Finding Jack, page 27
Of all the types of events she did, weddings were her favorite. They were the biggest paycheck, and she had worked out the perfect network from florists to bakers, mostly other rising new vendors who had the same grit and hustle she did. The Ravenel-Calhoun wedding would be a windfall for all of them, a chance to break into the Charleston upper crust and enjoy the fruits of that very rich pie.
Assuming, of course, that she survived Dahlia Ravenel.
And that was by no means certain.
By the time the blushing bride arrived, the groom and maid of honor had already been sitting at Harper’s desk for twenty minutes making small talk. At least they were easy with each other. From the conversation, it sounded like the three of them had grown up together. The groom was Deacon Calhoun of the Garden District Calhouns, and Lily, the maid of honor, was Dahlia’s cousin, born to the same Charleston caste. If there was anything the silver spooners knew, it was how to keep a sparkling conversation going to gloss over any kind of awkward moment, like the tardiness of the bride who’d demanded their attendance in the first place.
Dahlia finally blew in on a gust of exotic perfume and chatter that burst out of her the second her foot was through the door. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that show about the vampires was so good?” she said, scolding her way to Harper’s desk, who rose to greet her. “I mean, that show makes Charleston almost seem as interesting and gothic as New Orleans. You’d never know we don’t have handsome vampires in every mansion. Speaking of,” she said swooping down to drop a kiss on Deacon’s lips.
“Did you just call me a vampire?” he asked, and Harper couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused by the comparison.
“A handsome vampire,” Dahlia corrected. “You know, charming with those dark, brooding good looks and a workaholic night owl. You’re a perfect candidate, Deacon.”
Deacon shook his head. “Are you telling me that you’re almost twenty minutes late for an appointment you made because you got distracted by a TV show?”
She fluttered down to the seat next to him and placed a hand on his knee. “Binge-watching, honey. I know it made me late, and I’m sorry about that, but it’s exactly the kind of escapism you need right now. You should try it, Deac.”
Lily, the maid of honor, had been watching this all with a half-smile on her face and now she patted Deacon’s other knee. “You’re not dark and brooding,” she said, which smoothed out the furrow on his forehead. “And Dahlia, if I have to start picking you up for all these appointments, I will. My shift at the hospital starts at two o’clock sharp. We probably better get down to business.”
Harper bet she could binge watch a reality show based on these three. She’d met with Dahlia and Lily once before but having the groom in the mix charged the situation with a new energy. Lily was the peacemaker and problem-solver, she could see right away. That meant she’d need to make Lily her primary ally in wrangling Dahlia, who had demonstrated a fierce commitment to the irrational. There was a shorthand in the way they all spoke and touched one another that would have given away their long friendship even if she hadn’t already sensed it before Dahlia arrived.
Harper opened her Ravenel-Calhoun binder. Dahlia had chosen her venue and colors at their previous appointment, when Mrs. Ravenel occupied the seat Deacon took now. That had been a bit of tug-of-war between mother and daughter until Mrs. Ravenel had put her foot down and refused to budge on the William-Aiken House. She’d had it reserved since Deacon and Dahlia had announced their engagement the previous year, and Dahlia had only just decided to balk. Harper knew why she wanted it: it was the most prestigious venue in Charleston, a gorgeous historic mansion on King Street with lush grounds and an airy ballroom. Harper, sensing an unconventional streak in her new client, convinced Dahlia that the bright tangerine-painted walls of the dining room added the touch of whimsy she craved.
That victory had seemed to reassure Mrs. Ravenel that the unknown wedding planner Dahlia had chosen was right for the job, but Harper wondered if Mrs. Ravenel even knew that Dahlia had come in to pick the rest of her vendors. If she were a betting woman, she’d put money on Dahlia blindsiding her mother with her next set of choices.
But Harper was not a betting woman because she had no money to lose. Every penny was tied up in the business and the lease she’d signed three months ago for her storefront on George Street to attract wealthier clients. She’d have to use all her considerable skills to direct Dahlia toward choices that would make Mrs. Ravenel happy enough to still sign the check for Harper’s services.
She put on her warmest smile and turned to the second tab. “With the venue decided, we need to choose a photographer. I work with the best in Charleston, and—”
She trailed off as Dahlia waved her words away. “My friend Sutton is doing it.”
Harper search her memory but came up blank. “I don’t think I’ve worked with her before.”
“You wouldn’t have. She gave up shooting weddings a while ago. Very artsy now, but she’s my best friend from school, and she agreed to come back to do my wedding.”
“That sounds great,” Harper said, her smile never slipping. “Artsy” worried her because she didn’t think it was a word Mrs. Ravenel would like. But worse, she received a bonus from the vendors she referred, and that meant she could kiss her photographer bonus goodbye. She’d had plans for that money.
Her plans would have to wait, but no hint of her disappointment crept into her voice as she turned to the next tab. “Let’s move right on to food.”
At this, Deacon straightened and leaned forward for a better look. Lily grinned. “You’re speaking his language.”
“I particularly love Burnham’s Lowcountry Caterers,” Harper said. “Their shrimp and grits are to die for and they do such an elegant presentation with their plating. They elevate our humble food into art.” The cranky caterer from the morning flashed through her mind. He might think Charleston needed shaking up, but the city was ripe with restaurants sporting James Beard awards and even a couple of Michelin-starred establishments. There were rising stars who innovated and chefs who’d made lucrative careers out of the simple goodness of traditional Charleston cuisine.
“I like shrimp and grits,” Deacon said, flipping to the next flier. “But who’s your steak specialist?”
Harper turned to the flier for Salthouse Catering. “They’re amazing with any cut of cow.”
Dahlia’s nose wrinkled. “Steak, honey? Really? Why don’t we just throw a cookout and serve up some burgers?”
Deacon sat back in his chair. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Why don’t we?”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Because we’re not doing the whole hipster redneck revival thing. So help me, if I see anything in a mason jar or bacon-wrapped anything, I will lose it.”
Harper privately agreed with her about the overdone “country living” aesthetic, specifically when it was used by wealthy debutantes who disdained real country living. But now Deacon was frowning.
“If there’s no bacon, I walk,” he said. He was kidding, Harper thought. And about the cookout too. Probably.
“Not only do I not want any bacon, I don’t love the idea of meat at the wedding either.”
Deacon drew a deep breath. “I think it’s great that you’re exploring vegetarianism, but you know the Calhoun men are going to drink through every bottle of bourbon at the open bar if they have to sit through a vegetarian wedding dinner.”
“Pescatarian,” Lily said as Dahlia was drawing breath to argue. “That could work as a compromise. What if you have seafood? Seared scallops, shrimp, that kind of thing, maybe even something wrapped in bacon for the carnivores, but no red meat or poultry. Could you live with that?”
Dahlia didn’t look thrilled, but she nodded. Deacon shrugged. “I could live with that.”
Harper admired Lily’s deft handling and jumped on the solution. “I know a couple of perfect catering options.” She popped the right menus out of the binder and handed one to each of them.
“Yum,” Lily said.
“Looks good to me,” Deacon said.
Dahlia only offered a groan.
“Is something wrong?” Harper asked.
Dahlia’s whole face scrunched like Harper had handed her raw sewage instead of a catering brochure. It was the first time Harper had ever seen her look anything less than stunningly gorgeous.
Dahlia pushed the menu back. “I’ve eaten food from all of these caterers at other weddings, and they’re all good and totally boring.”
Lily winced while Deacon shut his eyes for a few seconds. But Dahlia wasn’t finished. “I picked you because you haven’t done the weddings for every single one of my friends, but somehow I’m still having this thing in a boring old mansion, and now I’m going to be serving boring old food. I’m not boring,” she said, slapping her hand on the open binder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work.”
Lily was shooting her an apologetic look, Deacon’s face had gone blank, and Dahlia had hopped up from her seat and taken a step for the door when Harper panicked. She couldn’t let her leave and take her mother’s fat checkbook with her.
The words escaped her before she could think better of it. “If you’re willing to work with a Gordon Ramsay wannabe who has wild ideas about food, I’ve got the guy for you.”
Dahlia sat back down with a relieved smile. “Tell me more. I think I could be persuaded.”
Read the rest of Wedding Belles here!
About the Author
Melanie Bennett Jacobson is an avid reader, amateur cook, and champion shopper. She lives in Southern California with her husband and children and a series of doomed houseplants. She holds a Masters degree in writing for children and young adults and is the author of nine romantic comedies from Covenant Communications as well as several independent projects. You can read more about Melanie at www.melaniejacobson.net.
Jacobson, Melanie, Finding Jack
