A Wedding On Primrose Street

Chapter One

Anne, Wedding Planner and Mother of the Bride

"I don’t care what my daughter thinks she wants. We are not having daisies at the wedding. They stink."

Anne Richardson pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to stop the headache that was forming. She loved being a wedding planner...most days. But difficult clients did suck some of the joy out of her job. Everyone talked about Bridezillas, but in Anne’s opinion Momzillas were ten times worse. And she was sure that Seattle had ten times more Momzillas per capita than any other city in the country.

I mean, really, Laurel Browne continued. Would you want daisies at your daughter’s wedding?

No, but if her daughter wanted daisies Anne would order them. Laurel was stepping over the line. Actually, she was stomping over the line.

Anne flashed on an image of Laurel as a giant mutant monster in a mother-of-the-bride dress, trampling a field of daisies. Well, she began.

"I am not paying for daisies, Laurel said, her voice rising to a level that had Anne moving her phone away from her ear. In fact, I no longer want to go with that florist at all. I thought I made it clear yesterday when we were in your office how subpar I think these floral arrangements are."

Oh, yes, more than clear. And that had started Wedding War III with her daughter. (Wedding War I had been fought the very first week over the colors the bride had chosen. Laurel had lost that one. Wedding War II had been over the venue and she’d come out the victor. Now she was pushing to win more wedding territory.)

Of course, I understand your feelings completely, Anne said. But not her behavior. She had her daughter’s special day in a choke hold.

I should hope so, Laurel said huffily. "I am not paying you all this money to organize a wedding where I have to sit in a pew and smell daisies while I watch my daughter take her wedding vows. In fact, I sometimes wonder what I am paying you for."

To be your verbal punching bag? Anne ignored the jab about money. A wedding planner had to be thick-skinned. She also had to be a diplomat. Anne succeeded at both, which was why Memory Makers Weddings and Events was still in business after eighteen years.

We do want your daughter to be happy on her special day, she said. At least one of them did. So I’m going to suggest a compromise.

What kind of compromise? Laurel asked suspiciously.

We could have the florist add daisies to the bridesmaids’ flowers and the bridal bouquet, and that would make Chelsea very happy. Then the flowers for the church and the table settings could be totally different, say yellow and white roses. She’d wanted to suggest that the day before when Laurel and Chelsea were in her office but hadn’t been able to wedge in the words with mother and daughter going at it so vociferously. They’d left, still fighting.

Hmm, Laurel said thoughtfully. That might work.

And really, this florist will do a lovely job for you. She’s always open to suggestions. Or, as in Laurel’s case, commands.

Well, all right. Let’s see if she can do that. Tell her we want something unique. Roses aren’t enough. I want something with flair.

Flair. Who knew what that meant? But Anne promised flair to the max—for a reasonable price, of course—so she and the florist would have to become mind readers and translate the vague request into specific arrangements. Maybe Laurel would like her to spin some straw into gold while she was at it.

Lord help me, she said with a groan after ending the call. What did I do to deserve Laurel Browne as a client?

Happy Friday the Thirteenth, teased her younger sister, Kendra, who was busy making a spreadsheet for a new client.

That woman is out of control. But then, this sometimes happened with younger brides whose parents were footing the bill.

Sounds like you’ve got it handled, Kendra said.

Yet another wedding crisis averted.

Kendra smiled. Laurel has no idea how lucky she is that she has you for her wedding planner.

Obviously. "I am good."

And she’d proved it time and time again, organizing every imaginable kind of wedding, from medieval fairs to events in which the bride and groom parachuted onto the site where their vows would be exchanged. She never tired of planning weddings.

Compensating, her mother had said when she’d first started doing it at church for free twenty years ago. If she was indeed making up for her own less-than-stellar wedding, she was doing a great job of it. She didn’t plan weddings for free anymore, and her mother passed out her business cards as if they were chocolates. Even with her sister’s help she often had to turn away business.

Too bad she hadn’t turned away the Brownes, she thought, looking out her office window at the dripping Seattle sky. If Laurel reminded her once more that she was paying a lot for this wedding, she was going to pull out her eyebrows. And Laurel’s, too.

The phone rang again. It was Marla Polanski, another Momzilla, wanting to know if Anne could change her daughter’s wedding venue. It would be the third time. We found a place up in Icicle Falls, Momzilla Marla raved. It’s a beautiful Victorian house with the most elegant gardens and a fabulous staircase Gwyneth could come down. I’m sending you the link right now.

Okay, Anne said, but you may have to adjust the size of your guest list. A house wouldn’t hold as many people as the Kiana Lodge, the current venue of choice. A big, spread-out place across Puget Sound from Seattle with lovely grounds, it was a popular choice for many of her clients.

There was a moment of silence. Then Marla said, Oh. Yes, that is an issue. Well, Gwyneth will simply have to pare it down a little because this place is exactly what we want—much more intimate and with so much charm. Anyway, I think they can handle up to a hundred.

That meant cutting their guest list in half. Anne hoped Marla would do the math. Why don’t you talk it over with your daughter? she suggested.

I will, but meanwhile book this place. I see they have the second Saturday in August open, and I don’t want someone else to get it. We can always change back to the lodge.

I suppose so, Anne said dubiously. Meanwhile, how about we keep the lodge booked until you’re sure? If they let go of their date they’d never get it back.

I don’t think we’ll be needing it, Marla said in a confident voice. I really want Gwyneth to be married up in Icicle Falls.

The customer was always right, even when she was wrong. Of course, Anne said and hoped that was what Gwyneth wanted, too.

She’d barely ended the call when flowers from In Bloom arrived. Cam’s already begun the Valentine’s Day spoiling, Kendra observed, looking at the huge vase crammed full of pink roses. I wish he’d give lessons to Jimmy. All I’m going to get is my usual chocolate rose. Not even a box of chocolates.

He’s just trying to help you stay on your diet, Anne said.

Kendra frowned. I don’t want to stay on my diet on Valentine’s Day. Or any other day, which was why she was still complaining about the extra twenty pounds that refused to fall off. It’s not fair that you got the skinny genes.

As if Anne didn’t have to give those skinny genes a boost with regular visits to the gym. She decided now was not the time to mention that to her sister. Anyway, Kendra wasn’t fat. She only thought she was.

I bet Cam’s taking you someplace fabulous for dinner tomorrow, Kendra said, her words tinged with sisterly envy.

No, he’s not. We’re staying in and he’s cooking.

Kendra heaved an exaggerated sigh. Why did I pick such a Neanderthal?

Because he can fix a broken toilet?

There is that, Kendra admitted with a grin. I guess I’ll have to settle for ordering pizza since I’m sure Jimmy completely forgot about the big day. Her cell phone began to sing—Born to Run, her husband’s ringtone. Hey, babe, what’s up? Yeah? Are you serious? Kendra gasped. And here I was thinking you’d forgotten.

From the way her sister was smiling Anne could tell that Jimmy had managed to come through for Valentine’s Day.

Well, what do you know, Kendra said after she’d ended the call. We’re spending tomorrow night at the Four Seasons. I wonder which of the kids he had to sell to afford it.

Probably both of them. Considering that the Four Seasons was one of Seattle’s most luxurious hotels. So I don’t want to hear any more whining ever again about how your husband doesn’t get it right on Valentine’s Day, Anne said, pointing at her sister.

If she wasn’t married to such a great guy herself she would’ve been jealous.

But she was married to a great guy, and come June they’d be celebrating twenty-five years together. They still hadn’t settled on what they wanted to do, but at the moment an Alaskan cruise looked tempting to Cam.

Speaking of tempting, she thought the following day as she stopped by Le Rêve bakery on her way home from running errands. Their chocolate mousse cake would make the perfect finish to the steak and baked potatoes Cam was serving up.

Actually, the perfect finish had more to do with the lacy red bra and panties she was wearing under her black blouse and jeans. Eye candy that Cam would enjoy unwrapping.

Back at their 1906 traditional on Queen Anne Hill she found him out in the remodeled kitchen, comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, putting together a tossed salad. Salad, grilled meat and baked potatoes—that was the extent of his culinary skills.

But he had other, more valuable skills, and he gave her a sample of what was going to happen later when he pulled her against him and kissed her. Oh, he was a luscious thing. Six feet of beautiful muscle, dark hair with a few silver highlights sneaking in to make him look distinguished and a mouth that could melt a girl with one kiss. She’d been hot for him way back in high school, and nothing had changed.

Did you resist the urge to go by your office? he asked.

Yes, smart guy. After yesterday I need a break. I swear, Laurel Browne is enough to make me want to set my hair on fire with a unity candle.

He snickered. Well, I guess you can’t blame the woman. It’s a big thing when your kid gets married. Speaking of kids, guess who called a couple of minutes ago.

Laney. In spite of the fact that their daughter was ostensibly sharing an old house in the Fremont district with a girlfriend and no longer lived at home, she stopped by a couple of times a week and texted or called Anne every day. Sometimes to say hi but usually because she was experiencing a crisis or seeking advice or had news to share. She’d had a fight with her boyfriend, Drake. Or the tips at her barista job had been crummy. Or—and here was good news—she was going back to school next fall. Now she wanted to get a teaching degree so she could teach art as well as create it. Anne had smiled at that. Cam could finally quit worrying about whether Laney would ever be able to earn a decent living.

Close but no cigar, he said. It was Drake.

And he was calling because?

To tell me he’s going to propose tonight. Did you know they’d been looking at rings?

No. Anne felt the slightest bit hurt. Why hadn’t Laney told her?

He’s taking her to the Space Needle to pop the question.

He can afford that on an auto technician’s salary?

Cam shrugged. Where there’s a will there’s a way. The guy is a saver. Anyway, don’t be surprised if they show up here later.

Hmm. Maybe it was time for a plan B. Anne began to unbutton her blouse. What if we had plans for later?

Cam’s gaze was riveted on her breasts, wrapped in red lace. His voice turned silky and he ran a hand up her arm. Never put off till later what you can enjoy right now, he said, slipping off the blouse. Red, my favorite color.

I know, she said.

He tugged playfully on the waistband of her jeans. What have we got under here? More red?

She slithered out of her jeans and showed him.

Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. He pulled her close once again and nibbled her ear. How do you do it, babe?

Do what?

Stay as beautiful as you were back in high school?

You’re so full of it, she murmured, sliding her fingers through his hair.

No, it’s true. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Then he hadn’t looked around much. Her nose was too thin and her feet were too long. Gray hairs were invading the brown ones at such a rapid rate she was having to increase her visits to her favorite salon on The Ave, and she had a colony of cellulite growing on her thighs. Those flaws didn’t seem to bother him, though.

They sure weren’t bothering him at the moment. He picked her up and hoisted her onto the kitchen counter. Let’s start with dessert tonight.

You mean the cake? she teased.

I’m not dignifying that with an answer, he said and kissed her.

Oh, yes. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Later, as they ate steaks off the grill and toasted each other with champagne, she was still feeling the glow from their lovemaking. Her husband had magic hands, and he sure knew how to make Valentine’s Day memorable.

This one was going to be extraspecial. Cam was right; Laney would either call or come by to show off her new ring. What a perfect ending to the day, celebrating love with the next generation of family.

Her baby, her only child, was getting married, and to her high school sweetheart, just as Anne had done. Technically it was more a case of marrying a post–high school sweetheart, although the two had been friends for years. Anne and Cam had watched Drake change from a skinny, pimple-faced boy with tats and crazy-colored hair to a responsible young man who was ready to settle down. She could hardly wait to help Laney plan their wedding.

Of course, they’d talked a lot about weddings over the years. How could they not, considering what Anne did for a living? It had started when Laney used to play bride as a small child, dressed up with a pillowcase for a veil and a bouquet of some silk flowers Anne used for crafting. When Laney was in high school, she used to joke about wearing sneakers under her wedding dress like the bride in the old Steve Martin movie Father of the Bride. (Naturally, they’d watched that, along with My Best Friend’s Wedding, Runaway Bride, Made of Honor, 27 Dresses, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and any other wedding movie that came down the pike.) Hopefully, Laney had forgotten the tennis-shoe idea.

Anne could already envision Cam escorting their daughter down the aisle at Queen Anne Presbyterian, surrounded by flowers, Laney wearing a beautiful wedding gown, her long, chestnut hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves. Anne’s vision conveniently ignored the tattooed artwork running up Laney’s neck and covering her right arm.

There is such a thing as overkill, she’d said when her daughter went for her second tattoo, but Laney had just laughed and kissed her and skipped off to the tattoo parlor to commemorate her twenty-first birthday with more body art. Why, oh, why did her daughter have to take everything to extremes?

Because she was Laney. She’d always pushed the boundaries, staying out past curfews, cutting classes her freshman year in high school (thank God they’d broken her of that habit), dyeing her hair every color of the rainbow, adorning her ears with piercings. She’d gotten her nose pierced, too, but Anne had persuaded her to get a little diamond rather than the big stake she’d talked about, so at least that looked classy.

She’s another generation, Anne constantly reminded herself, and they have their own style. Except style was such a subjective thing, and it wasn’t only Laney’s generation getting tattoos. Women Anne’s age did it, too. One of her friends had a discreet rose on her ankle. It just seemed that the younger women, especially her daughter, never knew when to stop. It was enough to make a mother crazy. But then, she told herself, it was the duty of every generation to drive their parents nuts. Heaven knew, she’d done it to her own mother. Still...

What are you thinking about? Cam asked as he cut off a piece of steak.

She smiled at him. Our baby’s getting married. And that eclipsed fashion frustration. Fashion issues could be dealt with later.

Yeah, I can’t believe it. Seems like only yesterday that she had colic and I was walking the floor with her. He shook his head. They’re so young.

So were we, Anne pointed out.

He nodded. Our parents probably had this same conversation.

Anne was thankful she’d been spared hearing her parents’ conversation. The one she’d had with her mother had been unpleasant enough.

Drake’s a good kid, though, Cam said. They’ll be happy.

If they’re half as happy as we are, they’ll have a great marriage, Anne said and took a bite of her baked potato, which she’d slathered in butter and sour cream. Sour cream, butter, chocolate cake. She’d have to eat nothing but salad for the next week.

They were watching a romantic comedy and eating their cake when Laney called. Mom, can Drake and I come over? We’ve got something to show you.

Sure, Anne said, playing dumb. Come on by.

Okay. See you in a few.

Twenty minutes later, her daughter was walking through the door, dressed for Valentine’s Day in black leggings and a short denim skirt she’d probably scored at her favorite consignment store. Her curls peeped out from under a black tam and she wore red platform shoes and a matching red top under her black leather jacket. She’d accented the outfit with a long, red scarf.

She was followed by her boyfriend, a tall, skinny, tattooed drink of water wearing jeans and a black T-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket. Unlike Laney, he didn’t have an ear full of hoops and cute earrings. Instead, he wore gauges that had stretched holes in his earlobes. Anne had to admit that if she’d gone boyfriend shopping for her daughter she would’ve passed him over in favor of a preppy-looking boy in law school. But what would Laney have had in common with that kind of boy? She and Drake loved each other and that was what counted. Just as Cam said, he was a good kid. Tonight he wore a smile that reached from ear to ear.

And Laney sported a ring with a diamond best viewed under a magnifying glass. See what I got for Valentine’s Day? she crowed.

Anne took her daughter’s hand and gave her ring the attention it demanded as Cam clapped Drake on the back and welcomed him to the family. It’s gorgeous, she said. Then she hugged both her daughter and her future son-in-law. We’re so happy for you two. Come on in and let’s have some chocolate cake to celebrate.

You’ll never guess where we went to dinner, Laney said, following Anne into the kitchen. The Space Needle.

Pretty impressive. Did Drake rob a bank?

He’s been saving for this since Christmas.

At least someone in their marriage would be good with money. Well, how was it?

Oh, wow, Laney said. The view from up there, you can see everything. Puget Sound, the city, the mountains. And the food was sooo yummy.

Maybe you don’t have room for cake, Anne teased.

I always have room for cake. You know that.

Anne cut pieces and put them on plates, and Laney took them to where Drake and Cam sat in the living room. Meanwhile, Anne grabbed two more glasses and another bottle of champagne.

Once the glasses were filled, Cam raised his in salute to the happy couple squeezed together in an oversize armchair. To Laney and Drake. May you both be as happy as we are.

Thanks, Dad, Laney said, and she and Drake kissed each other.

Have you set a date? Cam asked.

We’re thinking June, Laney said.

The same month Anne and Cam had gotten married. An excellent month, he said, winking at Anne.

But it didn’t give them much time to pull together a wedding.

We thought it would be really cool to go to Vegas, Drake added.

The two exchanged besotted smiles.

Anne hardly saw them. Instead, she was seeing her daughter in some tiny chapel, all dressed up like a showgirl with a big, feathery headdress. And there was Drake, wearing a sparkly, white Elvis jumpsuit. To Laney’s I do, he responded, Thank you. Thank you very much.

Vegas. Aaack!

Chapter Two

Roberta, Wedding Maven of Icicle Falls

Roberta Gilbert smiled as she surveyed the wedding guests dressed in their finery. This wedding had a Valentine theme, and Roberta had placed little heart-shaped boxes filled with chocolates on the linen-clad tables, along with the pink carnations and red roses the bride had requested.

It was the second time around for both bride and groom, who’d each been badly hurt by their exes. But that was behind them now, and the couple was clearly delighted with their new beginning as they swayed together in the center of the reception room.

It had once been two separate rooms, but Roberta had combined them years ago, making more space for guests. Every time she entered it she could feel the positive energy stored up from so many happy events. Tonight the chandeliers glowed in the antique gilded mirrors, reflecting the image of two beaming people, surrounded by forty well-wishers.

Roberta’s eyes misted, partly from sentiment and partly because, darn it all, her bunions were killing her. Much as she loved these touching moments, she’d be very happy when midnight came and the party ended. Her daughter kept telling her she was getting too old for this, but what did Daphne know? Seventy-one wasn’t that old. Anyway, Roberta couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than her pretty, pink Victorian with the white trim here on Primrose Street. She did love weddings, and after thirty years of hosting as well as planning them, it was a hard addiction to break. So here she would stay until she keeled over and they carried her out, bunions first.

All right, maybe she could be tempted to pack in her business if some handsome older man who enjoyed Caribbean cruises and watching old doo-wop groups on PBS arrived on the scene.

The odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Roberta winning the lottery...which she never played. Besides, she had several wedding years left in her.

How are you doing? asked a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see her assistant, Lila Kurtz, looking festive in a red dress and white apron decorated with red hearts.

In charge of the caterers, Lila always saw to it that everything ran smoothly. And tonight’s food was especially elegant. It had been prepared by Bailey Sterling, who owned Tea Time Tea Shop and Tearoom on Lavender Lane, and the guests had raved about the three-cheese stuffed chicken, the pasta and tossed salads and the lavender cake. Roberta would definitely use Bailey again.

Just fine, Roberta lied. Even though she had Lila and her crew, Roberta worked on the table settings, plated some of the food and did whatever else needed to be done. And no matter how much help she had, there was always plenty to do when a woman offered a full-service venue. Her bunions would attest to that.

You could duck out now, Lila suggested.

She could. Once she was in her bedroom, she’d be oblivious to any noise coming from below or from the second-floor changing room at the front of the house reserved for the bride and her bridesmaids. Lila would see the revelers on their way and then lock up. But for heaven’s sake, it was barely past nine o’clock. Only little old ladies went to bed at nine o’clock.

Still, she had her Vanessa Valentine romance novel waiting for her. You know, maybe I will. She used to love watching the bride toss her bouquet but tonight her nice, soft mattress and a looming love scene were winning out over sentiment. If you don’t mind.

Of course not, Lila said. Lila was a single mom with two grown children and she liked to stay up late.

Well, then, I’ll go upstairs. I have a few things to do, Roberta added in case Lila thought she was pooping out.

Lila nodded approvingly. Take it easy tomorrow. Leave the mess for the cleaning crew on Monday.

I will, Roberta promised. She had no desire to work any harder than she had to.

And don’t forget you’ve got Muriel Sterling coming over to do that interview for the paper on Monday afternoon, Lila reminded her.

Ah, yes. The interview. Roberta hoped Muriel didn’t ask any nosy questions that would be awkward to answer, but if she did, Roberta knew how to dodge them. She’d been doing it for years.

The DJ was now spinning an upbeat song and the room pulsed with dancers. Roberta made her way around the edge of the crowd, ready to put her feet up and read her book. With her comfy flannel jammies on, she’d be free to let the story carry her away.

Suddenly it looked as if there wasn’t going to be any carrying away—not considering who’d just arrived at the party. Roberta blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, Daphne was still there, hovering in the doorway, her lovely face contorted with a scowl. What on earth was her daughter doing here?

She hurried over to where Daphne stood, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket thrown over a plain, black sweater, a carry-on suitcase parked next to her. Her big blue eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red, probably from too many close encounters with a tissue.

Daphne, darling, what are you doing here? On a weekend, looking like the bad wedding fairy. And with a suitcase? Oh, wedding bell blues. Roberta could already guess what was wrong.

Daphne took in the crowd of happy revelers. All that money wasted on champagne and cake. It never works out.

Sure enough. Come upstairs, Roberta said, steering her daughter toward the staircase. We’ll get you settled and you can tell me what’s going on.

Daphne didn’t wait until she was settled. She started in right away, towing her suitcase up the stairs. I knew something was wrong. Thump. I’ve suspected for months. Thump. I kept asking him and he denied it. Thump, thump.

Roberta sighed. Men were beasts. So Mitchell’s been cheating on you.

You were right—he’s slime, Daphne said, her voice trembling. How could he do this to me? she wailed. Is it that hard to be faithful to someone?

In Mitchell’s case, obviously, yes. Poor Daphne. She was so pretty, so trusting. She was like a man magnet. Sadly, she didn’t seem able to attract anything better than the man equivalent of paper clips.

I’m so sorry, Roberta said.

They’d reached the top floor now, and Roberta led her daughter to the back of the house, to the room opposite hers, the same room that had been Daphne’s growing up. Here they were, together again, mother and daughter. And daughter was going through yet another romantic crisis.

Daphne was an underachiever when it came to relationships. Her first husband had been a lazy bum who spent as much time collecting unemployment as he did working. He drank too much and helped Daphne around the house too little. The only good thing to come out of that marriage had been Roberta’s granddaughter, Marnie. (Unlike her mother, Marnie knew how to pick a man who had his act together and was now busy setting the world on fire, working in New York as an editor.) Husband number two had bailed on Daphne when Marnie hit her teen years. As for number three, Roberta had never liked him. She’d seen the way Mitchell ogled other women when Daphne wasn’t looking. You couldn’t trust oglers. She’d told Daphne as much but would she listen? Of course not.

Where was the ogler now? Back home, in Daphne’s bed with another woman? Did you kick him out? Roberta demanded. Sometimes her daughter was too soft.

Daphne draped her