedding planner company had been married several times and had gone into the business because she loved happy endings. The other women on the Belles team echoed that sentiment—and most had already found their happily ever after.
But Callie knew better. For some people, love was an emotion best left for greeting cards.
“Belle, I already tried marriage once and it didn’t work.” Callie cut the end of the crimson satin ribbon that she’d tied in a ballet slipper style around the stems of the bouquet, then tucked a few strands of reflective wires and delicate crystal sprays into the flowers, adding a touch of bling.
“That’s called practice,” Belle said, laughing. “Second time’s always better. And if not, third time’s a charm. Or in my case, maybe the fourth.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “I’m certainly not going to get married that many times.” If at all, ever again. Her divorce was only eighteen months in the past, and if there was one thing her marriage to Tony had taught Callie—
It was that she, of all people, should never get married again.
“You know what you should do?” Belle said. “Celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Being single again. You’ve been back on the market for over a year, Callie, and you have yet to take a step out of the barn.”
“A step out of the barn?”
“And pick another stallion in the corral.” Belle winked. “There are plenty of ’em out there, honey. All you need to do is pick the one that gets your hooves beatin’ the fastest.”
“Oh, no, not me.” Callie waved off the idea, even as she laughed at Belle’s advice. “I’ll keep on working with the flowers. They don’t let me down.”
“They also don’t keep your bed toasty at night.”
“So I’ll buy an electric blanket.” Callie put the bouquet, along with the rest of the wedding party flowers, inside the large walk-in refrigerator, then turned to walk upstairs with Belle. In a couple of hours, she and the other Belles would deliver everything to the wedding party, and see one more bride down the aisle.
“Well, before you go choosing a blanket over a beau, will you run on down to O’Malley’s tonight and drop off the new invitations for his daughter’s wedding? Apparently the first time the printer changed the groom’s name from Clarence to Clarice. Thankfully we caught the mistake just before they got mailed.”
Callie eyed Belle. “Is this some way of forcing me out?”
Belle gave a suspicious up and down of her shoulders, a teasing smile playing at her lips. “Maybe.”
Audra Green, the company’s accountant, greeted the two of them as they entered the reception area of the Belles’ office. The entire room spoke of Belle’s sunny personality, with its bright yellow walls, gleaming oak floors and bright white woodwork. It welcomed and warmed everyone who entered, just as Belle herself did. “What’s Belle cooking up now?” Audra asked. “I read something mischievous in her eyes.”
“Proving to Callie that Mr. Right could be right down the street.”
“Along with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus,” Callie deadpanned, retrieving the box of invitations from the desk.
“So I thought she should go down to O’Malley’s tonight and maybe deliver these invitations, scope out the dating scene,” Belle went on, optimistically ignoring Callie. “Get back on the horse before she forgets where the stirrups are.”
Callie and Audra laughed, then the straitlaced accountant sobered and gave Callie a sympathetic smile. “Do you want some company?” Audra asked.
“Thanks, but I won’t need it. Contrary to Belle’s matchmaking plans, I’m going to drop off these wedding invitations and nothing more,” Callie said.
“And if Mr. Right happens to be sitting at the end of the bar?” Belle asked.
“If he is,” Callie laughed at Belle’s indomitable belief in Disney endings and picked up one of the thick silver envelopes in the box and wagged it in Belle’s direction for emphasis, “then I’m sure you’ll be the first to announce it to the world.”
Jared Townsend believed in the power of proof. If something could be proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, then he accepted it as fact.
His quest for proof was why he had excelled in geometry but not abstract thought. Why he’d nearly failed poetic analysis and instead discovered a home in the concrete world of statistics.
But now he found himself in the most unlikely of places, to prove the most unprovable of statistics. A bar on a Thursday night.
To prove that true love could be measured and analyzed, weighed and researched. For that reason, he had a clipboard and a pen and intended to interview at least a dozen couples before the bar closed, assuming he stayed awake that long.
A party animal, he was not. He wasn’t even a party puppy.
“Welcome to O’Malley’s. What can I get you?” A rotund bartender with a gray goatee came over to Jared, a ready smile on his face, his hand already on a pint glass. At the other end of the bar sat an older man, his shoulders hunched, head hung, staring into a beer.
“Beer sounds good.” Jared slid his clipboard onto the bar, along with a few already sharpened pencils. Raring to go.
If anything spelled geek, that was it. No wonder Jared hadn’t had a date in three months. Carry a clipboard—an instant death knell for attracting women.
The bartender arched a brow at the pencils and clipboard, apparently agreeing with that mental assessment, but kept his counsel and poured the draft. He slid the frosty mug over to Jared without a word.
A couple walked in. Jared grabbed a pencil, readying himself. At first glance, they looked perfect for his survey. Early twenties, blond girl, brunette guy, walking close, talking fast, as if they were—
Arguing.
“You’re a moron,” the girl said. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Seriously, Joey, my toaster has more brains than you and that’s after I burned my bagel.”
“Dude, that’s mean.”
“And quit calling me dude. I’m your girlfriend, or at least I was. Not your dude.” She flung off his hand and stalked away, ordering a tequila shot, which she knocked back in one swift, easy movement that said she’d done this before. More than once.
Jared put down his pencil. He let out a sigh, settled back on his stool and took a long, deep gulp of beer. No one else was in the bar, even though it was nearly nine and the sign outside promised karaoke night would start in a little while. Maybe he should have picked a place further downtown, rather than one so close to his apartment.
“Hey, O’Malley, how ’bout another for the road?” the man sitting at the opposite end of the bar said. He raised his glass, but it trembled and he nearly dropped it.
“I think you’ve had enough,” the bartender, apparently the O’Malley namesake of the bar, said.
The man swayed in his seat. “No, no. Not enough, not yet.”
Jared heard the words—so familiar—and turned away, fiddling with his clipboard. His memory raced back all the same to someone else, to another slurred voice, determined to have one more round.
O’Malley let out a grunt of disgust. “You’re cut off. Why don’t you go home?”
“Don’t wanna go home.” The man heaved a sigh, stumbled off the stool and careened down the bar. “No one there. No one t’all.” He crashed into a couple more stools, then gripped the edge of the polished oak surface and teetered.
The memories slammed into Jared until he couldn’t ignore them any longer. He shook his head, then got to his feet and caught the man’s elbow, righting the stranger just before he lost his balance.
“Get him some coffee,” Jared said, signaling to the bartender. “And call him a cab.”
“I ain’t paying for that.” O’Malley scowled. “If I took care of every drunk—”
“I’ll pay.” The man may be a stranger, but his story hit a familiar note in Jared’s chest, one he had to heed. He turned to the man, and helped him onto one of the seats, ignoring the nearly overpowering stench of alcohol. “Sir, why don’t you sit here a bit? Have some coffee, wait for the cab.”
It took a second, then understanding filtered into the older man’s bleary gaze. “You’re a good man.” He patted Jared on the back. “My new best friend. And I don’t even know your name.”
“Jared Townsend.” Jared doubted the man would remember his name in the morning, but it didn’t matter. Jared had been down this road often enough to know where it led.
“I’m Sam.” His inebriated tongue slurred the “s,” and his handshake had a decided wave to it, but the sentiment was there. Jared slid the coffee in front of Sam, and encouraged him to drink up.
The door opened again and Jared swiveled toward the sound, once again grabbing his clipboard and pencil. This time a single woman walked in, but no man followed behind her. Jared’s spirits plummeted. Clearly he’d picked the wrong bar. Not a big surprise, given how little experience he had with this kind of scene.
Maybe he should leave, try another place, one with more atmosphere—some atmosphere at least—or try a restaurant, a diner, a—
Holy cow. Callie Phillips.
Jared’s breath caught, held. The pencil in his hands dropped to the floor, and rolled across the hardwood surface. A woman sang about a broken heart on the jukebox, Sam said something about the quality of the coffee and the tequila toting couple went on fighting, but Jared didn’t pay attention. He pushed his glasses up his nose, refocused and made two hundred percent sure.
Yes, it was Callie.
She’d just walked into the bar and upset his perfectly ordered, perfectly balanced life.
Again.
He had the advantage of watching her while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. He studied her, noting the difference nine years had made. It could have been nine days for all his heart noticed.
She’d cut her hair, and now the dark blond locks curled around her ears, framed her face, teased at her cheeks. But she still had the same delicate, fine boned face, wide green eyes, and those lips—
Bright crimson lipstick danced across her lips, lips that had always seemed to beg him to kiss them, mesmerized him whenever she talked. He watched her approach, his gaze sweeping over her still lithe curves, outlined in jeans and a bright turquoise top, then returning to her face, to her mouth, and something tightened in his gut.
And Jared Townsend, who never did anything without a reason, a plan, completely forgot why he was here.
CHAPTER TWO
“JARED? Jared Townsend? Is that you? Oh…Wow.” She inhaled, her breasts rising with the action, along with Jared’s internal temperature. “My goodness. What a…a shock.” Callie stopped in front of him, clutching a large box to her chest, her mouth shaped in an O of surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh…” His brain fired, sputtered, fired again. “Research.”
She smiled. “Let me guess. You’re trying to determine the best beer for forgetting a broken heart?”
“Coors,” Sam put in. “Best in sh-sh-show.” Then he sent the two of them a wave and headed off to the rest rooms.
Jared glanced down at his icy mug. Beer hadn’t helped him get over the broken heart he’d suffered after her, but he kept that ancient history buried, didn’t talk about it or drag it out.
Only a masochist dug up a skeleton like that. But damned if his body didn’t start playing archaeologist all the same, resurrecting old feelings…and a lot more. There was nothing analytical, statistical or sensible about it. There never had been, not when it came to Callie.
Still, he reminded himself, she had hurt him—and hurt him badly. If he was smart, he’d simply greet her as an old acquaintance and leave it at that.
“I’m here for work,” he told her. “Really. Even if it doesn’t look it.”
Her smile widened. “It doesn’t, except for the clipboard, which is so…you.” She shrugged, laughed a little, then started to move away. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Jared.”
Clipboard was so him? Well, damn it, maybe it was, but once upon a time she’d thought of him in a very different way.
Yeah, and how well had that ended up?
He shut off his inner voice. No matter what had happened in the past, a part of Jared wanted Callie to see he had grown and changed. Become a different man. One who wasn’t the nerdy professor she had so cavalierly left behind.
A man who could—contrary to his plan five seconds ago—have a conversation with her and be completely unaffected.
Cool with it, even.
“Callie.” She pivoted back. “Are you meeting someone here tonight?”
In the space of time it took her to answer, Jared’s heartbeat doubled. He caught his breath, waiting. And not because it would make a damned bit of difference to the sheets on his clipboard.
Tonight, he’d stepped into unfamiliar liquor-infused territory to analyze couples, to take that data, feed it into a computer then hand the information over to Wiley Games so they could use it to develop the next generation of couple-oriented games and products. Not exactly the high end research Jared had set out to be doing after he’d received his doctoral degree, but the work at Wiley Games paid the bills and kept him in spreadsheets.
Either way, if there was one particular half of a couple he didn’t want to add to his sheaf of papers, it was Callie Phillips.
“No, I’m not meeting anyone, not tonight,” she said.
Not an answer that gave him any indication of her status. Single? Attached? No ring adorned her left hand ring finger, so she wasn’t married or engaged. What happened? Where was Tony?
“Hey, Callie, what brings you by?” The bartender crossed to them, a friendly smile on his face.
Callie raised the box in her hands. “Your daughter is now marrying Clarence instead of Clarice.”
O’Malley chuckled and took the box from her. “Thank you. Glad you guys caught the mistake before we sent them out. That would have been quite the mess.”
“You’re more than welcome. The wedding’s going to be beautiful.”
O’Malley’s face softened. “My Jenny, she’s an angel. I can’t believe she’s going to be a bride. Or that I’m old enough to be the father of the bride.” He laughed, then thanked her again and moved down to the far end of the bar to refill the other couple’s shot glasses.
Callie called a goodbye to O’Malley and turned to go. Before Jared could think about what he was doing—and whether it was a mistake—Jared gestured toward the empty seat beside him. “Would you like to join me?”
What was he doing? Inviting her to stay?
Simple curiosity, that’s all it was. Getting caught up on where she’d been all these years.
“I thought you were working,” she said.
“It’s not busy here, so I’m taking a break.” He waved the bartender over to them. “A margarita, on the rocks, with salt.”
Callie smiled. “You remembered?”
“I did.” He remembered a lot more than just her favorite drink, but he kept that to himself. Jared reminded himself that he and Callie had broken up for a reason—and staying broken up had been in their best interests.
She took the seat, brushing by him as she did. He inhaled, and with the breath came the light, sweet floral scent of her perfume. “Thanks,” she said, when the bartender laid the drink before her.
“No problem, Callie.” O’Malley gave Jared another arched brow, this time one of appreciation that the “geek” had a beautiful woman sitting beside him.
Jared tapped the clipboard and grinned. “Nothing’s sexier than statistics.”
“If you say so, buddy,” the bartender said, then headed down to the fighting couple at the other end, who were working on their second set of tequila shots before gearing up for Round Two.
“What kind of research are you doing?” Callie asked.
“Counting the number of beautiful women who come into a bar alone. I’m up to one. I think I should quit while I’m ahead.” He grinned. “Actually it’s a questionnaire of sorts for couples. A research project for the company I’m working for.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It’s actually a lot more exciting once you feed all the information into a computer and start manipulating the data, using it to run statistical probabilities and forecasts. And if I get lucky, hopefully I’ll come up with enough data to create some real, hard evidence to bring to a peer-reviewed journal. Something more respectable than the basis of the next ‘Twenty Tantalizing Bedroom Teasers.’”
“‘Bedroom Teasers’?” Callie chuckled, then raised a dubious brow. “This from the man who dressed up as a biker on Halloween in college? What happened to the leather jacket? The boots? The chaps?”
“Probably shoved in a closet somewhere. I’m strictly a suit and tie guy now. No more of that crazy open road, living by the seat of my pants talk.”
His brief, one-night foray into that different persona had been a bad idea. He’d thought that by slipping on a black jacket, climbing on a Harley, he could get Callie to notice him in a way she never had in high school. She had—for a heartbeat—until Tony had stolen her back again, leaving Jared with an extra helmet and a lot of regrets.
No more. He wouldn’t journey that road again.
“Pity.” Callie took a sip of her drink.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. “You were a lot of fun when you were a…well, not exactly a bad boy, but a bad-ish boy.”
“You make me sound like a five-year-old who wouldn’t obey his bedtime.”
“If I remember correctly, there wasn’t much trouble getting you to bed.” Then Callie’s face colored and she directed her attention to her drink again.
Jared remembered, too. Remembered too well. One night—a night he’d never forgotten, but she had begged him to never mention again, so that she could marry Tony, with a clear conscience.
Tony—Jared’s former best friend. Tony—the man who had stood between them both and been everything Jared wasn’t.
And everything Callie wanted.
The memory sucker-punched Jared in the gut and he had to swallow hard before he could breathe again. He’d let Callie go, left college, leaving them behind without a second glance, because he’d thought she was better off—
Had she been? Had he made the right choice?
Hell yes, he had. She would have never been happy with Jared—she’d made that clear. Jared thought that after nine years that last night with Callie wouldn’t still sting, would have become some distant memory, fog on his past’s horizon.
But nothing about Callie Phillips was foggy in his mind. And he’d be fooling himself if he thought otherwise.
He cleared his throat and took a swig of beer. “So what are you doing now? I take it you’re not the bohemian I remember.”
She chuckled. “No. I’m now a responsible tax-paying florist.”
“A florist?” He assessed her. “That, I can believe. You transformed that hovel I called an apartment into a respectable home, something that didn’t scream bachelor dive. You always did have an eye for color and design.” Jared straightened his glasses again, then asked the one question that had lingered on the tip of his tongue ever since she’d walked into the bar. Was she still with him? “So, how are things with Tony?” he said, nonchalant, taking a sip of beer. “Did you guys have any kids?”
“We’re divorced. No kids.”
Pain flickered in her gaze, and he wanted to ask more, but they’d only been sitting together for five minutes. It wouldn’t be right to probe. No matter how curious he was, how the need to know nearly overwhelmed him. What had happened? When had the tarnish appeared on the golden couple? And did Callie ever regret what had happened? Did she ever think about how her leaving Jared had affected him?
Jared took a sip of beer and navigated toward safer subjects. “Do you live here, in the city?”
She nodded. “I settled back in Boston three years ago when Tony got a job in the city. That’s when I was hired to be a florist for the Wedding Belles.”
“The Wedding Belles?”
“It’s a wedding planning company over on Newbury Street. There are six of us, all working for a woman named Belle, hence the name.”
“Wow. We’re practically neighbors,” Jared said. “I live right around the corner from here and the research division of the company I work for is five blocks from Newbury Street.”
“All those times we could have run into each other and never did.”
“Until now.” Jared’s gaze met hers. Heat brewed between them, a connection never really lost, even though many years had passed since they’d last seen each other. “Serendipity brings us together again.”
“Either that or bad taste in bars.” She raised her drink toward his.
“Always the optimist.” He smiled, teasing her, then tapped her glass with his own. “You haven’t changed, Callie.” He paused, and searched her face, looking for the woman he used to know. The one who had made his pulse race, encouraged him to take chances, to think bigger, wilder, to dream of possibilities he’d never dared to have—not until she’d come along. And never dared to have again after she’d gone. “Have you?”
“I should probably go,” Callie said suddenly, pushing her margarita to the side. “You have work to do and this…” She looked around the empty bar. “This was not a good idea.”
“What do you mean?” She’d just arrived and already she was leaving?
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