I contemplated our common fates. Patti and I were far too much alike. Two single business owners, never finding true love. One in her fifties, the other in her late twenties. Each working to make other people’s dreams come true, never giving a thought to her own happiness.
I exhaled, letting go of the tension that had suddenly mounted. No time to think about my ailing love life right now—I had a wedding to plan.
Entering the shop, I paused to draw in a whiff of the familiar intoxicating aroma.
Flowers, glorious flowers!
“Smells delicious in here. Better than Aunt Rosa’s garlic bread.” With my eyes closed, I stood in silence, just breathing in, out, in, out, with steady, successive breaths.
Patti-Lou looked up from her work and laughed. “Bella, you’ve really got to get a life.”
“Hey, I have a life!” I opened my eyes and gave her my best “cut it out” look. “That’s why I’m here, in fact.” Drawing near the counter, I looked around at some of the new arrangements. Pointing to a unique red, white, and blue arrangement, I nodded. “Very Fourth of Julyish.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to stay on top of the holidays. You’d be surprised at how many people purchase flowers in the weeks leading up to Independence Day.” She stood and wrapped me in a warm embrace. “But you didn’t come in here to talk about that. What can I do you for?”
“I know this is last minute, but I’m hoping you can forgive me for that.”
Her eyebrows elevated as she said, “Spill it.”
“I’m here to order roses for my first ever Boot-Scootin’ bridal event.” I beamed with pride, knowing that as a fellow business owner, she would understand my enthusiasm.
“That’s awesome.” Patti-Lou reached for a pad and pen. “So your themed wedding ideas are grabbing some attention.”
“Of course! Did you ever doubt it?”
“Never.” She flashed an encouraging smile. “So, what’s it gonna be? And when? Early August, I hope. Or even late August. Not sure I can pull off something before that.”
Hmm. I’d better handle this carefully. “This bride and groom just signed on a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t get the paperwork on their flowers till last night.”
“What’s the date?”
I hesitated to tell her, knowing she’d likely panic. “The last Saturday in June.”
She shook her head. “Nope. No can do.”
Time for a little enticement. “Before you say no, this is going to be a huge moneymaker for you. Twenty-two dozen premium yellow roses for the reception and chapel, to start with. And we’ll need more than that for the bouquets and corsages, so prepare yourself.”
She stared up at me in disbelief. “Twenty-two dozen?”
“Yep. And spare no expense. Get the very best. We’re talking about a bride and groom with cash to spare, and they want the prettiest yellow roses we can find. Oh, and bluebonnets.”
“Can’t get real ones.”
“I know, I know. Silks will do. But now let’s talk cowboy boots.”
“Cowboy boots?”
“Yes, there are going to be twenty tables of eight—not counting the head table and parents’ tables—and she wants boots for centerpieces at each, loaded with the roses and bluebonnets, with red, white, and blue bandanas tied around them.”
Patti rolled her eyes. “Please.”
“Hey, the bride always gets what she wants.”
“At least she found a man.” A lingering sigh from Patti-Lou left us both speechless for a moment as we contemplated our common fates. Would either of us ever get to pick out flowers for our big day? Would we design centerpieces and quibble over the details?
To break the somber mood, I spoke the magic words:
“Finché c’è vita c’è speranza.”
“As long as there is life, there is hope,” she echoed. “I remember.” After a brief pause, she reached for a slender, cylinder-shaped glass vase. Holding it up for closer examination, she asked, “Think this’ll fit inside a cowboy boot?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, well I’ve got plenty of these in the back room. Want me to provide the boots, or will you take care of that? I don’t exactly have a country-western store on speed dial.”
“Hmm.” Hadn’t thought about that. Maybe Dwayne could point me in the right direction. Or maybe . . . A fabulous idea struck. I could get them off eBay. That certainly made more sense than buying them new, after all. And that way we’d end up with a variety of boots in all shapes and colors.
After I settled the issue, Patti-Lou agreed to provide the flowers for the event. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, and we dove into a long chat about Sharlene’s floral needs. By the end of it all, I could tell that dollar signs had replaced Patti’s eyeballs. I could almost hear the “cha-ching” as she blinked, and I sensed her gratitude for the order.
She looked up with contentment written all over her face. “This is going to cost a pretty penny, ya know.”
“Yep. Call this number.” I slipped her Sharlene’s daddy’s business card. “He’ll give you a credit card number. And don’t be afraid to shoot high. This is a Texas oil man.”
“Is he single?” She looked up with hope in her eyes.
“Focus, Patti-Lou.”
She sighed, then reached for a notepad to write everything down. “You know, if you keep bringing me business—and I know you will—I’m going to have to hire someone to help out around here. Be thinking on that, will you?”
“I will.”
We wrapped up our conversation, and I left the shop in a happy frame of mind, ready to visit with Jenna. As I reached the car, my cell phone rang. I looked down at the number, and my heart skipped a beat. Dwayne.
“Hello?”
“Bella, is that you? Dwayne Neeley here.”
“Yes, it’s me.”
The same one who groveled at your feet just last night.
“What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to let you know that Bubba’s in. He’ll help with the barbecue.”
Bubba? Who’s Bubba? Oh yes, the brother.
I did my best not to let my voice give me away as I repeated, “Bubba’s in. Got it. Tell him we’re expecting 160 guests, and give him this number.” I reeled off the phone number for Parma John’s. “Have him ask for Lazarro Rossi or Jenna Miller. They’re the official caterers. They’ll be the ones providing the meat and so forth.”
“Will do.” Dwayne chuckled. “Oh, and I talked to my mama. She’s happy to play the piano. Thrilled, in fact. She’s been aching to get back to Galveston ever since the storm hit. Says this’ll give her a chance to clamp eyes on the place—and the people—she’s been praying for.”
“Wonderful! Tell her the island is on the mend, but not to expect everything to be up to par just yet. And I’ll pass the word on to Sharlene that we now have a pianist.”
Dwayne paused, then spoke in a tentative voice. “Hey, I just wanted to apologize. I feel mighty bad about what happened last night.”
“
You
feel bad?” Was he kidding?
“Well, sure. Ain’t every night my knee-jerk reaction to something knocks a woman to the floor.”
“Ah. Well, don’t worry about that. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I think everything’s going to work out fine.” I glanced at my watch and gasped. Four forty? Had I really spent more than three hours in Patti’s shop? “Say, Dwayne . . .”
“Call me D.J.”
“D.J.” I tried not to smile as I spoke his name, but found it impossible. “How do you feel about pizza?”
“Pizza? Love it. Why?”
“When you get off work, could you stop by Parma John’s on the Strand? My treat. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Boy, would Jenna get a kick out of this cowboy!
“Sounds great. I’ll be there around 5:15.”
“See you then.”
I ended the call and leaned back against the car seat, whispering the words, “He’s a little bit country. I’m a little bit Italian.”
Simpatico!
By the time I arrived at Parma John’s, I’d almost cleared my nostrils of the scent of flowers. Good thing, because with the Wednesday Simpatico special going on, the pungent aroma of pepperoni might’ve proven deadly in combination.
I found the restaurant overflowing with teens. Most were gathered around tables with red and white checkered tablecloths, eating humongous slices of pepperoni/Canadian bacon pizza. Still others were seated at the bar. Their shrill voices zigzagged around the room, causing my ADD to shift into overdrive. I strained to make out the song playing overhead. Ah yes. “Simpatico.” God bless Uncle Laz. He had this “let’s merge the music with the pizza” thing down to a science. And all to the tune of a Dean Martin song. Some things would never change.
Nick greeted me with a nod, and I smiled in response. My older brother looked more like Pop every day, right down to the receding hairline and broadening physique. Marriage had put quite a few pounds on him. His midsection had broadened significantly over the years, thanks to Marcella, a brilliant cook. In fact, she was brilliant at most everything. I’d never met anyone so creative. And thoughtful. She’d turned my wild and woolly brother into a decent family man. And now that he’d hit his midthirties, I could almost envision him taking over Parma John’s one day. Not that I was ready to boot-scoot Uncle Laz out of the way anytime soon. I just saw life for what it was—ever-changing.
Off in the distance, Jenna worked behind the counter to fill an order. She glanced my way and welcomed me with a nod of her head. I inched my way through the crowd, beyond the cute young couple making eyes at each other—
Don’t get too excited, honey, this teenage fantasy that you’re actually going to marry that football player is just that, a fantasy
—past the table filled with pimply-faced boys bent over their handheld video games—
Boys, you will one day rule the world
—to the register.
Jenna turned my way after wrapping up with her customer, wrinkled her freckled nose, and shouted an exuberant, “You’re here!”
From back in the kitchen, Uncle Laz flashed a warm smile. “Tell her about your time in heaven, Bella.”
“Yeah.” Jenna leaned her elbows on the counter and whispered, “Tell me about this deejay of yours.”
After an Academy Award–worthy sigh, I told her the whole thing, right down to the part where I’d groveled at
Duh
wayne’s feet.
“So, you won him over with your acting skills?” she asked.
“Trust me, I wasn’t acting.” I sighed. “I’ve got to make a go of this wedding facility, Jenna. My parents are counting on me. Sharlene and Cody are depending on me. Everything hinges on me.”
“No, Bellissima,” my uncle called out from the kitchen. “Everything hinges on the Lord. Don’t forget that! He is the potter”—Laz tossed a soft lump of pizza dough into the air and twirled it around before catching it—“and you are the clay.”
“I know, I know. And I guess it’s just my pride speaking, but I don’t want to fall flat on my face, especially with so many people looking on.”
Jenna’s lips curled up, and a girlish giggle escaped. “Remember the time you did that in tenth grade, when you tried out for the drill team?”
“Jenna, I was speaking figuratively.”
“Still, remember how funny—”
“Jenna!”
“Oh, and what about that time we were playing tennis and you tripped over the net? That was hysterical. Remember, Kevin Yauger took your picture and put it in the year-book?”
How could I forget? Could I help it if I was a little klutzy? Awkward, even? Did Jenna have to point it out to anyone and everyone? Next thing you knew, she’d be telling total strangers about my misshapen head and talking about all the guys who’d broken my heart in high school. Maybe she’d even throw in the part where Jimmy Peterson told my entire ninth grade class that my face didn’t match my name. Of course, that was back in the days of pimples and braces.
“You’ll do fine, Bella.” Uncle Laz’s voice rang out again, jarring me back to the present, where at least a few people believed in me. I appreciated his confidence in my abilities but wondered if I would ever feel the same way about myself. More often than not, I
did
fall flat on my face. Symbolically, anyway. Which left only one part of my anatomy visible to a watching world.
No, this wasn’t the first time I’d doubted my abilities. For example, there was the time I ran for president of the junior class and got only ten votes. Turns out Jenna had voted five times. And then there was the time I tried out for a part in a school play, only to be told I would be better off working backstage. Were my acting skills really that bad? Worst of all, though, was my choir audition. The pained look on the director’s face still haunted me, along with the words “tone-deaf,” which still resonated in my ears. He had suggested I take a creative writing class. Unfortunately, writing didn’t turn out to be my bag either.
“Bella?” Jenna said. “Have we lost you?”
I turned back to her with a sigh, but her attention had shifted away from me. Her mouth gaped open, and for a moment I could practically see all the way down to the girl’s tonsils.
“B-Bella!”
“What?” I attempted to make sense of her sudden lack of concern about my problems.
“Take a look at that one, will you.” She gestured toward the door with a dreamy-eyed look on her face, and I turned, surprised to see D.J. standing there, looking a bit like a fish out of water. His gaze darted to the left and the right, but he apparently couldn’t see me through the crowd. Not that I minded. No, I needed the extra time to stare at his broad shoulders and handsome face.
I didn’t even try to stop my grin as the words slipped out. “Oh, he’s early.”
“Th-that’s your guy?” Jenna’s gaping mouth still proved problematic. I wanted to reach over and close it manually, but I thought she might slap my hand. Instead, I turned to face D.J., hoping he wouldn’t notice my gawking friend and flee for his life.
Overhead, Dean Martin’s voice crooned something about love. I felt my cheeks heat up in both anticipation and embarrassment as D.J. shuffled my way, the pointed toes of his boots moving in synchronized steps with the song’s meter. No sawdust in his hair today. A plus, what with Jenna meeting him for the first time and all. But those eyes . . . From the moment those marble-blue babies locked into mine, I found myself deaf, dumb, and blind to everything else around me.