You Say It First

Pallas returned. She’d replaced her jeans and T-shirt with a simple dark green dress that brought out her hazel eyes. Her long brown hair was still in its fancy braid and he didn’t think she was wearing any makeup. Of course she wasn’t the bride—she was here to make the bride’s dreams come true.

She walked up to him and nodded in approval. “You look great. Thank you for doing this. I would be in so much trouble if you hadn’t agreed to help out. Did Alan tell you what was going to happen?”

“We carry in the bride, then quietly leave.”

“Right. Oh, we still have to do our interview. I have no excuse for scheduling it so close to a wedding except to say I must have gotten the days wrong. There’s just so much to do.”

Emotions filled her eyes. He read worry, panic and more than a little determination. An interesting combination.

She squared her shoulders. “One crisis at a time, as Gerald always said. We are ready for the wedding. Gentlemen, if you’ll take your positions, please.”

She led the way downstairs. Nick wasn’t sure what to expect, but quicker than he’d anticipated, they were in a room with a frazzled-looking bride, several bridesmaids dressed in what he would guess were Roman-inspired gowns and an honest-to-God palanquin.

He moved closer to the sedan chair and studied the carving on the sides. They were hand done, then attached to what he guessed was a lightweight metal frame.

Pallas got everyone in position. The bride took her seat. Alan took the front right position, which Nick would guess meant he was in charge.

“On three, gentlemen. We lift slowly, in unison and with our knees.” Alan smiled at the bride. “Not that we have to worry about you, darling. You’re no bigger than a minute and so lovely in your gown. It’s designer, isn’t it? Lucky, lucky you.”

The bride visibly relaxed. “Thank you. I love my dress.”

“It loves you back. Shall we? On three.”

Nick waited for the count, then raised the bride. The crossbar had a padded, curved notch for his shoulder. He found he only had to use his hand to steady it, not support it. As Pallas had promised, the bride was light and the weight easy to bear.

He went with the others down the hall. A photographer snapped pictures. Huge double doors opened for them and they walked into a massive room with at least a twenty-foot ceiling.

Guests lined up on either side of the large aisle and a groom in a fancier version of a toga waited up at the carved altar. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon, flickering torches provided light.

They reached the end of the aisle. Alan directed them to lower the bride. When she was with her Roman groom, they carried the palanquin back out. Alan ushered them to a huge outdoor courtyard set up for the reception. The palanquin was set down in a corner.

“People love climbing all over it for pictures,” Alan told Nick. “All right, you’re free to go.” He pointed to a door. “Go through there. You’ll find a staircase that will take you up to the second floor. The dressing room is at the end, on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Nick followed his directions. When he went inside, he saw the staircase. Before he reached it, however, he spotted a partially open door.

“No way,” he murmured as he moved closer.

He opened the door wider, swore under his breath and stepped inside.

Several large carved wooden panels hung from tracks where they could slide into place. He stepped to the side and visually followed the track. He would guess it led to the big ballroom he’d just been in.

These panels—easily ten feet tall and twice as wide—were exquisite works of art. The carvings depicted what he would guess was early palace life. There were several tableaux of a royal court and a few outdoor country scenes. Sure, the arrangements were cheesy, but the carving was incredible. Each of the characters in the first relief seemed ready to come to life. He traced the etched lines that created dimension in a few elegant strokes only to feel rough edges. He looked more closely and saw the panels were dinged, dry and in need of some serious TLC. Was this the job Pallas wanted a carpenter for?

He went back out the way he’d come, circling around the now-empty courtyard. He crept into the back of the ballroom and saw the carved Roman panels in place on the walls. They were as brilliant as the other ones and even from a distance, cried out to be restored.

And here he’d thought Pallas was looking for someone to repair windows or build cabinets. To work on something like this... Had Atsuko known about the panels? Was that why she’d suggested Nick apply for the job? Because while he’d grown up working with glass, in the past decade he’d fallen for wood.

Glass was cold and mercurial, but wood was alive. Wood had a soul.

He retreated back the way he’d come and headed up the stairs. The whole carry-a-bride-after-being-fake-tanned thing had put him off the part-time job, but now that he’d seen the panels, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to restore them and make sure they were in good enough shape to last for future generations.

Dramatic much, he thought to himself as he entered the dressing room. Except the panels were worth the drama and oddness that was Pallas’s wedding business. They deserved the very best of him and he was determined that they would get it. As much as he might want to deny it, he was, down to his bones, an artist. His father’s blood ran through him and with it came the need to create. Or in this case, restore.

* * *

PALLAS RARELY SCHEDULED more than one wedding on a weekend. It was simply too difficult to set up everything and then break it down in time. The only exception was when a wedding party wanted a Friday event—then she could handle a second one on Sunday. Still, even with that option, and the slightly lower cost for choosing “off hours,” most brides and grooms wanted the traditional Saturday night party. Which meant she had most Sundays off.

Bright and early Monday morning she made her way to Weddings in a Box and walked the property. The main building was three-sided, in a U shape with a courtyard in the middle. At the west end was the small lobby with a fairly traditional facade done with a slight Italian villa flair. The north side was finished with stone and resembled a medieval castle. The south side was covered with wooden siding—giving it a ranch-like, Old West, rustic feel.

One building, three options that could easily be fluffed to fit nearly a dozen wedding themes. Quirky, yes, but she loved every fake brick and nonworking window.

She checked for damage to the building and fence—because there was that one time a groomsman had run his car into the gate—and lost or abandoned property. Celebrations went late, liquor ran freely and more than one shoe, bra or pair of panties had been found on the lawn.

What was it about weddings and irresponsible sex? Sure, the bride and groom were likely to get some but that was tradition. Everyone else should wait until they got home—only they rarely did. Fortunately today all she found was a streamer and a few flower petals. No need for protective gloves to pick up those.

She made her way inside and headed for the business office on the second floor. She’d only moved into what she still thought of as Gerald’s office a few weeks before. For the first month after his death—after learning that he’d left her his business—she’d been in shock. For the next two months, she’d been unwilling to make any changes. Last month she’d realized that running from her desk to his fifty times a day was just plain dumb. Gerald wouldn’t have given her Weddings in a Box if he didn’t want her to keep it going. So she’d moved into his office.

Instead of feeling sad, she’d realized that being where she always pictured him had made her feel closer to him. He’d been like a second father to her, and while she missed him every day, she knew he would be happy with what she was getting done.

Now she checked her calendar while carefully avoiding the pile of bills in her in-box. Weddings in a Box might be a happy, interesting place, but it was also hanging on by a financial thread. One that was constantly in danger of snapping. Theme weddings didn’t come cheap, but neither did the venue and the special touches.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. She would be brave tomorrow. She checked her email and saw that two more brides had sent back signed contracts. That was good news. She would review them before—

“Good morning.”

She looked up and saw a man in the doorway to her office. Not just any man—Nick Mitchell.

Several emotions collided. Gratitude for how he’d rescued her on Saturday, slight embarrassment at how she’d stripped him down and fake-tanned him, major embarrassment after she’d figured out who he was and disappointment that she was still going to have to keep looking for a part-time carpenter. Oh, and confusion as to why he was here.

She rose, ignoring the fact that he was the best-looking man she’d had in her office in oh, forever, and smiled. “Hi. How can I help you?”

He leaned against the door frame. “I thought we could have that interview now.”

Because she’d accidentally scheduled the last one right before a wedding. Only there was no way he would want to work for her now, was there? “I really appreciate how you helped me out on Saturday.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not every day a guy gets to be a Roman soldier.”

“Unless you work here, then it happens way too often.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about how everything played out.”

“I’m not. It was an experience I can talk about for a long time.”

“I’m relieved you’re not mad. Alan said you were a nice guy. He’s generally a good judge of character.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’re not threatened by Alan?” Because a lot of straight guys were.