Toss the Bouquet (12 page)

None, he decided. He had more than enough already.

The Serenity Prayer came back to him, his mother's counsel: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

When the service drew to a quiet close, he slipped across the back of the church, left a contribution in the church's offering box, and did the same for the two sleepers down on their luck.

When I was hungry you fed me . . .

An opportunity for change dangled before him, if only he had the courage to reach out and take it.

With God's help and Tara's love, he did.

The following morning he met with Marc Mitchum, withdrew his name from consideration, and headed back to Philly. He'd make it just in time for the gala, and hopefully in time to see Tara before the event started.

But if not?

Well, they'd have the rest of their lives to work things out. He'd make sure of it.

Tara and Jean scanned the list late Friday afternoon to ensure they hadn't missed anything.

Displays? Done.

Models? Ready!

Food? Being catered by a nearby culinary academy, reasonably priced and proud to show their stuff.

Greg's flowers and floral displays from friends of the Elizondos decked the sales areas. The soft scent of spring blossoms filled the air.

A dream come true. A night that would have been perfect if Greg were there, but he wasn't, and most likely he would be following his own dreams in New York before long.

Tara's conscience jumped in with a mental scolding.
What if Ruth had abandoned Naomi? What if she'd followed her mother-in-law's direction and returned to Moab? Where would her happy ending be now? Be patient. Trust. And by the way, that dress looks marvelous!

“Tara, does this look right?” Meghan interrupted her thoughts. She was retucking the Maid Marian–style gown display for the tenth time that afternoon.

“Touch it again and I'll lock you in an alterations room, Meghan. I know where they keep the keys, so don't test me.”

Meghan burst out laughing and stepped away, hands up. “I'm going to get changed. Can you handle this customer?” She nodded toward the front.

“Absolutely.” Tara draped the organza bunting over her shoulder and moved forward. “Hi, I'm Tara. Can I help you?”

The woman glanced around. A wide smile split her broad, bronzed face. “This is just plain beautiful inside here, Miss Tara. I can see why Elena's has been a cornerstone in Old City for so long! I am Nettie Johnson from a few blocks over, and I am here on a mission.”

“For a dress?”

She laughed and shook her head quickly. “For Mr. Greg. Is he here?”

Tara shook her head regretfully. “He's in Manhattan until later tonight. Can I help you?”

“Oh, no need!” The woman's smile deepened. She reached out and grasped Tara's hands in hers. “We are flyin' high at this moment, and I just wanted to come by and give Gregory a big hug and a public thank-you for what he's done. We not only get to keep our mission right here in Old City, but the landlord has agreed to fix an abundance of things he has been puttin' off for years! And all because Greg did battle for us. He is a special man, and our staff and clients are deeply indebted to him. He will be in our daily prayers, for certain.”

“Greg helped your mission?” Tara tried to do the math and failed. “When?”

“These past two weeks, once he saw we'd been closed down. Oh, he is tireless, that one! They've got a big write-up in the paper today, but I didn't want him just to read about savin' us. I wanted to tell him myself. I'll come by again once he's back home.”

Awareness flooded Tara.

Greg hadn't been working night and day to impress New York. He'd been working to save a homeless shelter and food kitchen. Shame bit deep. She had jumped to conclusions and never given Greg a minute to explain himself, or his work. “Yes, please. Do that. I'm sure he'd love to hear this from you. You know, Ms. Johnson—”

“Oh, now, I'm just Nettie to everyone. It's simpler that way.”

“Nettie, we're having a party tonight to celebrate the reopening of Elena's Bridal,” Tara told her. “Why don't you stay and eat with us? Meet some other people with shops here in Old City?”

“I'm not dressed for partyin'.” Her round, brown eyes glanced down. “Though I am right partial to this dress.”

Tara scanned Nettie's polka-dot dress and broad-brimmed hat, then smiled. “I think you look perfect for partying, and we'd love to have you.”

Kathy glided by wearing her ridiculous and endearing medieval gown with the matching high, cone-shaped hat. “Do stay. I'm Kathy, and I just heard on the news what Greg did. I have to say I'm absolutely delighted, proud, and not one bit surprised.” She let her gaze rest on Tara, but she spoke to Nettie. “Things started changing around here the first weekend of January, and they've just gotten better every week. Come with me, Nettie. We can hang your coat back here.”

Kathy guided Nettie to the coatrack they'd tucked at the back of the media room, an area staged to showcase the bridal store's ideas. Soon this would be a prom room, but for tonight, Truly had put together rolling media presentations on Donna's big-screen TV to show aspiring business partners the potential of linking to the newly renovated and renamed Elena's Weddings and Bridal, Inc.

Tara watched Kathy take Nettie under her wing while she tried to digest this new information about Greg, but the arrival of the first guests took precedence. Smiling bridal servers emerged to take coats and offer refreshments to the local business partners.

Compliments flowed. Conversation buzzed. And about thirty minutes in, Tara turned and spotted Greg, talking with a tall man in an expensive gray suit.

Her heart fluttered, then sank.

He'd made it. He'd come back in time for the gala. And there he was, talking to another suit without even saying hello to her.

As I recall, you've given him the cold shoulder lately. Kind of rude, cupcake.

Quick happiness turned into quicker self-recrimination. She turned when the wedding planner from a line of distinctive hotels asked about the newness of their program and projected success ratios.

“While the specifics of this wedding program are new . . .”

Tara's heart went into overdrive as Greg answered the question from directly behind her. And when he put a firm hand on her waist?

Total heart-spin.

“Elena's Bridal is steeped in a history of tradition and service. That was my mother's goal from the beginning, and now?” He took a step forward, smiled down at Tara, and reached out to shake the hotel executive's hand. “It's ours.” He gave Tara and the scattered staff a look of approval. “I'm Greg Elizondo, the owner of Elena's Weddings and Bridal.”

“Good to meet you.” Several other industry professionals stepped up to meet Greg.

Tara tried to slip away.

His hand on her waist said he wasn't letting go.

She kept her smile in place and tried to wriggle free once more.

Nope.

Finally Greg held up a hand for Kathy's attention. She raised an eyebrow. “Kathy, can we pause the music for just a moment?”

“Of course.” She moved to the front desk and hit a switch.

An expectant quiet descended over the crowded bridal room.

Greg grabbed Tara's hand and moved to one of the short, wide bridal stools in front of a triple mirror, designed to show the bride all aspects of her gown. “Ladies and gentlemen, forgive the interruption. I've just returned from New York. I arrived late, and I'm hoping to meet with every one of you this evening. But it seems I have some pressing business at hand, so if you'd indulge me a moment.” He went down on one knee and gazed up at Tara.

Heat flooded her cheeks.

Emotions roiled within her. And seeing Greg like this, ready to declare his love in front of all these people when
he should have been courting their business and not her heart . . .

It made Tara realize she would love him no matter where he lived.

“Tara, this isn't exactly how I envisioned this, but given the last two months, it's most likely what we should get used to.”

The truth of that made her smile.

“Will you marry me, Tara Simonetti? Will you run my mother's store with Kathy and the gang and live with me and grow old with me? And if God sends us a few cute kids, I'd be the happiest man on earth.”

Marry him.

Run Elena's.

Babies.

The heat in her cheeks grew, but the warmth in her heart overflowed. “Yes, yes, and yes! But what about New York?” she whispered as he stood and withdrew a stunning marquise diamond from a velvet box.

“We'll visit there,” he promised, smiling. “But this is home. And if I have my way, it always will be.” He slipped the diamond onto her finger, gave her one last lingering kiss, then smiled. “And with all of these nice people counting on our new corporate enterprise”—he turned and gave the gathered professionals watching a wave of acknowledgment—“can I talk you into a quick wedding? Because while wedding planning is our business, I'm hoping we won't have a whole lot of time to plan our own.”

Tara laughed, hugged him, and nodded. “We'll talk later.” She smiled up at him, then down at her ring. “Right now we've got work to do.”

Tara would have married Greg on the steps of City Hall
if necessary, but her mother and Kathy joined forces. “A quick wedding is fine,” Kathy scolded, “but Elena's doesn't do weddings without thought, so you two hang on to your hats, go about your days, and in a few weeks, we'll have a wonderful wedding in Kenneville.”

Would it snow?

Was there an ice storm looming?

“It doesn't matter,” Kathy promised. “We're using an inside venue and weather will do what weather will do. Go back to writing your final paper and leave me alone, Tara.”

She finished her final paper, and Greg drew up wedding-package contract agreements with multiple professionals on board. They booked six packages the first week, and eight the week after.

The ladies' combined efforts sold seventeen vintage-style independent gowns and booked thirteen full wedding parties.

Instead of closing the doors to Elena's, they'd increased their staff, reached into the community, and incorporated a new business model.

But nothing loomed as bright and beautiful as her upcoming wedding day.

Crisp, bright light filtered through stained glass windows. Flowers adorned the sanctuary, and soft piano music welcomed the guests into the historic, small church tucked on Franklin Street in Kenneville.

Tara's mother stepped into the bride's room. Quick tears filled her eyes. Her brother, Ethan, followed, saw the rise of emotion, and frowned. “You promised not to do that.”

“I might have been wrong.” She sniffled, grabbed a tissue, and hugged Tara. “You look so beautiful, honey.”

“You look all right.” Ethan grinned her way, then grabbed his own hug. “For a sister, you're not too bad.”

“I do my best.” She laughed up at him, then touched his face. “We've done okay, little brother.”

His expression reflected the meaning behind her words. Despite the harshness of losing their dad, the financial struggles and emotional hurdles, they'd both come out fine. Just fine.

“There's a groom out there looking mighty handsome.” Her mother smiled as she double-checked Tara's veil, her train, and the tucks of her ivory satin gown. “And the whole community has come out to celebrate with you.”

“Not an empty pew in the place,” Ethan noted, smiling. “Pretty impressive, sis.”

“Mrs. Bushing organized the sweets table and made the prettiest wedding cake,” her mother added as she picked up
Tara's small bouquet. “And Mr. Bushing made pots of pulled pork barbecue for the buffet.”