The Wedding Dance (8 page)

“Lisa, would it be all right with you if I put this one together?”

“Sure, why not? I have the original order and design sheets here somewhere. Everything you need is through the back.”

The back room of the shop was quite a bit larger than the front room, consisting of an office table off to the side, a big table in the middle, and boxes of flowers stacked neatly around the walls along with ribbons, pieces of cane, and other decorations that might be needed as part of arrangements.

Phoebe put the plans for the bouquet down on the table, looking through them. It had been a while since she had worked from someone else’s plan, but Lisa was the kind of person who took extremely detailed notes when getting down an order, so that wasn’t too much of a problem.

“Orchids,” Phoebe read aloud, heading over to the boxes. Lisa had drawn a diagram, with suggestions of colors. Of course Patrick had opted for orchids, given that they were her mother’s favorite flower.

She laid out the orchids she’d picked on the table, going back for the other elements of the bouquet one by one as she started to piece it together. As she did so, she thought about the way her mother had always had an orchid blooming in the house when she was a child. Angela had been so beautiful then. So happy. Of course, her mother hadn’t actually changed that much since she was younger. When she was happy, at least, she was still an incredibly beautiful woman.

As Phoebe assembled the arrangement Patrick had ordered, she had to admit it was breathtaking. For a man who didn’t know much about flowers, he had done a good job of picking out the perfect elements for it. Phoebe wove them together, a stray memory coming to her of the way her mother had taken the time to weave her hair into elaborate braids and intricate knots when she was a teenager.

She took a step back when she finished with the bouquet, the reds, yellow and whites of the orchids leaping out at her. For once, it didn’t matter that it would wilt in a couple of days. It was enough that, for the moment at least, Patrick had made a gesture that would undoubtedly bring a smile back to her mother’s face.

Phoebe took the bouquet out to Lisa to show her. The other florist looked at it admiringly before saying, “It’s a good one, isn’t it? And it’s for your mother? Now, whatever did she do to deserve that?”

“I think Patrick wants to cheer her up. She was a bit upset yesterday.” She smiled at her friend. “Thanks for letting me put the bouquet together.”

It had been a strangely cathartic experience.

“You know, Phoebe,” Lisa said in that voice people used to offer advice that they knew you didn’t want to hear. “If it were me, I’d hold onto a man who did something like this, who cared enough about you to care about your family, too.”

Lisa’s words played on repeat in Phoebe’s head as she drove to the Rose Chalet.

Chapter Twelve

The Rose Chalet was the quietest Patrick had seen it. He looked around for Phoebe’s car, but there was no sign of it. Had she stayed home to take care of her mother?

Donovan McIntyre’s Porsche was instantly recognizable, however, which meant that the plastic surgeon was probably looking at his watch and thinking about the clients Patrick was keeping him from.

He collected the roll of plans from the passenger seat and headed inside the chalet where his brother was installing a spotlight. “Are you going to need a hand with the lighting rig when I’m done?”

RJ shook his head, frowning as he looked in the direction of Rose’s office. “Did you know, Rose built this place so people could have somewhere small and intimate for their weddings?”

“Rose is a very impressive woman,” Patrick said to his brother, wondering as he did so if they had both been hit with some sort of Knight brother curse to fall for the exact women that didn’t want anything to do with them.

RJ’s jaw flexed. “Yes, she is.” He turned back to the spotlight. “You should probably get to your meeting.”

Rose was in the office, sitting at the side of her desk, her deep red hair tied back. Donovan was sitting in her usual seat, wearing a suit Patrick knew cost a fortune.

They made a great looking couple, Patrick had to admit, and he couldn’t help thinking of what he and Phoebe would be like as one. He was dragged out of that thought as Donovan’s bronzed features rearranged themselves into a smile as he said, “Let’s get the ball rolling.”

Rose’s smile was much wider than her husband-to-be’s. “Good morning, Patrick. Are those the plans?”

Patrick began to unroll them on the office table, stopping halfway to move aside a vase of flowers so that he could spread the plans all the way out. Had Phoebe put together the arrangement, he wondered? And, if so, what had she been thinking about as she did so?

They were lovely, a spray of purple flowers against a background of white roses, and Patrick found himself wishing he knew more about the “language of flowers” if only for the possibility of a glimpse into Phoebe’s emotions. For her, he would memorize an encyclopedia of flowers and their meanings.

Donovan cleared his throat and Patrick worked to refocus as he went over the preliminary plans with them. “This will be the entrance hall opening into the living room with access through to the kitchen area here so that the spaces aren’t cut off from one another.” He paused to give his clients time to look over the drawings.

“Hmm...” Donovan mused, looking over the plans. “Four bedrooms seems like too many.”

“Four bedrooms is fairly standard for a family home.”

What kind of home might he have with Phoebe if she’d let him into her life? Looking down at the plans, Patrick started to mentally redraw them, adjusting lines and reassigning rooms. It was so easy to see how their dream home would work.

As before, Donovan interrupted his thoughts. “Rose and I are both very busy people. If we don’t have children, we won’t need the extra rooms.” Not seeing the stricken look on Rose’s face at his mention of not having children, Donovan continued with, “I think we should move the office upstairs and join it with what would have been one of the bedrooms to create a large study and library.”

Patrick had done this enough times to know how to carefully say, “That could certainly work for a library. But it wouldn’t be a very cozy room.”

Donovan frowned. “We’re not going for cozy. Are we, Rose?”

Rose paused for several beats before finally, saying, “A large library would be lovely.”

Patrick looked from Donovan to Rose, on the verge of suggesting a compromise when the office door opened and RJ came in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “There’s a problem with the lights, Rose.”

“Can’t it wait?” Donovan asked him in a tone that wasn’t entirely friendly.

“There seem to be some issues with the sequencing. I won’t be able to get the rest of the rig up until we’ve worked out how we want to deal with it.”

“I’m sorry.” Rose said as she stood up. “Can we finish with the plans in a few minutes once the situation is back under control?”

Donovan stood up. “I only had this short window to meet. I’ve got to get back to the clinic.” He shook Patrick’s hand, kissed Rose on the cheek, and nodded slightly to RJ as he took his leave.

Rose and RJ were just heading out to deal with whatever had become so pressing with the lights that were “no problem” a short while earlier, when Phoebe walked in.

“Rose, could I—”

Suddenly realizing Patrick was in the room, her cheeks flushed and her question fell away. He was glad to have a moment to drink in her incredible beauty.

“I’m sorry, Phoebe,” Rose said, “can you hold on for a few minutes while I help RJ sort out the lighting?

Phoebe looked more than a little nervous now that it was just the two of them in the office. He wanted her to be comfortable enough around him to want to spend time with him, but, right now, nerves were good too.

Women didn’t flush like that around men without a reason.

“How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s a lot tougher than she looks,” Phoebe said. “I’m sure she’s already up and about, watering and talking to my plants.”

He loved her small smile as she reached over, adjusting a few of the flowers in the vase on Rose’s desk. “Thanks for helping me her home. I’m not sure I could have done it alone. And thanks, too, for the rest of the day at the park. It was a lot of fun.”

Patrick had to grin at having found a woman who thought being knee deep in cow manure was a good time.

“What could be more fun than back-breaking work?”

“Says the man who singlehandedly tackled a tree stump,” she teased back.

“But I wasn’t single-handed,” Patrick pointed out. “I had you and Angela to help me out.”

“The flowers you sent her are beautiful, incidentally,” Phoebe said softly. “Just what she’s always loved.”

“I hope she likes them.”

Her cheeks flushed again and he was
this close
to pulling her against him for a kiss when she said, “Actually, as a thank you, I would love it if you—” She broke off, her eyes widening at her slip. “I mean, we would love it if you came over to dinner tonight.”

“I’d love to have dinner with you and your mother.”

“Great. Will 7 o’clock work?”

He nodded, very careful not to say
“It’s a date.”
Because if there was one phrase that would undoubtedly ruin things, that was it. Instead, he settled for a nod.

Phoebe was quick to run off rather than stay and chat with him, but she had invited him to dinner. Okay, so her mother would be there too, but in some ways that actually felt closer than the alternative. Anyone could do the traditional first date dinner, and Patrick guessed that Phoebe had done it more than a few times, but how many men had she invited back to her apartment for dinner with her family?

That was definitely something to think about.

Then again, it wasn’t like he could stop thinking about Phoebe if he wanted to.

Chapter Thirteen

“Mom, if you’re feeling up to it, I would love some help with dinner,” Phoebe called out from her kitchen.

An hour ago, when Phoebe had come back home and seen that the bedroom door was still closed, she’d been happy enough to leave Angela be while she got started on dinner. She’d settled on pasta for dinner with meatballs and homemade sauce. It wasn’t hugely imaginative, but Phoebe was well aware of what years of cooking for one had done to her culinary skills.

No answer had come from the bedroom yet, and she assumed her mother was still taking a nap. When the pasta sauce chose that moment to bubble up and spray over her, Phoebe looked down at her splattered clothes and realized she’d need to quickly change before checking on her mother, just in case Patrick arrived early.

Thanks to the racks of clothes taking up space between the plants, Phoebe only had to walk a few yards across the apartment to slip on a dark dress dotted with bright lilies that she’d owned for ages but never found an excuse to wear. Not that spending an evening with Patrick should be an excuse for
anything
, Phoebe reminded herself, and then hesitated. She didn’t want him thinking that she’d dressed up just for him. Maybe she should change into something more casual before he—

The chime of the doorbell cut off her outfit indecision. She hurried over to get the door, looking back briefly to the flowers she’d put on the apartment’s biggest table, so that Patrick could see how much her mother appreciated the gift. Even if it seemed that Angela hadn’t gotten out of bed long enough to spend much time looking at them.

Patrick looked gorgeous as he stood in her hallway. He handed her a potted Iris bulb. At the same time, she knew what the meaning of the Iris was.
Friends. Hope.
And
faith.
If he had taken the time to look it up, which she was sure that he had, which did he mean exactly?

“I would have brought wine, but I wasn’t sure whether that would be a good idea.”

“Good call,” Phoebe said, glad that she didn’t have to sidestep the issue of her mother for the very first time ever on a date. “Come in.”

“You’re looking great tonight.”

She felt like she could bask in the glow of his appreciation forever...which was what had her backing away from him, instead.

“I’m just going to go check on Mom. Could you keep an eye on the pasta sauce for a minute?” Phoebe went over to her bedroom door and knocked. “Patrick’s here for dinner.”

When there was no answer again, she pushed open the door, more than a little worried now. If anything had happened to her mother while she was at work, she’d never forgive—

The room was neat. Too neat. On top of the newly made bed, there was a note. Phoebe sat down on the edge of the bed and picked it up, recognizing the elegant swirls of her mother’s handwriting.

Cally,

I’m sorry about yesterday. I know I must have embarrassed you in front of your friend. There’s good news, though. David called me and we talked. I think there might still be a chance with him. By the time you read this I’ll probably be back in Sacramento. Please don’t worry about me. Everything is going to be fine. I can feel it. Love always and my best to Patrick if you see him again (which I hope you will!).

Mom

Phoebe read the whole thing through again, just to make sure it wasn’t all some kind of huge joke. It felt like it ought to be, but at the same time she knew that it was exactly the kind of thing her mother would do, and exactly the way she would do it. She stared at the note for several more seconds before putting it down again and heading back out into the kitchen.

Without a word, she got out a couple of plates and served up the pasta. “Looks like it’s just the two of us tonight,” she said to Patrick as she took the plates over to the table and set them down.

“Is your mother still not feeling well?”

“She’s fine.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

Phoebe nodded. “She left me a note telling me she’s going to try to work things out with David after all.”