Читать книгу Best Man For The Wedding Planner - Donna Alward - Страница 12

SHE COULDN’T GET WARM.

Adele hadn’t been lying when she’d said the flu was going around, but she really hadn’t considered the possibility of actually getting it. And not on the day of the biggest wedding of her career. She stepped under the hot spray of the shower, which felt glorious. She’d have to work through it, that was all. She’d stop at the pharmacy for meds, drink lots of fluids and power through. And wash her hands—a lot. She didn’t feel great, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

She dressed in a variation of her standard uniform, which was generally a little black dress that lent an air of professionalism while also allowing her to blend in with the guests. Today, however, the idea of black stockings and high heels and semi-bare arms was just...no. Instead she pulled out a soft pair of black trousers, her most comfortable heels and a black cashmere sweater. She’d be a little bit underdressed, but she’d be able to do her job and would blend into the background, as it should be. Tea, some acetaminophen, and she’d be right as rain.

She stopped at the drugstore and then for a smoothie, going for a massive vitamin injection. By the time she arrived at the hotel, things were underway. The flower delivery van was parked and workers hustled to get the delicate blooms out of the cold and inside. Adele parked and rushed over to assess their progress, and had a jolt of dismay when she realized the centerpieces for the reception weren’t in the van. A quick phone call assured her they were coming in about an hour, in a separate van. Everything for the reception was being stored near the hall, so that the staff could do a quick turnaround with the room during the cocktail hour in a nearby lounge.

She stifled a sneeze and then reached into her bag for tissues. “Please, please kick in,” she murmured, hoping the medicine she’d taken would help her symptoms and soon. She could be sick tomorrow. Not today. Twelve to fourteen hours was really all she needed.

Once the flowers were inside, she made a beeline for the spa to make sure everything was on schedule for the wedding party. That, at least, was going flawlessly. The bride and her bridesmaids were sitting in chairs, preferred drinks by their sides, having their hair straightened, curled, pinned...whatever their style required. The men, too, had appointments within the hour for hair trims and shaves. Everyone got to be a little pampered on the wedding day. The energy in the spa was warm and celebratory, and she smiled to herself as she left. The few hours leading up to the ceremony were some of the busiest, but also the most exciting.

Tomorrow would be time enough for a little self-pampering. She’d drink tea and stay beneath her very thick, very warm duvet for as long as she wanted. She always took the day after a wedding off as a treat to recoup from the long hours.

The centerpieces arrived and were properly stored. Adele lit the twinkle lights on the twelve trees. A small podium was installed for the justice of the peace, and the chairs were set up for the string quartet.

Her phone rang.

She hung up five minutes later, her heart pounding. Four of tonight’s servers had called in sick with the same flu. Four. With a guest list of two hundred and fifty, that made a huge difference. They were going to try calling in people who were off today, but with the virus going around, Adele wasn’t hopeful. At least the photographer, Harper McBride, showed up early. Harper owned a studio in town and had quickly become Adele’s go-to for weddings, as well as Adele’s best friend.

Harper took one look at her and frowned, her blue eyes worried. “You’re sick. You caught the plague.”

Adele couldn’t help but laugh, a welcome sensation that had been absent the last few days. “I did, yes,” she admitted. “I was hoping it wasn’t noticeable. I’m hopped up on daytime flu meds and a huge smoothie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you too well. You look great, except the glassy look in your eyes. Well, darlin’, the timing sucks.” Harper lugged one of her bags into the room and hid it in a corner at the back, where she’d set up unobtrusively. “The place looks amazing, though. I think it’s your best yet.”

“Thanks.” The praise went right to Adele’s heart. Harper had a brilliant eye and was also unfailingly honest. “Not too much white?”

Harper shook her head, which provoked one of her auburn curls to escape. “With that rich blue satin on the chairs and the silver accents? Not at all. It’s gorgeous.” She leaned a little closer. “I’m so glad you convinced her not to do the red.”

Adele laughed. “Me too. Look, I know you have other stuff to do. I’ll see you in here later, though?”

Harper nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I have the wedding-party photos to do, and all that ‘day of’ stuff. Do me a favor and go get yourself some hot tea. Mint or ginger or something.”

That sounded delicious, so as Harper went on her way, Adele zipped to the coffee shop and put in her order. Just as she reentered the wedding hall, she noticed a delivery being unloaded that was all wrong.

She rushed forward, trying not to spill her tea and checking her phone for the time simultaneously. Instead she dropped her phone, held on to her tea and called out, “Stop!”

Everyone halted, but one delivery person got a strange look on her face. “Can I please put this down? They’re heavy.”

Of course they were. They were the ice sculptures that weren’t supposed to be delivered for another five hours.

“Why are you here now? The sculptures weren’t supposed to be delivered until four o’clock.” She bent and picked up her phone. The screen protector had cracked, but everything else looked okay. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“Our order said to leave at nine thirty. It’s just over an hour’s drive in our refrigerated truck.” The apparent supervisor pulled out a folded paper and scanned it. “Look. Says here nine thirty.”

Adele tucked the phone in her pocket and reached for the paper. It did say nine thirty, but she’d specifically asked for four o’clock, which meant a two thirty departure from the city. “We can’t put them out now. They’ll be melted before the ceremony! Even four was pushing it.” The idea was for them to arrive at just the right time, so that they could be set up with the champagne within the reception configuration.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But we’ve got another delivery today, and we can’t take them all the way back to Calgary and drive back out again this afternoon.”

She considered asking the kitchen staff if there was storage space there. But these were three forty-pound blocks, shaped like snowflakes. Getting them from the kitchen to this room would be a challenge for the already understaffed crew.

Her phone rang.

They were still three staff members short for tonight’s dinner service.

And she felt like crap—more so every minute.

Slow down and think, she reminded herself, trying to stem the feeling of panic crawling through her. She could handle this. It was her job. She handled anything that was thrown at her, right?

“Ms. Hawthorne?”

“Just a minute,” she answered, trying to think.

Her phone rang again. When she hung up, she felt ready to cry.

Two members of the string quartet were down with the flu and so sick they were unable to play.

“Ms. Hawthorne,” the delivery man said again. “What do we do with the sculptures?”

“I don’t know!” she blurted out, and then let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I suddenly have three crises and I need a moment.”

She stood in the middle of the floor, wanting nothing more than to be back in bed. She was cold, she ached and she was simply tired.

Melting sculptures. Understaffed. No music. She knew bad luck came in threes, but she’d never had it happen at a wedding before.

“Is something wrong?”

She closed her eyes. Not Dan. This was the last thing she needed.

Take a breath. Smile.

She turned to face him and attempted the smile. “Oh, just some last-minute wrinkles I need to sort out.”

He was frowning at her. “I get the impression it’s more than a wrinkle.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know. So you’ve told me several times. But do you need help?” He stepped forward, his eyes earnest. “Sometimes handling it means delegating. But I’m sure you know that, too.”

“The sculptures are hours early. They’ll be melted before the reception even starts.”

“A freezer in the kitchens?”

“I thought of that. But then we have to move them again...and we’re down staff members. The flu.”

“What about outside? On the balcony? It’s cold enough they’ll stay frozen. We could ask if we can have a dolly and move them all back at once when they’re needed.”

“It might work. Let me make a call.”

When she got approval to move the ice sculptures outside, Dan stepped in and helped load them onto the dolly, and then supervised delivering them to a corner of the balcony where they could come back and get them in the afternoon. Adele waited inside, where it was warm, but when he came back in, she ate a little humble pie. “Thank you, Dan. I was suddenly so overwhelmed. This is a great solution.”

“About getting them back to the room and unloaded...”

“You’ll have photos with the wedding party. Don’t worry. I’ll find someone. And if I have to, I’ll get it myself. I can lift forty pounds.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You haven’t started lifting weights, have you?”

She laughed in spite of herself and then covered her mouth. “No, though I do run quite often. Just not today. Today I’m in crisis-management mode.”

“What else has gone wrong?”

“Besides not enough staff to serve tonight? I’ve lost the string quartet. I don’t know how I’m going to break that one to Holly. She’s going to lose her mind.”

“Probably.” At her wide-mouthed expression, he shrugged. “It’s her wedding day. I’m assuming she wants everything to be perfect.”

“I don’t know if I can get a substitute at this late hour. And I still have to find three more servers somewhere. I have an idea about that, but I have to clear it with the catering office first.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I’m off the hook until the before-wedding pictures at one.”

Was he genuinely offering to help? It seemed he was. She gazed up at him, unsure of where she stood. “Last night we didn’t exactly end things on friendly terms,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did at the end,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “About the team player thing. It was a cheap shot. You’re right. This is your job and you know what you’re doing. I let personal resentment get in the way.”

“I guess I’m glad that you’re able to admit you resent me,” she replied softly. “I prefer honesty over subtext. And I don’t blame you, Dan. I just...don’t want to fight now. It was so long ago.”

But was it, really? Clearly not if both of them were unsure of what to say or how they felt.

“The thing is, I want to keep on being angry. And I can’t. I’m just...oh, hell. I don’t know what I am. But I do know that my best friend is being married today and if his bride is unhappy, it’s not going to be good for any of us.” He smiled at her. “So, if there’s anything I can do to help you out of your pickle, let me know. Hand me your phone.”

She did, because she was too surprised to do anything else.

“There.” He handed it back. “My number’s in there. If you don’t find a replacement for the quartet by noon, message me. I might have something up my sleeve.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down at the phone and back up. “That’s...kind of you.”

He took a step back. “I might still be a bit angry with you, but it doesn’t mean I want you to fail, Delly.”

“No one calls me that.”

“I can call you Adele if you want.”

She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If nothing goes wrong, I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

“Or before. I’ll be taking the boutonnieres to Peter’s suite before your photos. Those are the last flowers to arrive.”

He gave her a mock salute and headed off down the hall, leaving her standing there, feeling unsure and off-balance. And only a little of that was because of her illness.

* * *

A brief discussion with the contract manager gave her the ability to bring in three additional servers, paid out of her own pocket. She called Emmeline and Jerry Richards, who owned a catering business she’d used often. They’d send three servers to the hotel by four o’clock so they could meet with the banquet staff ahead of time. Then she went to the bridal suite, where she faced a radiant and excited Holly.

“How is it? Is it all coming together?” Holly asked. “What do you think? The dress is still perfect, isn’t it?” Harper was there, snapping pictures, and despite her growing fatigue, Adele went forward and adjusted the zipper and hook at the back of the dress.

“It’s lovely. And it is all coming together, with one hitch.”

Holly’s face fell. “Oh, no. Is it bad?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, but it’s big enough you need to be aware. Your string quartet has backed out. Half of them are down with the flu.” And apparently not as amenable to working while sick as she was.

“But...that’s all the music!” Her voice raised with panic. “That’s what I’m supposed to walk up the aisle to!”

“I know,” Adele said, feeling a little panic herself but keeping calm for the sake of the bride’s sanity. “I’ve got calls in to a few replacement ensembles that I’ve worked with before. I’m hopeful, because January isn’t a busy wedding month. We might be lucky.”

“And if we’re not?”

Adele reached out and took her hand. “I have never let a bride down yet, and you won’t be the first.”

“Okay.” Holly let out a breath. “I’m going to trust you with this, Adele. Please, please make it work.”

“Everything else is ready, and your flowers should be on their way up in the next thirty minutes. The weather is perfect, too, so don’t fret.” She sent a reassuring smile. “I’ve pulled off miracles before.”

She left the suite and rested against the wall after the door was shut. Keeping a bright face had been a big chore. She needed to take another dose of pills soon; the fever and chills were worsening, and her whole body ached.

Her phone dinged with a text message—the quartet she’d used before was already booked for this evening. That only left one option. If they weren’t available...

She grabbed a bottle of water, but then stopped and got a bowl of soup to get her through the day. The warm broth helped her throat, which was feeling a bit raw, and revived her a bit. Until she got the final refusal. They were two and a half hours from wedding time and had no music. Holly was not the sort of bride who would want a recording played for her walk down the aisle, either.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. She tapped in a text message to Dan, asking for his help. By the time she’d finished her soup, he’d messaged back, saying that a pianist and flautist would be there and set up by two thirty, and if guests could wait until after that to be seated, it would allow them a few minutes to warm up.

She hadn’t wanted to rely on him, but he had come through anyway. Just like he always had when they’d been together.

Her heart ached a bit thinking about it. If she’d told Dan she’d been diagnosed with cancer, he would have stood beside her. If she’d told him it had spread to her uterus and she had to have a hysterectomy, he would have held her hand and insisted it would be all right.

And then she would have had to face him every day, feeling responsible for denying him the joy of his own children. Wondering if he would grow to resent her as his siblings had children and they remained childless. If he’d regret staying with her all that time, and if he’d eventually stop loving her.

The way her dad had stopped loving her mom.

Dan was still a good man. And he had come through today, helping her out of a jam. But nothing had really changed.

Nothing at all.