Bridesmaid For Hire. Marie Ferrarella
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hurts to have it written down in front of you,” Theresa said with a smile. “I’d take care of this myself,” she told Gina again, “but as I’ve already mentioned to you last night, we are extremely busy these days.”
As if to bear her out, there was continuous noise coming from the back of the shop. Gina guessed that was where the kitchen was located and the woman’s employees were undoubtedly all busy working.
Gina caught herself being very grateful that fate had somehow brought them together. She was sure that Theresa Manetti could throw a little business her way down the line.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. Manetti,” Gina replied. “I’ll take care of ordering the cake and everything else that I gathered Sylvie needed done.” She tucked away the paper Theresa had handed her into her purse. “I just wanted to come by and say thank you,” she explained.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Theresa told her. “My fees are nonrefundable, so it’s not a matter of my losing money. But I have to admit I get personally involved with all my clients and I really do want them, if at all possible, to come away happy and satisfied.”
Gina could only smile at the woman. It wasn’t often she heard someone espousing something as selfless as that. Again she found herself thinking that she liked Theresa Manetti right from the start.
“I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship,” she told Theresa, preparing to leave.
“I certainly hope so, dear,” Theresa replied, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “I certainly hope so,” she repeated as the door closed on the departing enterprising bridesmaid for hire.
Following Theresa’s directions, Gina made her way to another, smaller shopping center. This one was located on the far side of Bedford. She briefly entertained the idea of calling ahead but decided against it. She wanted to be there on the premises in case she had to convince this “Cassidy” to accept the order and have it ready by the day of the wedding.
She knew from experience that people who fancied themselves to be “artistes” were, for the most part, temperamental and constantly needed to have their egos stroked. She had learned that stroking was best done in person.
So Gina went over to the Fairview Plaza where the shop was located, parked in the first empty parking space she saw, and set out to find the bakery and this Cassidy who created works of art that could be eaten with a fork.
The store was so small and unassuming, she missed it on her first pass through the center. She was searching for something eye-catching and ostentatious.
The shop, when she found it on her second time around, was neither. It was a small white shop with blue lettering and it was nestled in between a children’s toy store and a trendy store selling overpriced organic fruits and vegetables.
Gina looked over the outside as she stood in front of the entrance. “Well, either ego’s not his problem or the rent’s really cheap here,” she speculated.
There were no hours posted on the door, so she had no idea if it was open or not. Maybe she should have called ahead, she thought.
Trying the doorknob, Gina found that the door was open. Coming in, her entrance was heralded by the light tinkling of an actual bell that was hanging right over the front door rather than a buzzer or a symphony of virtual chimes.
It was almost charming, she thought. Probably to catch the customer off guard so that they wouldn’t think fast enough to protest being hit with an oversize price tag for a cake that could have just as easily been made out of a couple of everyday, standard box mixes.
At first glance, there was no one in the front of the store. She did, however, see a partially closed door that led to what she presumed was the back where “all the magic happened.”
“Hello?” Gina called out, raising her voice slightly. “Is anyone here?”
Listening, she heard movement coming from the back. Maybe it was the person who took the cake orders, she thought. Odd that they didn’t come out when the bell sounded.
When no one came out to the showroom, Gina tried again.
“I’d like to order a wedding cake for a wedding taking place three weeks from now.”
Actually, it was three weeks from this past Saturday, she thought, but that was a tidbit she was going to save until she had someone in front of her she could make eye contact with.
The movement she’d initially heard had definitely stopped. And still no one opened the back door any farther. Weren’t they coming out?
This was all very strange, she thought. Maybe this “artiste” wasn’t here and she had walked in on a misguided burglar who was caught in the act of trying to rob the place.
She tried one last time. Raising her voice again, Gina called out, “If this is a bad time, I’ll come back. You don’t have your store hours posted, but—”
She saw the door leading to the back room opening all the way.
Finally, she thought.
And then, when she saw the person walking to the front of the shop—walking toward her—her jaw slackened, causing her mouth to drop open. Any other sound that might have come out at that point didn’t.
After a beat, Gina realized that she had forgotten to breathe.
Shane.
But it couldn’t be.
Could it?
And yet… It was definitely Shane, cutting the distance between them in what now felt like slow motion.
Was she dreaming?
She would have blinked to clear her eyes if it didn’t strike her as being almost cartoon-like.
A hot wave washed over her.
Breathe, damn it. Breathe! she silently ordered herself.
When he heard her voice, Shane was almost convinced that he was imagining things. He had come out to see and prove himself wrong.
Even so, he knew he would have recognized her voice anywhere.
And he was right.
It was her.
Ten years went up in smoke and just for an instant, he was that lovesick kid again.
And then reality, with all its harsh reminders, returned with a vengeance.
“Hello, Gina.”
Because for one wild split second, the shop she was standing in had insisted on going for a quick spin around her, Gina grabbed the edge of the counter to keep herself steady. She refused to do something so incredibly hokey as to pass out even though she felt as if she could barely get her legs to support her.
“Shane?” she whispered.
His name slipped out before she could stop herself. It looked like Shane, except that it was a handsomer, upgraded version of the man who lived ten years, unchanged, in her past. His face appeared more gaunt now, and more rugged. Some of the boyishness had worn away, replaced, she noted, by an almost arousing manliness.
His hair was still blond, though, and his eyes, his eyes were still that piercing shade of blue that always seemed to go right through her. Time hadn’t changed that, she thought.
The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly at the confusion that was on her face.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I look like,” he said in response to the questioning way she had said his name.
Oh