Bed of Roses Page 0,81

but now the rolls of thunder, the whoosh of rain and wind soothed.

She finished the maid of honor's bouquet, then stood for a moment to stretch. Turning, she jumped like a rabbit when she saw Jack.

Her squeal of shock bubbled into laughter as she slammed her hand to her heart. "God! You scared me."

"Sorry. Sorry. I knocked, yelled out, but it's hard to hear over the wrath of God."

"You're soaked."

"It's probably because of the rain." He ran a hand through his hair, scattering drops. "Killed my last on-site meeting, so I took a chance and swung by. Nice," he added, nodding at the bouquet.

"It is, isn't it? I was just about to put it in the cooler and start on the bride's. Why don't you get some coffee, dry off."

"Exactly what I hoped to hear." He stepped up to kiss her, brush a hand down her back. "I brought the drawings over for you to look at. When you get a chance. Weather permitting, they'll start on Mac's place Monday morning. Early. Be prepared."

"That's exciting. Do they know?"

"I stopped in the studio first. You want coffee?"

"No, thanks."

She made the trip to the cooler and back, then settled down with the flowers, her tools, and the picture she wanted to create in her head.

She glanced up when he came back in. "I've never really watched you work, on this part. Will it bug you?"

"No. Sit down. Talk to me."

"I saw your sister today."

"Oh?"

"We ran into each other in town. Don't you need a picture or a sketch?"

"I often use both, but this one's . . ." She tapped a finger on her temple. "White spray roses, this pale viburnum for accents. Slight cascade, which will be both sweet and romantic when I coax these majolicas into full bloom."

He watched as she clipped and wired, and thunder boomed. "I thought you said it was a bouquet."

"It is."

"Why the vase?"

"I've soaked the foam, attached the holder. See this part?" She angled the vase. "I keep that anchored in the vase so I can work the flowers in, get the right shape, the right cascade."

"What do you do when you have the others working in here with you?"

"Hmm?"

"What, you're all lined up here? Assembly-line method?"

"Yes, but no. We're all sort of lined up here, but we'd all be working on whatever arrangement I assigned. It's not like I do so much, then pass the bouquet to Tink."

She worked on in the quiet punctuated by thunder and rain.

"You need an L-shaped in here." He scanned the space again, the tools, the holding tubs. "Maybe a U's better. With over-and under-counter bins and drawers. You were primarily solo when I initially designed this space. You've outgrown it. Plus you need space under for a rolling bin, for your compost, another for nonbio waste. Do you ever have clients back here when you're working, or one of the others is working?"

She sucked the thumb a stray thorn pricked. "Sometimes, sure."

"Okay."

He got up, leaving Emma frowning after him.

He came back, soaked again, with a notebook she assumed he'd gotten out of his car. "Just keep working," he told her. "I just want to draw up some adjustments for what I've already done. We're going to want to move that wall."

"Move?" Her attention arrowed to him. "The wall?"

"Bump it out, open up your work and display areas. Better flow, and more efficient work space. Too much for a solo operation, but . . . Sorry." He glanced up from his drawing. "Thinking out loud. Annoying."

"No, it's fine." And a little strange, she thought, for them to be working together on a stormy afternoon. They worked in silence for a time, though she discovered he was a mutterer with a pencil in his hand. She didn't mind it, and found it surprising that there were still things to learn about him. When she'd finished, she lifted the bouquet out, turned it to study it from every angle. And caught him watching her. "It'll look fuller and softer when the roses open."

"You work fast."

"This sort isn't especially labor intensive." She rose, turned to the full-length mirror. "The dress has a lot of detail, very intricate, so this simpler, softer bouquet will suit it. No ribbons, nothing trailing, just the subtle cascade. Held here, waist high, both hands. It's going to . . ."

Her eyes met his in the mirror, and she caught the faint frown in his. "Don't worry, Jack. I'm not practicing."

"Huh?"

"I need to put these in the cooler."

When she