Planning for Love (9 page)

Christ. It was like arguing with a freaking cartoon character. Kind of looked like one too, with the perfectly perky ponytail swaying in the breeze. Her adorable figure showcased by a snug tee and those very short shorts. Damn it. He should’ve known that with a total package of smarts, common sense and a smoking body, a serious imperfection lurked beneath the surface. Should’ve been on his guard from the start. And he’d pay for that mistake by nipping in the bud whatever romantic fantasy she’d no doubt already concocted about him.

Ben jammed his hat back on. “Hardly. Out of the two of us, I’d put money on you getting far more hurt. So let me do you a favor and forestall any mixed messages before you start text-stalking me. I am not boyfriend material. I don’t do relationships. Of any kind.”

“Why are you having such a bad reaction to a simple comment about marriage?”

“Consider me allergic to your particular brand of wide-eyed idiocy.”

Ivy laid a soft palm on his cheek. “You’re either scarred or scared. I’m guessing both. Who tainted love for you?”

“Life. And I’m no more tainted than that guy. Or that one over there.” Ben jabbed his finger at a lone man staring at the lake, and another sweeping trash off the pebbled path. “I get it. You have to wear rose-colored glasses to do your job. But one of these days, you should scratch the surface of the gilded frame you’ve put around marriage. Because a fancy frame can’t compensate for faded ideals that simply can’t survive in today’s society.”

Ivy snatched back her hand as if his skin had superheated. “I understand if you don’t want to see me again. However, there’s no call to attack a belief system I’ve built my entire life around.”

Obviously they wouldn’t be meeting in the middle on this issue. Right about now, the bar at O’Hare looked pretty inviting compared to continuing this conversation. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on this tangent. I’m a straight shooter. So I’ll tell you I enjoyed our time together the past two days. You’re a special woman. But I think I should get to the airport.” He dug a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s cab fare for you to get home. Nice meeting you, Ms. Rhodes.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist those glossy pink lips even after all the nonsense she’d spouted from them, he pressed a firm, fast kiss on their softness, fighting the urge to take it deeper. The woman had a mouth built for pleasing a man, and she knew how to use it. Seemed a shame to walk away from the first woman to really challenge him in as long as he could remember. No. Didn’t matter. A Grand Canyon-sized cavern gaped between them, and it wouldn’t get any better no matter how much time they spent together. Better to call it quits before things got ugly.

Ben walked away as fast as possible, not daring to look back. He’d done the right thing by giving her cab fare. Hadn’t abandoned her on a deserted highway or anything. So why did it feel so very wrong?

Chapter Six

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood.

—Daniel H. Burnham

Ivy could swear that love swirled in the air along with the delicious aroma from the box of strawberry muffins under her arm as she walked down the sidewalk. The tangible breeze of romance blew out the last of winter’s gloom and put a smile in everyone’s heart. This week alone, Aisle Bound had two bridal showers, five consults, and three weddings and their accompanying rehearsals on the books. Business boomed in mid-May, and it would only increase its frenetic pace all the way through to Halloween.

She paused beneath Aisle Bound’s lilac awning for a minute to admire the window display of pale pink satin draping from floor to ceiling. It set off hot pink vases bursting with white apple blossoms, stacked on white cubes of varying heights. Daphne’s work, impeccable as always. Simple yet dreamy. Ivy used her new wedge sandals to nudge open the door to Aisle Bound.

Milo lifted his nose from the appointment book with the unerring accuracy of a bird dog. “I smell treats. Yum! What are we celebrating this time?” He twirled his chair around in glee. Twice. Milo had a gift for wringing every morsel of fun out of a situation. His buffed, manicured, and occasionally polished little finger held more
joie de vivre
than the rest of the company put together. Today’s stylish ensemble consisted of a black-and-white-checked vest over a black shirt, white pants, and old-school oxfords. And the obligatory diamond stud in his ear. Milo swore he’d gotten it from a leftover gift bag at one of Oprah’s staff parties.

“This is National Strawberry Month,” said Ivy.

“Of course it is.” Daphne stepped out of the refrigerator case at the back of the reception area which held display bouquets as well as the completed table arrangements for today’s bridal shower. “Honey, I know you like to turn every day into a special occasion, but it’s getting out of hand. Last week it was ribs for lunch for BBQ Month, and peanut butter cookies on Bake Sale Day. Pretty soon they’ll be able to float us in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.”

“Don’t worry. I thought you might object, and timed this accordingly. It just so happens to be Eat What You Want Day.” Ivy winked at her best friend and deposited her box on the glass coffee table next to the single peony floating in a crystal bowl. “You know you can’t resist anything from Lyons Bakery.”

Daphne poked open the top of the box. “We’ve been stopping there at least twice a week for years. How come I’ve never seen strawberry muffins on their menu?”

“Oh, I might have mentioned strawberry month to Sam when he dropped off the Taggart-Chang cake on Sunday. He promised to talk his mother into whipping up something special.”

“Sam’s a sweetie. And his ass is absolutely delectable.” Milo draped himself artfully across the oversized wing chair closest to the muffins. Ivy thought of it as a throne chair. Like something out of
Alice in Wonderland
, the seatback rose to almost five feet. Covered in white brocade, it enveloped a bride, putting distance between her and the matching sofa where Ivy relegated however many well-meaning but overbearing relatives accompanied her.

Julianna hip checked Milo right onto the floor as she walked by. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you nine thousand times. Unless you’re paying our exorbitant fees, no eating on the stain-attracting furniture.”

“Do you see any food in my hands?” He waved his hands in the air. Ivy saw the gesture for what it really was; an excuse to show off the checkerboard-patterned cuff links.

“You were about to make a move on those muffins. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Julianna and Milo bickered constantly yet managed to work together flawlessly. The pretense of animosity kept them sharp at all times. Deep down, Ivy knew they’d go to the mat for each other without a moment’s hesitation. It made for a lively workplace.

Daphne twisted her almost waist-length hair into a bun, and stabbed it into submission with what looked like a leftover rose stem. “Let’s get this meeting rolling. I have to finish six bridesmaid bouquets by lunch. And two flower girl pomanders. Ideally, their floral headpieces as well.”

“No whining. We pledged that when we started, remember?” Ivy darted down the long hallway into her office to grab her notes, but kept talking. “When we only had two clients booked for an endless six weeks after we opened? A busy day is a good day.”

“Sorry. You’re right. I had to get up an hour early this morning for a special delivery. Then I spent two hours stripping thorns off a massive order of roses. I won’t speak again until I’ve front loaded more caffeine and sugar.” Daphne bit into a muffin and stalked over to the insulated coffee carafe Milo kept filled at all times.

Ivy carried out a plastic shopping bag and perched on the edge of the sofa. “While everyone gets settled, I want to show off a little something I picked up last night. Potential merchandise.”

“No, no more shopping for you,” groaned Julianna. “You’ve gotten completely out of control. Our storeroom only has a finite amount of space.”

Milo nodded his head with the speed of a wind-up toy. “She’s right. Buying things for an imaginary store you may or may not open at an unforeseeable point in the future? Nutty. Pretty soon they’ll feature you on one of those reality shows about hoarders.”

Party poopers. Joy suckers. No matter how valid their points, Ivy didn’t think they should rain on her parade. With enough planning, her idea for a store celebrating all things romantic could viably become a reality. And Ivy happened to be a stellar planner.

“My store may only be a dream right now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Men and women are overstressed and under-romanced in today’s world. They need a place where they can get a spontaneous,
I love you just because
present. Or fixings for a romantic picnic lunch. Or the perfect chocolate truffle to leave on a pillowcase.” A little skepticism wouldn’t tarnish her dream. Love made life worth living. And sometimes people needed a little help in that department. “Daphne and I opened this place on a wing and a prayer. I’ll find a way to raise the capital to open A Fine Romance, and I’ll do it in less than five years. You’re welcome to place bets on that.”

If only she could convince a bank to bet on her. Ivy’s last two loan applications had been turned down. Her project had been officially classified as too-risky-for-this-economy. But the banks knew business—not the business of
romance
. She knew the industry inside and out, and had no doubt her store would not only survive, but flourish. If only they had vision to look beyond their spreadsheets. So none of her friends knew she’d been quietly trying to find a way to open the store this year. Safer to work in stealth mode. Then she didn’t have to deal with the pitying, albeit comforting looks when things went wrong. Far better to present it as a fait accompli once all the loose ends were tied up.

Unfortunately, she’d turned over most available rocks in her search for funding an initial start-up. Every lender looked at the mortgage on her condo and monthly expenses for Aisle Bound (running in the black since year one, thank you very much) and declared her finances were spread too thin to sustain a third. The unspoken goal had always been to open A Fine Romance before she turned thirty. Luckily unspoken, since the fateful birthday loomed in less than a year.

Daphne held up a finger sporting two bandages, probably courtesy of the morning’s rose strip-a-thon. Belle rode above the knuckle, and Ariel below. She always went for the Disney Princesses first in her vast collection of cartoon-themed first aid supplies. “First, show us what you’ve got. I might be talked into investing, but only if you convince me that you’ve really got your finger on the pulse of what the romance-deprived public truly needs.”

“Then call me a human stethoscope. Get a load of this.” Ivy pulled her prize out of the bag beside the sofa and unfurled all its glory.

“A fleece blanket?” Milo grabbed another muffin, shaking his head. “Did you open a new checking account and get it as a freebie?”

“You’re all worked up about a blanket carried everywhere from Macy’s to Walgreens to truck stops along I-94?” Daphne slurped her coffee. Began to sit on the blindingly white sofa, then looked at her coffee mug. Ivy could see the thought flash behind Daphne’s eyes of how much it cost to spot clean, reconsidered, then crossed her legs and sank onto the floor.

Ever cognizant of her role as
associate
wedding planner, Julianna judiciously kept her mouth shut. The sudden arch to her right eyebrow, however, spoke volumes.

“You all lack vision.” Ivy looked down at the pumpkin-and-yellow-striped square in her hands. Square. Whoops. In all the excitement, she’d left out the best part. “Well, that and I forgot to explain the hook, the whiz-bang twist.”

Milo sniffed. “That blanket could fart daisy petals and it still wouldn’t make me blink twice.”

“Picture it big enough for two, a picnic blanket…” Ivy drew out the suspense while she traced an outline in the air with one hand, “…and heart shaped.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s brilliant,” Julianna gushed. “People would buy them for tailgating at Bears games, or just for snuggling on the couch. They would fly out of the store.”

“The thus far imaginary store,” Milo corrected. But he softened the comment with an approving nod and grin.

“See, this is why I went into partnership with you in the first place. You know your stuff.” Daphne leaned over to give Ivy an awkward, one-armed hug around her calves. “How’d the brainstorm hit you this time?”

“If I give away all my secrets, you won’t continue to bow down before my genius.”

“Is the oxygen thin way up there on your pedestal?” Daphne snarked back.

“Fine.” Ivy refolded the blanket. Even she couldn’t look at the jarring color combo much longer. “Grandma Rhodes is leaving on an Alaskan cruise next month. Even though it’ll be summer, she’s convinced her stateroom will be as cold as the surrounding icebergs. I thought this would be small and light enough for her to stuff in a carry-on. Then I remembered she’d told me about a shore excursion she scheduled: a picnic on a glacier. The idea just hit me.”

Jazzed, she’d stayed up late surfing the web for companies to produce the unusual shape. Ivy found two conglomerates which looked promising. Even better, a little past midnight she’d tracked down a family of third-generation hand crafters in Indiana, no more than an hour away. Her enthusiasm had flattened as she saved her notes, tempered by the realization she had no place to sell her new item. Yet. But she still got up at the crack of dawn to drive out there for a sample of their work.

Julianna cleared her throat and discreetly tapped her watch. “We’re a few minutes behind. We should really begin the run down of this week’s events.”

“You are an automated, synchronistic treasure. Thank you for keeping us on track.” Ivy enjoyed it when someone else stepped in to be the schedule police. She stuffed the blanket back in its bag, then sat on the sofa. Opening her portfolio, she rifled through a stack of color-coded schedules. Pink tabs for showers, lilac for engagement parties and deep purple for weddings. A small perk of owning her own business was being able to jump on any excuse to use her favorite color purple in all its shades.

“We’ll start with the Lambert shower. Evanston Woman’s Club, thanks to membership by, as far as I can tell, every woman in her family, his family, and several coworkers. You all know the venue. Old school, charming, sweet and the pinkish beige color scheme matches well with the bride’s.”

Daphne opened the display case and removed a cluster of tiny sweetheart roses twisted into a corsage. “Ashley wants all her guests to feel special today, so she’s ordered corsages for everyone. Guests in ivory, bridesmaids and moms in pale pink, and bride in a variegated pink. Cranking out sixty of them wasn’t exactly a creative challenge, but I know they’ll be a huge hit. We’re using teapots as the base of the centerpieces. I had Milo go nuts one night on eBay and pick up dozens of them for a song. Most are cracked, which kept our price low, but doesn’t keep us from a decent profit margin. The flowers will cover the imperfections, and each table’s bouquet will be unique.”

“Resourceful and creative. Sounds like today should be pat-the-whole-team-on-the-back day. Nice job, Daph.”

“We’ve already coordinated with the maid of honor. Each centerpiece will be given to the winner of a game.” Julianna consulted her copious notes. “We’re doing ten tables of six, and yes, if you do the math that means they’ll be playing about eight too many games. I talked myself blue in the face, but couldn’t convince her that one round of designing a dress out of toilet paper is more than enough.”

“Which brings me to the reminder to hit Costco for an entire carload of toilet paper. The people behind are going to think someone has serious health issues when we buy fifteen packs. Not it,” Ivy quickly shouted.

Daphne placed her corsage back in the cooler. “I’m out. Too much still on my petal covered to-do list to run to the store.”

Julianna and Milo stared at each other with the intensity of gunslingers at high noon, both waiting for the other to flinch. Before either could move, the door swung open, and in walked an earnest-looking woman in her late forties. She listed a little to the left, weighed down by a briefcase big enough to anchor a yacht. A sensible brown suit did little to enhance her stocky frame.

Walk-ins weren’t unheard of, but they were rare. An unscheduled visit by a lone woman without an entourage of family and friends definitely fell in the atypical column. But every potential client deserved the same royal treatment, planned for or not. Hopefully, she didn’t feel awkward or unwelcome for walking into the middle of an obvious breakfast staff meeting. To prevent her from turning right back around, Ivy jumped up.

“Welcome to Aisle Bound. Won’t you join us for coffee and a muffin?”

“Thank you.” The woman tucked a limp strand of her asymmetrical bob behind one ear. “You have no idea how badly I need coffee. My plane landed an hour ago. I got up before dawn this morning, and I’m only in Chicago on a long layover. Houston this afternoon, then back on a plane to Vegas, and if I’m lucky, catch the red eye back across country tonight.”