My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,7

to open the side door of the SUV, and out steps Claire Johnson in a trendy pink jumpsuit and sparkly hoop earrings. Her blonde hair is impeccable, the curls reaching down her back, and her makeup is expertly applied. She’s at least partially ready for tonight’s festivities, so why is she here? She’s followed by another woman, slightly older, with frosty hair and wearing a tailored black designer dress.

Who is that? I wonder with a frown. I don’t like surprises when it comes to my work, and that woman practically screams SURPRISE!

Judging by the snooty expression on her face, I can tell that whoever she is, she thinks her shit doesn’t sink. I know the look. I have a lot of practice pegging her type, especially when people from our social circle hire me for their events. I walk a line where I’m ‘the help’ but also on ‘their level’, socially speaking. People struggle with how to treat me—dismissive and holier than thou because I’m just a florist, but never able to forget my last name and the power it wields.

I do a quick search of my mental Rolodex of Claire’s family, and then Cole’s, but nothing matches the stranger. Claire and her companion stop for a moment outside the shop, seeming to take in the colorfulness of SweetPea, and judging by the look on the older woman’s face, she’s not impressed. She even seems to say something that causes Claire to frown.

But there’s no time for me to process it all as they move toward the door.

“Best behavior!” I hiss to Samantha and Janey, and fine, to myself as well, before the door swings open. “Welcome to SweetPea Boutique,” I say cheerily, trying to hide my anxiety. “Great to see you again, Claire.”

“Abi!” Claire exclaims as she floats through the doors, smiling warmly at me and holding out her arms. “It’s so good to see you!”

I can’t help but smile as I come from around the counter to give Claire the usual air hug greeting. I know the designer jumpsuit she’s wearing is this season’s latest and retails for well into the four digits, and I’m covered in green stains, but to my surprise, she instead pulls me into a warm embrace, air kissing one cheek and then the other.

“Great to see you too. I wasn’t expecting you to pick up the arrangements in person?” It should be a statement, but it’s most definitely a question, and she hears the concern in my voice.

Claire waves away my worry with a manicured hand. “It’s okay, I know how it is to run a business! I should’ve told you I was going to stop by well in advance. I just wanted to view them for myself and give you an update on a few changes I’m making to the wedding crew.”

“Changes?” I ask in confusion. Has she come here to fire me personally?

Claire nods, motioning to the frowning woman beside her. “This is my new wedding planner who you’ll be working with for the wedding and who will be in charge of basically everything, Meredith Wildemen. Meredith, this is Abi Andrews, the florist who’ll be handling all the flower arrangements.”

What the heck happened to Beth?

I want to ask about the woman Claire originally hired to plan her wedding, someone I’ve worked with many times before and who is also much nicer than this new woman seems, judging by the scowls she’s flashing around.

But instead of voicing my thoughts out loud and making things awkward, I say, “Nice to meet you, Meredith,” extending my hand in greeting and smiling warmly. “Looking forward to working together.”

“Hmm.” She hums through pressed lips, examining my dirt-lined and chipped-polish nails. Meredith’s facial expression doesn’t budge as she slowly takes my hand and barely touches fingertips as though I’ll contaminate her with actual filth before letting go abruptly. “So you’re the flower girl Claire has been going on and on about? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tone of her voice sounds like it’s anything but, and calling me flower girl grates my nerves, but I keep the smile on my face as she taps her watch thoughtfully. “We do need to see the arrangements. That is, if you have them ready, Miss Andrews?”

She spits out my name as if it’s sour on her tongue. I can’t say that’s the first time that’s happened, but considering I don’t know her, it seems like an intense reaction.

I’ve played this game before, though. I laugh as though she’s