Sunset In Central Park (From Manhattan with Love 2)

Frankie gave a half smile.

Only Eva could have thought it up.

The only nod to simplicity was the mature apple tree currently sheltering the sobbing bride-to-be.

Frankie was bracing herself to start holding off guests when Eva appeared by her side, her cheeks pink from the sun.

“Do we know what’s happening?”

“No, but I can tell you it’s not all celebration. Paige needs to work magic.”

Eva glanced around wistfully. “It all looks so pretty and we’ve worked so hard to make it perfect. Normally I love bridal showers. I always think of it as a final celebration before the bride and groom ride off into the sunset.”

“Sunset is what happens before darkness, Ev.”

“Can you at least pretend you believe in what we do?”

“I do believe in what we do. We’re a business. We manage events and we’re damn good at it. This is just another event.”

“You make it sound so clinical, but there’s a magical side to it.” Eva straightened the wing of a silk butterfly. “Sometimes we make wishes come true.”

“My wish was to run a successful business with my two best friends, so I guess you’re right about that. There’s nothing magical about it, unless managing to function after an eighteen-hour day is magical. And coffee is definitely magical. Fortunately, I don’t have to believe in happy endings to do a great job. My responsibility is the flowers, that’s all.”

And she loved it. Her love affair with plants had begun when she was young. She’d taken refuge in the garden to escape the emotions inside the house. Flowers could be art, or they could be science, and she’d studied each plant carefully, understanding that each had individual needs. There were the shade-loving plants like ferns, ginger and jack-in-the-pulpit, and then there were the sun worshippers, like lilacs and sunflowers. Each needed an optimum environment. Planted in the wrong place, they would wither and die. Each needed the perfect home in order to flourish.

Not so different from humans, she mused.

She loved selecting the right flower for the right event; she enjoyed designing displays of plants but most of all she loved growing them and watching the changing seasons. From the extravagant froth of blossom in the spring to the elegant russets and burnt orange of the fall, each season brought its own gifts.

“The flowers are beautiful.” Eva studied the bunch of flowers artfully arranged in the pitcher. “That’s pretty. What is it?”

“It’s a rose.”

“No, the silvery one.”

“Centaurea cineraria.”

Eva gave her a l

ook. “What do normal people call it?”

“Dusty miller.”

“It’s pretty. And you used sweet peas.” Her friend drew her finger wistfully over the flower. “They were my grandmother’s favorite. I used to leave bunches of them by her bed. They reminded her of her wedding. I love the way you’ve put this together. You’re so talented.”

Frankie heard the wobble in her friend’s voice. Eva had adored her grandmother, and her death the previous year had been devastating. Frankie knew she missed her horribly.

She also knew that Eva wouldn’t want to have a wobbly moment at work.

“Did you know the sweet pea was discovered by a Sicilian monk three hundred years ago?”

Eva swallowed hard. “No. You know so much about flowers.”

“It’s my job. What do you think of this? It’s Queen Anne’s lace,” Frankie spoke quickly. “You’ll like it. It’s very bridal. Perfect for you.”

“Yes.” Eva pulled herself together. “When I get married I’m going to have that in my bouquet. Would you make it for me?”

“Sure. I’ll make you the best bouquet any bride has ever seen. Just don’t cry. You’re a mess when you cry.”