“I will. Oh, wait. Are any of those papers you’ll be grading Garrett’s?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Hope he gets an A. See you tomorrow.”
She hung up the phone, then pulled off her sweatshirt, pulled on the sweater. She grabbed her makeup bag and a pair of dress boots should the bride insist on braving the elements.
Five minutes later, she hunched against the frigid blast of wind to trudge through the snow. It would take a miracle, she thought, if the storm didn’t abate in the next few hours. Even with a miracle, the guest attrition rate would soar. It would take all her skill to pull any glowing bride shots of the client.
Or possibly liquor.
She dumped everything in the mudroom, stomped and shook away snow. She checked Laurel’s kitchen.
Her friend stood, coating the second of three tiers with pale pink fondant.
“Wait. I have down the marquetry cake, white icing, pink and lavender flowers, traditional B and G topper.”
“Changed to pleated, pale pink with nosegay of English violets topper. I guess you didn’t get the memo—or honestly by the time we got to this, I probably didn’t send one.”
“No problem. I’ll put it in my notes.” Mac dragged them out to do just that. “How many guys do you figure she changed her mind about before she stuck with the one she’s marrying tomorrow?”
“One shudders to think. Forecast is for twelve to eighteen.”
“We can handle twelve to eighteen.”
“We can. I’m not sure about the bride.” She moved on to the last tier. “Parker’s been dealing with her almost since the first flake fell. Emma’s in her shop, dealing with the flowers.”
“Is it still a pomander for the flower girl?”
“As of now. My mission was to match the fondant to the color of the roses.” Laurel paused to pick up the bud Emma had given her, held it by the fondant. “I think mission accomplished. Now scram. I still have a couple acres of pink and white sugar paste to deal with before I even assemble this baby.”
“I’ll go help Parker.”
In her office, Parker lay on the floor, eyes closed, talking in calm, soothing tones into her headset. “I know, Whitney. It’s just so unfair. But . . . No, I don’t blame you a bit. I’d feel the same way. I do feel the same way.” She opened her eyes, looked up at Mac. Closed them again.
“I’m here for you. We all are. And we have a few ideas that may . . . Whitney! I want you to stop. Listen to me now. Stop and breathe. Breathe. Now, just listen. The weather is out of our control. Some things in life just are. It’s what we do about them that counts, and one of the things you’re going to do is marry the man you love and start a wonderful life together. The weather can’t change that.”
Listening with half an ear, Mac opened Parker’s cabinet and got her friend a fresh bottle of water.
“Don’t cry, honey. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to worry about today. At five, we’re going to do a conference call with you and Vince and the wedding party, and your parents. We’re going to go over every step of what’s going to happen tomorrow. Wait, just wait. Today first. We’re going to go over every step, as long as it takes. I know how much you were looking forward to the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
With her eyes closed, she listened for several moments. “Yes, Whitney, but I agree with your mother, and with Vince. It’s not worth risking the roads to try to get everyone here, or to the restaurant. But I’ve arranged, if you agree, for one of the caterers I know to deliver a wonderful meal to you. She only lives a couple of blocks away. She’ll deliver it, and she’ll set it all up. You can make this a party, Whitney, or a tragedy. I’ve talked to your mother, and she’s thrilled with the idea.”
Bending down, Mac tapped the bottle against Parker’s hand. Parker took it, just held it.
“She’ll have a houseful, and host a party with her daughter. You’ll have dinner, wine, family, friends, a sleepover, a fire in the hearth. You’ll have a rehearsal dinner that’s unique and yours, and that makes something lovely and fun out of an inconvenience.”
“Damn you’re good,” Mac whispered.
Parker reopened her eyes, rolled them. “That’s right. Let me worry about tomorrow. I promise you, one way or the other, we’re going