Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

When Wildflower Weddings was a brand-new company, Queenie converted our dining room to an office. Clients would arrive at our house at all hours of the day and night. Some brides would show up glowing and excited while others would slump in their seat at the dining room table and pour out buckets of tears over their fears and concerns. As a teenager, I witnessed my mom talk many brides off the ledge concerning a variety of heinous decisions: a bright orange bedazzled wedding dress, baby lizards as reception favors, Uncle Ronnie who swears he’s really good on guitar as the wedding singer.

Queenie has always excelled at the public-facing parts of her job. She’s a calm, fearless leader, personable and chatty. However, the logistics of running a small business is a burden she’s never quite been able to tackle.

Taxes? She’s filed them late every year I can remember.

Invoicing clients? “Well…listen, I feel bad charging her.”

Building an online presence, a website, Instagram, anything ? Not happening. Queenie says people can find her in the phone book.

I know a few years ago she finally moved her operation out of our dining room and into a rental space on Main Street, but I haven’t had a chance to see it firsthand—which I feel bad about—so Monday morning, she and I head there bright and early. I’m actually eager to get to work and have a way to distract myself.

Queenie and I were couch potatoes all day Sunday. We binged new Bridgerton episodes, and by the time we’d finished the whole season, we agreed we might as well start it over again. Queenie was probably happy to have quality time with me; she kept squeezing my shoulder and telling me how grateful she is to have me home. Meanwhile, I wanted any excuse to stay distracted and out of my head. Replaying my date with Sawyer from the night before wasn’t going to help make me feel less guilty.

Today, my hope is that diving into work will prove to be an even better mental diversion. With two lattes in hand from the Coffee Bean on the corner, my mom and I make our way to her office. Except the moment we step inside, I think, This can’t be right .

We’ve gone into the wrong building. This is a travel agency.

Or what used to be one.

Black cursive wall decals say Roam! , Voyage! , Discover! The shabby-chic wooden sign hanging above the front door declares Au revoir . Toy airplanes dangle from the ceiling on clear fishing line. There’s a promotional airline poster with curled-up corners. Half-off flights if you book by August 2002!

“Mom, what is this place?” I sound mildly horrified.

Queenie kicks aside a cardboard box and plops her coffee down on a desk. At least I think it’s a desk. It’s so overloaded with junk I can’t see the surface. It might just be papers under more papers under more papers, all the way to the floor.

She waves away my concern. “I know it’s not perfect, but I haven’t had a moment to fix this place up since the day I moved in. I’ve been busy.”

I point behind me. “The front door still says Luellen’s Travel Agency . Surely that confuses your clients?”

She sticks her nose in the air, too proud to admit she might be wrong. “Everyone who uses me knows where to find me. They just ignore that door. Besides, it’s propped open most every day anyway.”

“But where do you meet with clients?”

“Over there on that couch.”

She says it like I’m dense, but what couch? Does she mean that thing covered in boxes and heinous throw pillows? The person who designed this place must have wiped out an entire Hobby Lobby clearance section.

“Okay, leftover decor aside…it’s seriously a mess in here.”

She purses her lips at me, picks up a pile of papers from her chair, and sets them on the floor. “Don’t come in here and try to change things. This place functions just fine. Now would you look under those magazines to your left to see if you can find a stack of printed invoices? I’ve been looking for them for two weeks.”

“ MOM. ”

Around ten AM, my mother’s other employee arrives. Cassie might be on maternity leave, but we still have Marge. Marge who is hovering somewhere between 82 and 107. Marge who, despite her hearing having gone sometime in the ’80s, refuses to wear hearing aids so every time you talk to her, you’re met with a loud “Eh?!” or “Huh?!”

“Speak up, dear! And talk slower!”

“I said, GOOD MORNING, MARGE.”

“No sorry, I don’t have the time.” Then she grumbles to herself. “Damn young people need to wear watches if they want to know the time.”

From then on, the phone rings off the hook, and it’s Marge’s responsibility to answer it and take messages. In turn, she hands my mom Post-its and says, “Either Dana wants to change her meeting time tomorrow or that was the phone company saying you hadn’t paid your bill in three months.”

I snatch the note out of Marge’s hand. “Why don’t I take the phones for a while?”

But that leaves me with barely any time to chip away at the mess around the office. Before we tackle the travel agency decor, we have to create some kind of system in here.

I don’t even know where to start. There are piles everywhere: boxes lining the hall to the bathroom, boxes stacked under desks, beside desks, around desks. Boxes of useless receipts from weddings that happened fifteen years ago. Tablecloth samples. Paper samples. Floral samples. Dozens of photo albums with examples of my mom’s past work.

I’m close to having a panic attack. At Evermore Events, I enjoyed my own corner office with my own personal assistant. The company ran like a well-oiled machine. There was an accounting department, interns, a clean break room that was stocked daily with snacks and drinks.

“Have you considered creating a digital filing system, Mom?” I’m trying to maintain my calm. A little while ago, I was digging through a box that I thought might contain vendor contacts when a huge spider crawled over my finger.

Queenie looks at me like I’m asking her to design a spaceship that could take us to Mars. “Digital what’s its ?”

“Never mind, I’ll just add it to my to-do list.”

I’m making one in the Notes app on my phone. It’s so long I have to scroll. If I work from now until I’m dead, I should get through half of it.

Midmorning Tuesday, I’m so tired from cleaning and organizing the office that I leap at the chance to accompany Queenie and a bride to tour a few wedding venues.

I need to get out of the office (can you even call it that!?). I need to clear my head. A huge part of me wants to hightail it right back to Montgomery and beg for my position back at Evermore Events. I’ll get on my knees and grovel, promise to work hard and for half my usual pay. What was I thinking coming back here and working for Queenie?

But I swallow that rising panic. I can’t leave yet. I promised to stay for the summer, which means I should at least become acquainted with the local venues and vendors. This round of tours is a good way to start that process.

My mom drives, and our bride, Dana, sits up in the front while I listen to them discuss her dream wedding from the back seat. What my mom lacks in organizational skills, invoicing skills, and management skills, she makes up for in personality. She really listens to Dana’s concerns and doesn’t try to talk over her or prod her along in the process.

“Just remember this is all meant to be fun . We’re here to hold your hand every step of the way so that from start to finish, your wedding goes off without a hitch. If a caterer cancels last minute, we book you a better one. Wedding dress too tight? Too big? I’ve got the best seamstress this side of the Mississippi on speed dial. Let’s take things one step at a time, shall we?”

Dana sighs with relief. My urge to sprint back to Alabama loses a little bit of steam.

“Today, the only thing we need to focus on is touring potential venues,” my mom confirms.

I wasn’t doing a great job of paying attention to where my mom is driving—what with so much existential dread swirling in my head—so it surprises me when I see the turnoff for Starlight Vineyards up ahead. Had I known this was our first stop, I wouldn’t have volunteered to come along for the tour. In fact—

“Mom, can you pull over?”

“Why?”

Because I can’t see Sawyer again! Not so soon! Not until I get my head on straight.

“I-I think I forgot something back at the office.”

“So?”

My first excuse was pitiful, so I try another, more emergent issue.

“Actually I’m going to be sick. Let me out and leave me under that tree. You can come collect me after y’all are done.”

She scoffs at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re being silly. You look perfectly fine, except your eyes are all wide with panic. Anyway, we’re almost there. If you’re gonna be sick, you can just use their bathrooms.” At this, she turns to Dana. “They have very nice bathrooms here.”

We drive under the wrought iron arch and I yank the door handle—although, why? Am I prepared to fling myself out of a moving car?

Maybe.

“Why are we going here anyway?” I sound shrill.

“This is the first venue on our list today.” My mom laughs.

“People want to get married here ?”

I sound like it’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, and Queenie shoots me a deadly glare in the mirror.

“I mean it’s beautiful,” I amend quickly. “I just didn’t realize there was an event space.”

“Well there is and it’s lovely.” Her tight tone warns that I’d better get it together and fast. “Just as cute as can be. And of course, there’s a huge benefit of working with the vineyard. It’s a great way to cut down on your alcohol budget since they offer special event packages.”

Damn, that’s genius. That, coupled with the beauty of the place, surely tempts quite a few brides and grooms.

Queenie parks in the vineyard’s lot and I’m supposed to get out with them, but I let them do their thing for a while, right up until the heat in the car becomes so unbearable I desperately push the door open and gulp in a breath of fresh air. Damn, Texas summers. I wipe the sweat from my brow and begrudgingly join them just as Queenie finishes explaining the pros and cons of the vineyard’s three different wedding packages.

She’s leading Dana toward the old barrel room. On our date, Sawyer mentioned it’d been converted to a venue, but I didn’t put two and two together. When we step through the doorway, I’m left utterly speechless.

It’s a beautiful chapel made from the bones of the old barrel room. There’s a central aisle with a dozen pews on either side all facing a raised altar. On the far wall, a large window reveals a view of the lush rolling hills. Everything is original, or at least very old. The pews are all distressed and worn. The beams on the ceiling show every bit of their age and character.

It should feel stuffy and dark inside, but rows of abstract stained glass windows placed on the sides of the chapel pour pale blue and green light into the space. My wedding planner brain immediately goes in a million directions. You could drape the pews in soft linen; sage green or white would look especially nice. We could use a pair of old wine barrels from the vineyard, repurposed as pedestals for bursting bouquets of hydrangeas.

“This is really unique,” Dana notes.

“I completely agree.” My mom nods. “Not many venues like it. In so many ways it speaks for itself, but it’s also a blank slate. You could dress the space up or leave it just as it is. The floors are pickled wood, original to the space as is most everything. The pews were hand-carved by Crawford Garnett—”

“Sawyer’s grandfather?” I chime in.

Queenie looks at me and smiles. “Yes. This was his pet project after he retired from running the vineyard full time.”

Dana turns in a circle, looking it over. “This is really something.”

I love this part of my job. I can practically see the cogs spinning in her head, her vision coming to life.

“Have you thought about florals?” I ask gently, not wanting to step on my mom’s toes.

I didn’t review Dana’s intake forms. For all I know, they’ve already gone over all of this, but I see my mom nod encouragingly behind Dana, so when our bride-to-be admits she’s clueless when it comes to what she wants, I start to walk her through some of the options that could give her the most bang for her buck.

“An altar arch is always very pretty, and you have the added bonus of giving your ceremony a focal point, not to mention it’d look great in photos. However, with the stained glass windows and that view, I think you’d be better off putting a little more of your floral budget into your bouquet or any arrangements that might sit nestled against the pews along the aisle.”

It’s actually enjoyable getting lost in planning with Queenie and Dana. I’m reminded of what I love to do. I find a bit of the purpose I’ve lost in the last few weeks since I left Evermore Events and uprooted my life. I attributed the listless feeling I’ve been enduring solely to the end of my relationship with Matthew, but now I realize I might have also been missing my passion. The strength and control I was hoping to regain after my date with Sawyer actually comes from being good at my job. Go figure!

I’m smiling, happy, even eager to see more of the vineyard until we’re walking outside and, a few yards away, I spot a sexy man in jeans, boots, a Starlight Vineyards t-shirt, and a backward cap.

No no no . Why’s Sawyer working at 10:30 AM on a Tuesday?! He’s truly becoming a thorn in my side. I could just…and don’t get me started with…and if he so much as looks at me I’ll—

“Ladies.”

I quickly triangulate myself behind Dana and Queenie so I can hopefully go unnoticed. I’m lucky that Queenie really teased her hair to high heaven today; if I stand directly behind her, it’s like I’m not even here.

“Sawyer!” Queenie says, throwing her hands in the air so her bangles jingle-jangle on her arms. “Just the man I was hoping to see. I’ve got a prospective bride here I’d love you to meet, though you probably already know her. This is Dana Felding, her daddy used to be the softball coach up at the high school for over twenty years, wasn’t it?”

Sawyer nods and smiles. “That’s right. Good to see you, Dana.”

“And of course you know my Madison.”

Queenie—god rest her soul, because I’m about to kill her—steps to the side to reveal me. I keep my eyes laser-focused on the ground as I wave. “Oh-hi-Sawyer,” I mumble quickly so the words all crush together.

Please go away.

“Hey there, Madison.”

I don’t even have to look up to know he’s wearing a teasing smile. God, the way this man twists me up inside. I hate it!

“Do y’all need my help with anything today? Happy to show you around or let you sample some of the wine in our new tasting room.”

Queenie steps forward to take his forearm like he’s a prince and she’s a princess in need of escorting. “Oh, that’d be great, darlin’. That way Dana can see where the reception would be held.”

I don’t even bother telling them to go on without me, I just hover on the fringes of the group, taking one slow step for every two of theirs until eventually I’m free to peel off and hang back. They go inside and I linger near a side building, eliciting weird stares from the vineyard workers who pass me by.

“You lost?” one of them asks.

“No.” I tap-tap-tap the side of the metal building. “Just checking the place out.”

His look says he’s concerned I’m a crazed lunatic on the loose. Lucky for him, that’s only mostly the case.

I come to regret my hasty decision to branch off when another ten minutes pass and there’s no sign of them. They’re really taking their sweet time talking shop, and the spot I’m posted up in has absolutely no shade. By the time I get out of here, I’ll have a weird tan line from my sundress. I dab at my forehead with the back of my hand and am grumbling under my breath when an older man leaves the building I’m standing near and spots me.

He’s wearing a work shirt similar to what a mechanic would wear, gray with an embroidered name badge that reads Crawford —Sawyer’s grandfather. The one who built the chapel. For how old he is, he looks pretty fit. Tall and sturdy, though the sun has done a number on his skin and his thin white hair isn’t long for this world.

He eyes me with one eye winked in speculation. “What are you doing out here? You one of them wedding people?”

I hold my hand up like a Girl Scout. “Guilty.”

He hums but doesn’t sound impressed. “Why aren’t you in the tasting room with them?” His finger points to the big building they all disappeared into. “I bet that Queenie’s talking everybody’s head off. You with her?”

This makes me smile. “That’s my mom.”

He chuckles and assesses me again, his eyes wrinkling in the corners. “That’s right. You look just like her apart from the eyes.” Then he continues, “Well if you’re lost, it’s just through those double doors there. I can show you if you need.”

“Appreciate it, but I’m not going in.”

I’ve really piqued his interest now. “You piss someone off? Been banished to this heat?”

Oh, hilarious. He thinks I’m in timeout.

I laugh. “No. I’m just avoiding your grandson. He’s in there, isn’t he?”

He gives me an earsplitting grin. “Avoiding Sawyer? Now see, that’s curious. Is that kid giving you trouble?”

“Pfft. More like the other way around…”

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing. Never mind. I’m happy out here. I like what you did with the old barrel room, by the way. Where’d you purchase all that stained glass?”

“I made it.” He stands up a little straighter, affecting a proud stance.

“Did you really? Must have taken you forever.”

He shrugs. “Gotta have something to do to pass the time now that my son and grandson run the place. Why don’t you like him?”

A laugh bursts out of me. “I didn’t say I don’t like him.”

“It’s written all over your face. That or something else I can’t read right. Either way you’d better get it figured out because they’re headed over.”

He’s right. Queenie and Dana have exited the tasting room along with Sawyer. Instead of waving farewell and getting on with business, he falls in step with them. SERIOUSLY?! Surely, he’s a busy man. Grapes can’t pick themselves!

I don’t wait around to see what will happen. I take action.

I step forward and motion dramatically toward the car. If it were possible, I’d get behind Dana and shove her along faster. “Ready to go?! Dana, how’d you like—”

“Can I talk to you for a second, Madison?” Sawyer’s voice makes me squeeze my eyes closed with pent-up fury (and other emotions).

“Wish I could but I’m on the clock and my boss is a real stickler —”

Queenie cackles. “Don’t be ridiculous, Madison. Take five. I’m going to review a few things with Dana before we head out anyway.”

“Should you really be out in the sun this long though, Mom? A woman your age should stick to places with A/C!” I’m having to raise my voice now because they’re ignoring me as they walk away.

When they proceed to keep on keepin’ on, I prop my hands on my hips in annoyance. Meanwhile, Sawyer looks pleased as punch to have me all to himself.

Wait, that’s not true! His grandpa!

I whip around to see Crawford Garnett grinning ear to ear. He holds out his hand as if wanting me to hurry up. “Now, go on, Madison. Tell my grandson why you don’t like him, and make sure to speak loud enough so I can hear.”