The Bridal Bouquet. Tara Randel
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what kinds of flowers and styles they would choose for their own wedding bouquets. “After coming in runner-up for so long, I’m ready with a stand-out entry. I’ll knock Queen Jasmine off her throne for sure.”
Her parents didn’t seem convinced.
“This year the convention committee’s opened the event to the public,” Kady continued. “Brides-to-be from all over the area have been invited to come view the bouquets and centerpieces and other contest entries before announcing the winners. We couldn’t pay for that kind of exposure.”
“That is true,” her father agreed.
“And what are you going to do when Mom and Dad go on their vacation?” Will asked. “I can’t do deliveries or run the shop. I have my own business to worry about.”
Unease trickled down her spine. She hoped her next suggestion didn’t blow her case. “I could hire someone. Part-time? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about anything except enjoying your time together.”
Her mother stood. “Mark, let’s go in the back and talk about this.”
Together they walked to the workroom.
“I doubt this’ll happen, Kady,” Will said. “They’ve made up their minds.”
“Really? If that’s so, they wouldn’t have gone off to consider my proposal.”
“Kady, what are you thinking?”
“That I want to run this business, Will. Do you really believe I can’t do this?”
She thought about the success of her floral designs at today’s wedding. She’d done it all, professionally, and with no errors, even though she’d nearly dropped one of the arrangements.
She suddenly thought about the man with the strange-colored eyes. Dylan had been impressed with her. And why was she even thinking about this? Because it was easier than the alternative—losing all she’d begun to build.
Her brother stood. Paced. Ran a hand through his normally styled hair. “I want what’s best for Mom and Dad.”
“Even if they decide to give me a shot?”
He met her gaze. “Yes. You’ve really stepped up, taking over most of the running of the shop. And I agree with your idea to corner the wedding market.”
“Wait. What are you saying?”
“I’m on your side. I’ve seen your drive and dedication. I’m—” He was interrupted by their mother.
“We’ve talked it over.” Ruthie came to a stop in the middle of the room, her eyes dancing as she met those of her husband’s. “We’re willing to reach a compromise for now. We are going to go away, on a cruise, I think. Kady, you take over daily operations. Hire help.”
“Kady, this should give you time to implement your plans,” her father added. “Win the competition. Prove to us you can handle taking over the business permanently. When we come back, we’ll revisit the subject.”
Kady jumped up, smiling. “Thank you,” she said, hugging her mother. Then she grabbed her father. “You won’t be sorry.”
“No, we won’t be because your brother will be checking in on you.” Her father stopped her before she could protest. “Deal or no deal?”
Kady decided not to argue with the offer. “Deal.”
“Good,” he said, though he’d taken a little wind from her sail. “Get the job done, Kady, or we’ll sell.”
* * *
DYLAN STOOD BY the window, lost in the beach view. The sun, orange in the fading wash of the purple sky, dipped closer and closer to the horizon. The reception had officially ended around three, but the family had remained, happily catching up with each other. Dylan and his brothers fell into that category. They’d mingled long after the bride and groom had left for their honeymoon.
Hanging out wasn’t as painful as Dylan imagined. His family had been very considerate of his request not to talk about the situation surrounding his injury. Instead they razzed him about not having a girlfriend, which he could handle much easier than reliving the shooting and the loss of Eddie. He reserved that pain alone for the dark hours of the night, when he wrestled with his guilt over the shooting. His brothers probed, but he shut them down. His mother hadn’t put her two cents in yet, but he knew it was coming.
“Sit,” his mother commanded. Tall and regal, her olive skin announced her Mediterranean heritage. Her dark hair held little gray and her brown eyes were sharp, not missing a thing where her sons were concerned. “I saw you limping down the hallway.”
He didn’t argue. He loved this woman, as did his brothers. That was why even though they griped about the convention every year, one of them would always be with her.
She was right, though. He’d limped all the way to her room. Time to rest.
“Now, my darling boys—”
Deke groaned. His mother sent him a stern look.
“It’s time for the annual Sunshine State Florist Convention. Which of my loving sons is going to escort me this year?”
Dylan peered at his brothers, all of whom wore the same long-suffering expression. No one would question if they were related. Dark like their mother, only Dylan and Derrick had their father’s lighter eyes. And like their parents, all four were tall and lean. All in law enforcement of some kind.
“Mom, we love you,” Derrick began. “But this has to end. Can’t you find a friend to go with you?”
“If your father were here he’d be shocked at you all. Trying to pawn your mother off on someone else.”
“Oh, great. The dad card,” Dante mumbled in Dylan’s direction.
“I don’t know why this is such a burden for you boys. It’s not like I ask anything else of you.”
“I take your car for an oil change every five thousand miles,” Deke pointed out.
“I still cut the grass, even though I’ve offered to pay a lawn service to do it,” Dante added.
“And I call you every week,” Dylan said.
All heads turned to Derrick. “I got nothing.”
“That’s because you cheat,” Deke told him.
“That’s enough,” their mother proclaimed. “I know you are all adults. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every one of you.” She eyed Derrick. “Even you.”
Deke punched him in the arm.
“But this year is different. I was asked to give a workshop and I’ve accepted. It’s my first public-speaking event and I need moral support.”
Derrick brightened up, the first of the brothers to cross the room and hug their mother. “Awesome news, Mom.”
“Congrats,” Dylan said, his heart softening as he viewed his mother’s teary eyes. He thought her wiping away a fake tear was a little much, but it was the way Jasmine Matthews worked.
“I promise after this year I won’t ask any of you to tag along with me. Aunt Betty has expressed an interest, especially since Uncle Frank is going to retire. She can come with me next year.”
Dylan was about to throw out an excuse for not attending this year when his cell rang. He slipped it from his pocket, frowning when the division office number appeared on the screen.
“Can’t this wait?” his mother asked, a reprimand in her voice.
He held up the phone. “The office. I should see what they want.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the captive audience. He eased open the sliding door, stepping onto the balcony. The temperature had