New York’s been the goal for years. Don’t mess this up. You go, you get tagged as up-and-coming, then you come back here and celebrate after the gala. Sounds like a fast-paced wining and dining extravaganza to me.
It did, except that being questioned by men who picked your brain while trying to assess your soul suddenly didn’t sound all that appealing.
You’ve waited a long time for this, putting in years of preparation. And now you get cold feet?
Greg packed an overnight bag and called a local florist to have flowers brought to the store before the gala, a testament to his confidence in the staff’s abilities. He tried calling Tara.
No answer.
He stared at the phone. Should he text her?
No, too impersonal, and what he really wanted was to hear her voice before he boarded his plane. He wanted her to offer an opinion. Beg him to stay.
He sighed, called Kathy to let her know what happened, then caught a cab to the airport. The misgivings he felt as he boarded the plane took him by surprise, but as he settled into his company-provided first-class seat, he saw a pregnant woman with a young child in her arms. She was waiting her turn to navigate the narrow aisle clogged with passengers stowing personal items in the overhead compartments.
Greg stood, reached out, and caught her attention. “Take my seat. Please.”
Her expression said the offer was tempting, but she shrank back. “I couldn’t, no. But thank you.”
He moved into the aisle, reached up and grabbed his carry-on, and smiled. “I insist.”
Someone behind Greg cleared his throat.
Greg motioned to the seat and then the little one in her arms. “He’ll like this better. Not as noisy.”
She slipped into the seat, sat back, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Where’s your seat?”
She grimaced. “Sixty-four B, I’m afraid.”
He made his way to the back as the aisle cleared, remembering the soft words he’d heard in church last Sunday. Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.
The reverend had probably chosen the quote to honor their unexpected mission guests, but the verse spoke directly to Greg. He was paying it forward, and for the first time in years, he not only loved what he was doing, he respected it.
Tara scrolled down her checklist Thursday evening. “Food and beverages are set. Decorations, done. The servers are arriving at six to help arrange the grazing tables. Name tags are made, the theme-specific business cards have arrived, Kathy’s got her fairy godmother gown all set . . .”
“Medieval queen,” Kathy corrected. “It just looks like a cartoon fairy godmother’s getup.”
A round of laughter greeted her remark.
“And with all of us and Greg, we should have about fifty people here tomorrow night.”
“Except that Greg’s in New York,” Kathy announced.
Tara’s heart thumped to a stop. “Now? With the grand opening tomorrow night?”
“When New York says jump . . .” Donna shrugged. Clearly Greg had little say in the matter.
“They had him board a plane about three hours ago,” Kathy went on. “Part of the job when you’re at Tatelbaum, Schicker, and Knapf.”
It took every ounce of reserve to keep her face placid, but Tara gritted her teeth and did it. He’d called her, late afternoon, and instead of answering the phone, she let it go to voice mail. What would he have said if she’d answered? She might never know.
“I’m glad he got the tuxedo area done before his trip,” Donna added. “He’s footing a sizable bill for tomorrow night’s party, and it’s nice that he didn’t have to hire out too much of the remodeling.”
“I was surprised at how well he did,” Tara admitted. “I didn’t peg Greg as the handyman type.”
Kathy sent her a curious look. “He wasn’t born in a high-rise office.”
“He worked summer construction during undergrad to offset room and board,” Jean explained. “The store was doing well, but not well enough to handle an Ivy League education out of pocket.”
Tara considered Jean’s comment as she gathered the dresses needed for the gala. Former brides would showcase the newest looks, letting the quality of the designer gowns speak for itself.
They closed the store, and as Tara walked to the bus stop, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Michelle Simonetti. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” her mother answered. “I wanted you to know that life has settled back into its typical low-drama existence.”
They used to laugh together about the lack of news in Kenneville, but the calm, cozy town held its own brand of charm.
“Mostly I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” her mother added.
Tara breathed softly. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” her mother replied in a voice she employed when making a point. “I know my daughter, and I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, but when I talk to you about working at the bridal store, I hear excitement in your voice. That makes me happy.”