bar.
As we’re standing in the middle of it, I spin, picturing starlit nights, hanging lights, crickets and frogs serenading guests as they waltz around the dance floor. How many first kisses and secret rendezvous has this gazebo seen?
A vision of meeting Quinn, falling in his arms, and his lips pressing against mine appears. I scratch through it, erasing the vision, and drag Ellie out of the gazebo.
“Show me where in the grove you want to say your vows. The exact spot.” Mrs. Covington seems to think I can work magic on the impossible. Best I see Ellie’s vision first.
Dean pats her arm. “That’s easy,” he says.
I grin as the two lead the way. Dean’s easygoing, eager to please Ellie and would step right off the edge of a flat world to do so, but that makes it damn near impossible for her to make up her mind. His accommodating her every whim breeds indecision, something we don’t have time for.
Standing on the incline overlooking the pecan grove, I do everything I can to keep from making a WTF-are-you-crazy face. Especially after the way Quinn and I could hardly stand. I suppose the hulls could be raked up.
“Are you sure you want to say your vows there?” I point between the rows of trees. From afar, they aren’t so bad, but up close, the pecan shells aren’t as crisp green as they could be and the muted color partnered with one-to-many scarred branches, gives off a less-than appealing air. The large oaks with their sweeping branches are more pleasant and would better suit her wish for a Lowcountry wedding. “Might be a safety hazard,” I add. Quinn and I could hardly stand, but it could’ve been because we were already unsteady, due to something other than old slippery shells. “What about the front drive? The oaks are gorgeous.”
“Dean proposed to me there.” She points out a tree with a bright blue satin bow tied around the trunk. “There were stars and crickets.” She closes her eyes. “And the entire place smelled like flowers, much like it does now.”
I close my eyes and sniff, trying to ignore the wet shells’ unique earth scent that, to me, smells like wood rot and decay. Blocking my sight lets my olfactory senses take over. It’s much like yesterday when I painted from the edge overlooking the lower fields. Magnolias with their heady full blooms releasing pollen-coated sugar, gardenias and their heavy addictive sweetness, where one sniff is never enough, and jasmine, simple, elegant, and relaxing.
“Alright, but if you want me to sketch up a few ideas I had for the oaks, I can.”
“Would you!” She smiles. “You have the best ideas.”
“No problem.” I check the time. Crap. “We’re supposed to meet the caterer in less than half an hour.” I bolt up the hill.
“Hold up.”
“Your mom will have my head on a stake if I’m not there to greet and arrange everything,” I say as I walk backward away from them.
She catches up and grabs my hand. “You can’t start without me and Dean. Besides, ladies never rush.”
A lady who wants a paycheck does.
I right my skirt and tuck in my blouse. Before entering the dining room, I wipe the clay dust from my heels. Hoping I’m not dripping sweat and my makeup isn’t smeared.
Mrs. Covington has her hands propped against the table. She leans over an assortment of platters. Inspecting, no doubt. She rolls her eyes up to peer over her glasses. “Common courtesy is to let everyone know you’re too busy to meet them at a specified time, Ms. Beck.”
I grab the tray of cards I’d labeled and set them next to the appropriate platter. “I apologize. I’d asked Ellie to show me where she wants to say her vows.”
She taps the table with her long nails, then tweaks each placard, either squaring it with the table or moving it over a centimeter. “Hideous.”
“What? I was top calligrapher in my class.” I’d penned each navy-blue card in gold and tucked them into vintage perfume bottles between sprigs of lavender,
As we’re standing in the middle of it, I spin, picturing starlit nights, hanging lights, crickets and frogs serenading guests as they waltz around the dance floor. How many first kisses and secret rendezvous has this gazebo seen?
A vision of meeting Quinn, falling in his arms, and his lips pressing against mine appears. I scratch through it, erasing the vision, and drag Ellie out of the gazebo.
“Show me where in the grove you want to say your vows. The exact spot.” Mrs. Covington seems to think I can work magic on the impossible. Best I see Ellie’s vision first.
Dean pats her arm. “That’s easy,” he says.
I grin as the two lead the way. Dean’s easygoing, eager to please Ellie and would step right off the edge of a flat world to do so, but that makes it damn near impossible for her to make up her mind. His accommodating her every whim breeds indecision, something we don’t have time for.
Standing on the incline overlooking the pecan grove, I do everything I can to keep from making a WTF-are-you-crazy face. Especially after the way Quinn and I could hardly stand. I suppose the hulls could be raked up.
“Are you sure you want to say your vows there?” I point between the rows of trees. From afar, they aren’t so bad, but up close, the pecan shells aren’t as crisp green as they could be and the muted color partnered with one-to-many scarred branches, gives off a less-than appealing air. The large oaks with their sweeping branches are more pleasant and would better suit her wish for a Lowcountry wedding. “Might be a safety hazard,” I add. Quinn and I could hardly stand, but it could’ve been because we were already unsteady, due to something other than old slippery shells. “What about the front drive? The oaks are gorgeous.”
“Dean proposed to me there.” She points out a tree with a bright blue satin bow tied around the trunk. “There were stars and crickets.” She closes her eyes. “And the entire place smelled like flowers, much like it does now.”
I close my eyes and sniff, trying to ignore the wet shells’ unique earth scent that, to me, smells like wood rot and decay. Blocking my sight lets my olfactory senses take over. It’s much like yesterday when I painted from the edge overlooking the lower fields. Magnolias with their heady full blooms releasing pollen-coated sugar, gardenias and their heavy addictive sweetness, where one sniff is never enough, and jasmine, simple, elegant, and relaxing.
“Alright, but if you want me to sketch up a few ideas I had for the oaks, I can.”
“Would you!” She smiles. “You have the best ideas.”
“No problem.” I check the time. Crap. “We’re supposed to meet the caterer in less than half an hour.” I bolt up the hill.
“Hold up.”
“Your mom will have my head on a stake if I’m not there to greet and arrange everything,” I say as I walk backward away from them.
She catches up and grabs my hand. “You can’t start without me and Dean. Besides, ladies never rush.”
A lady who wants a paycheck does.
I right my skirt and tuck in my blouse. Before entering the dining room, I wipe the clay dust from my heels. Hoping I’m not dripping sweat and my makeup isn’t smeared.
Mrs. Covington has her hands propped against the table. She leans over an assortment of platters. Inspecting, no doubt. She rolls her eyes up to peer over her glasses. “Common courtesy is to let everyone know you’re too busy to meet them at a specified time, Ms. Beck.”
I grab the tray of cards I’d labeled and set them next to the appropriate platter. “I apologize. I’d asked Ellie to show me where she wants to say her vows.”
She taps the table with her long nails, then tweaks each placard, either squaring it with the table or moving it over a centimeter. “Hideous.”
“What? I was top calligrapher in my class.” I’d penned each navy-blue card in gold and tucked them into vintage perfume bottles between sprigs of lavender,
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