Page 5 of The Christmas Arrangement
To be fair, she did. In fact, she said it at least three or four times. But I figured she just wanted me to squeeze her enormous, last-minute order into my already over-scheduled holiday season calendar.
I’ve known since before the jack-o-lantern smashing contest in early November that I’d bit off more than I could chew in my first year as Mistletoe Mountain’s only local florist. And, yikes, was I right.
Mind you, I’m not complaining. Opening Blooms by Ivy back in August was a leap of faith that stretched my budget until it was paper-thin. Except for Sunday dinners at the inn with my dad and Noelle and the meals that my sisters have treated me to, it’s been four long months of rice and beans on repeat. But, come New Year’s day, I’ll be in the black.
A large part of my pending financial stability is thanks to Quinn. And not just because of this massive order, either. She opened Quintessentially Quinn, her event planning business, less than a month before I signed the lease on the flower shop. She finally took everyone’s advice and turned MacIntosh Farm’s gorgeous old barn into a full-time event venue. And as soon I opened my doors, we partnered to offer package deals for her space and my flowers.
We were slammed with weddings and graduation parties, anniversary parties, and family reunions all summer, then she rolled right into engagement parties and family photo shoots all autumn and I started ramping up for the bajillion holiday parties, open houses, events, and traditions that dominate town from the day after Thanksgiving through December 31st.
So when she called me just two days ago with a last-minute floral emergency (her words), of course I agreed to help her out, despite the fact that I’m completely booked and the Christmas festivities kick-off tonight.
The so-called emergency? She needs one thousand blooming flowers along with greenery and berries to create “an elegant, magical, romantic winter wonderland with a touch of small-town whimsy.”
After I made her repeat herself, I did some quick calculations and told her I’d have to import at least half of the flowers, which would make the sky-high cost even more outrageous.
Her response? The client said you have a blank check.
So, thirty-seven hours (and one all-nighter) later, here we are. I’ve loaded my dad’s borrowed pickup with red, cream, and champagne roses, ivy, holly, deep red peonies, and fragrant Christmas lilies, giant amaryllis, bright red dinner plate hibiscus, and several more varieties that I’m forgetting in the hazy of exhaustion and exhilaration.
I’ve been so busy making this order happen, I haven’t stopped to wonder who would want such an extravagant display, let alone why.
Now, I squint at Quinn. “Are Taylor and Travis getting married in your barn?”
She giggles. “I wish, but no. You aren’t that far off, though.”
My narrowed eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. And I can tell you who it is as soon as you sign this.”
She digs into her parka pocket, removes a folded sheet of paper and a pen, and thrusts them at me.
I unfold the paper and smooth it out, then give it a quick scan and raise an eyebrow. “You want me to sign an NDA, too? Just to deliver the flowers?”
She shrugs. “The client’s insisting—or at least his manager is.”
I skim the rest of the single-spaced document and almost uncap the pen. Then I freeze. My oldest sister would throw a legendary lawyerly fit if I signed this thing without understanding it.
“I need to show this to Holly first.”
She shakes her head. “There’s no time. Besides, isn’t she in Florida?”
Holly spent Thanksgiving with her boyfriend and his brother’s family. But she and Jack are on their way back to Vermont right now because he wouldn’t miss the town Christmas tree lighting for love or money. He considers it their first date. She begs to differ.
She always begs to differ. Like I said, she’s a lawyer. She was born to argue.
Now I glance from the document in my hand to Quinn then back to the contract. “She’ll be back tonight.”
“Look. I promise it’s okay to sign it. I signed the same thing. My dad looked it over and said it was completely standard.”
Presuming she means her dad the judge and not her dad the artist, that’s comforting. But still. I don’t want to do something that gets my fledgling little business in trouble.
I gnaw at my lower lip, trying to decide.
Quinn, sensing weakness, moves in for the kill. “And so did your dad and Noelle. I’m sure Holly reviewed it for them.”
I jerk my head up. “They did?”
“Yep. This same client rented the cottage at your dad’s inn for the week.”