Forget Me Not by Julie Soto

21

Ama

AUGUST

At the T-minus two-month mark, we move into the ballet studio and start gutting it. Clearing the last of the permits stretched us thin on time, but we’re finally in. When I’m not meeting with clients or vendors, I’m at Weatherstone, overcaffeinating.

I grew up pretty well off, but I’ve never been able to throw money at a problem like this. It’s intoxicating. Mold on one of the walls? Boom, money. Contractor complaining about time frames? Zap, approve the hire of a new worker. City fines for noise complaints and parking permits? Send me the bill, Jeeves.

Everything is going through Hazel and Jackie, of course, but when I gave them the estimate for what it would take to turn this space into a reception hall in two months, I included a twenty percent cushion for these kinds of issues. I’m still on budget thanks to that.

I’m on my way today to finalize the transportation for the guests from the Rose Garden to the reception. We’re contracting the company that does hayrides in the autumn and giving their carts a makeover. When I told Jackie that I figured out how to give her a horse-drawn carriage, she burst into tears, but now it’s my job to make sure they look less like French Revolution body carts and more like Cinderella carriages.

And that means Elliot.

It’s the first time I’m seeing him in a month, and that’s not really that long, but it feels like an eternity after the exposure I’ve had for the past six months. I’ve been emailing him my ideas, instead of what I used to do—pop into the shop for a quickie and a brainstorm—but I can’t get a read on his workload without looking at his face or hearing him sigh over the phone.

In the times we’ve been at Blooming, I haven’t seen an assistant, so I don’t know if he has enough help to get all of this done. His cousin Ben usually helps on wedding days, but he’s not a florist; he’s a grunt worker. And this wedding is a huge order. One of the most floral-centric designs I’ve ever worked with. Maybe it’s because I was stumbling around the desert for so long, but he’s like a refreshing yellow Gatorade I can’t get enough of. Maybe I’ve overdone it on floral for this, but I just couldn’t help myself, knowing that Elliot was back. Adding this last layer may be too much for him, but he hasn’t complained.

Yet.

I pull up to the warehouse that the hayride carts are stored in, and I’m not surprised to find Elliot’s truck already parked next to the film crew. It will be another ten minutes until Hazel and Jackie arrive, historically, so maybe this is my opportunity to ask Elliot if I’m throwing too much at him.

I can see Bea inside briefing Vince, the hayride company owner and the man we’re renting from. I say hi to the crew, who I’ve gotten to know pretty well by now, and prepare myself to speak to Elliot again. He’s chatting with the sound guy. It’s hard to tell if they’re getting along or if Elliot’s just tolerating him—that’s just how his face is.

“Morning,” I greet them. “Can I talk to Elliot for a second?”

The sound guy dismisses himself, and Elliot looks at a place past my ear.

“Two months out!” I say. “I just wanted to make sure I’m not throwing too much at you.”

His eyes slide over to me, but his frown remains in place. “What’s that mean?”

“I—I just mean, this is a huge wedding. And I keep asking for more. Do you foresee any problems?”

I could probably count all of his eyelashes in the time it takes him to say, “There won’t be any problems.”

I force a grin at him. “And if there are, you’ll tell me?”

“There won’t be any problems.”

He walks past me to grab his supplies out of his truck, and I pretend everything is peachy as I greet Bea.

When Jackie and Hazel arrive, I can see on their faces that they anticipated a carriage, not a wagon.

“Here’s the plan,” I tell them once the cameras are rolling. “We replace these hay bales with cushioned benches.” I climb up into the cart and start pointing around. “Elliot’s going to attach three arches to hover on top, wound with roses—which will connect back to the Rose Garden. Along the outside he’ll attach boxwood.” I turn and sit comfortably on the hay bale. “It’s a ten-block ride in a horse-drawn carriage covered in flowers. I think it’s charming and unexpected.”

Hazel is nodding, but Jackie is wincing what she thinks is a smile.

“Elliot,” I say, “anything to add?”

He looks directly at Jackie and says, “This will not look like a hayride on your wedding day. I guarantee it.”

That calms her, just as I knew it would.

One camera follows me over to talk with Vince, and the other stays on Jackie and Hazel to “talk through their fears,” as Bea calls it. Elliot comes with me to discuss how he’ll be attaching the arches and to sign waivers, and everything’s going great until Vince says, “Don’t load ’em up with more than ten, and you should be good.”

I look up from my paperwork. My brows jump. “I thought it was fifteen.”

“Ten adults is best.” Vince scratches his beard. “Fifteen is usual when you’re loading up seventy-pound kids.”

“You just shorted my headcount by a third with this news. Why wasn’t this mentioned in our emails?”

I feel the camera step closer to me, and suddenly the second camera is covering Vince.

He shrugs. “I didn’t know what you’d be using ’em for. Fifteen adults … well, that would tire out the horses.”

I do the math of how long guests would be waiting at the Rose Garden for the first set of carriages to return from the reception hall to reload.

“I’m renting twelve carriages and horses to cover my guest count, but you’re now telling me I need six more. How many more can I have?”

“Well, it’s October. It’s the hayride season—pumpkin patches and all that,” he says, trailing off as if that explains it.

“How many more can I have?” I repeat.

“I need to run my business with the other eight horses. It’s a Saturday in the dry part of fall, so I’m going to be full with hayrides that day.”

All I hear is eight more. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elliot open his phone quickly.

“So what will it cost to have an additional six,” I demand.

“I can’t give my horses away—”

“Who said I’m not paying for them?” I scoff. “You’re dealing me a huge blow here. I don’t remember any mention of weight limitations anywhere in our correspondence.”

“My business is seasonal, sweetheart,” he says, and my fingers curl. “I only get eight weeks a year to run these wagons and horses, and you want to kill my stock on a Saturday of all days—”

“Have you sold tickets yet?” Elliot’s deep voice cuts through our conversation. He’s still typing quickly on his phone.

“Some, I’m sure—”

“Great, if you check your email, you’ll see a reservation for fifty guests under Elliot Bloom for Saturday, October seventh.” He snaps his eyes up to Vince and waves his phone. “All paid for. We’re gonna need those horses and carriages at the Rose Garden that day.”

I’m blinking quickly, staring at him with an open mouth. Vince is doing the same. Something burns deep in my chest, an ache that feels so good. The cameras and Bea are just as captivated.

Vince throws up his hands and says, “Fine. Fine.” He retreats back to his office to get the paperwork updated.

“Great save, you guys,” Bea says, genuinely impressed. “I love drama I don’t have to stage.”

“Invoice us,” I say to Elliot quietly, and he just nods.

I check in with Jackie and Hazel. They were eavesdropping.

“That was hot,” Hazel says. “You two should bang.”

I flush scarlet, and Jackie says, “That’s what I’ve been telling you!”

I center my thoughts. Jackie has pried into my love life, and now Hazel has, too. They’re treating me like one of their friends instead of someone they hired. Although I don’t always agree with Whitney’s procedures, this is one instance where I wish I had more space from the client.

I check over my shoulder to make sure Elliot isn’t in earshot. “Glad you were entertained, but not gonna happen.”

I’m about to change the subject drastically when Jackie says, “Because you have a boyfriend? Come on, you yourself said you don’t do long-term.”

My mouth opens and closes. “I have a what?”

Hazel looks bashful. “I already tried digging for info with Elliot. I’m nosy, I’m sorry.” She laughs, but I feel like I’ll never laugh again. “He said you had someone in bed when he called you once.”

My mind whites out. I feel like a computer that has crashed.

“Is there … when did—”

“Are you still with him?” Jackie pushes, with mischievous eyes. “If it’s not serious, I really think Elliot would be down to clown. You’re so fucking hot, and he’s always looking at you—”

“I’m sorry.” I brace my hands against the air that’s suffocating me. “Elliot said I had a guy in bed? What the fuck did that mean? Why was it—his business, or …”

Hazel shrugs. “He said he called you early one morning and heard you talking to someone.” She winces. “I’m so sorry, this feels really personal now and suddenly like something I shouldn’t be teasing you about.”

I want to scream. Mar. Mar staying over after drinking and asking for breakfast. She doesn’t have a super deep voice or anything, but it’s the only person I’ve woken up with in two years.

My face tugs until it’s smiling wide. “I’m just confused because I haven’t been sleeping with anyone. Um …” I swallow, choking. “So, Elliot said I had a boyfriend?”

“Well, a guy. Not a boyfriend. I think he knows you don’t do boyfriends.”

It feels like everything inside my stomach switches places with everything inside my chest. It’s sickening and dizzying.

“He said that?”

Hazel jumps to correct. “Not in a slut-shame-y way. God, no.” She cringes at Jackie. “Wow, this is all coming out wrong, and I’m just trying to get two hot people laid—”

“He’s worked with you a bunch!” Jackie says. “Maybe he’s just observed it! I agree with Hazel. When she told me, it didn’t sound like he meant it to be disparaging. Maybe like … a clarification that the dude in bed wasn’t your boyfriend, or …”

I bark out a laugh and squeeze their arms with fingers that have lost all sensation. “It’s fine. I didn’t take offense. I’m still just confused where this guy in my bed came from.” I chuckle, mirthlessly. “But yeah, don’t worry about hooking us up. We know we’re not compatible.”

I look over my shoulder at him getting into his truck. He starts the engine and reverses without a glance at us.

“He’s a relationship guy,” I say, then add softly, “from what I’ve observed.”