My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Chapter 28Abi“What do you think?” I ask Janey. I spin the arrangement in front of me, trying to decide if I’m done.

“Hmm, it’s all right, I guess. What’s it for?”

“Bitch! This is not ‘all right’. It’s fabulous and you know it!” I counter.

She smiles and points at me. “Then why the hell are you asking me if you already know it’s perfect? Anything by The Abigail Andrews, floral designer to the stars, will be.”

I blush even though she’s teasing me but ultimately play along by resting my chin on the back of my hand Glamour Shots-circa 1995-style as I look off to the right with a smug smile.

“Bitch,” she repeats.

“Thanks.” I laugh. “For real, though, Violet and Archie will be here any minute to pick this up. It’s for a client.” I eye the vase and flowers once more, replaying what Archie said they wanted.

“Fab. You. Luxe. Over the top, big and bold, and huge. Like, I need the Jonah Falcon of flowers type of huge, with purple of every shade from deepest night to the barest kiss of lilac. I’ll bring you the vase because I sourced it to match the candlesticks.”

Well, this definitely matches what Archie said he wanted, though I’d had to Google who the Falcon guy was. Let’s just say ‘huge’ was the right word selection from Archie.

Janey has lost interest in my assessment of the flowers and has taken to clicking on her phone. It kinda irks me until the Bluetooth speakers start playing Prince’s Purple Rain and I realize that she was with me all along.

Janey starts doing some smooth, hip-swaying, sexy moves to the song, and I can’t help but try too. She’s better than I am by a mile, but it’s fun to goof off and giggle in the back while Samantha holds down the register.

“Oh. My. God,” Archie’s voice says from the back door, which we apparently left open because he and Violet are standing in the doorway. Vi’s trying not to laugh, and Archie looks pissed that we didn’t invite him to the dance party.

“Abs, girl. No,” he tells me, grabbing my hips. “Like this,” he hisses, helping me sway.

Laughing, I swat at his hands. “I thought I was doing pretty well!”

He gives me a sad look as he shakes his head. “I know you did, babe. That’s the worst part.” He tsks. “You thought that was some grade-A, stripper quality work. Make time to hit the gym with Courtney again. A little Zumba would do you good. Help make all that flex-y yoga worth something. You can’t just stick your ankles behind your head and lie there. You’ve gotta move.”

He demonstrates himself, bending his knees and giving his ass a little twerk. He does a hair flip, locks eyes with me, and then sashay walks across the room. I’ll admit he gave a better performance than either Janey or I did.

“Bravo!” I say dryly with a polite clap. Knowing when I’m beat, I get back to work where nobody can beat me. “Here’s the arrangement.” I hold my hands out wide around the purple monstrosity in a ta-da move.

Vi whistles. “It’s perfect. Great work, Abs. Archie, load it up. We need to jet if we’re going to be on time for our meeting.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Do you even know the address of where we’re going?” Not waiting for her to answer because it’s a rhetorical question, he snaps his fingers, “Of course you don’t. Because why?” He leans his head to the side, sticking his earring-covered ear Vi’s way.

She huffs. “Because you’re the King of Everything.”

“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” He points a black-nailed finger at Vi, but then at me and Janey too.

“We didn’t do anything,” I balk.

“Mmmhmm. Not this time.” He picks up the arrangement as Vi requested and calls back over his shoulder, “For reals, you should hit the gym with Court and have your man work out with Ross and Kaede. Let him get to know them.”

That’s actually not a bad idea. “Thanks, Archie!”

“Kisses,” he says through the rolled down window, already behind the wheel to drive Vi to their appointment.

My phone rings next, and I hustle over to my work table to grab it. “Hey, Mom,” I answer.

“Abi, I just wanted to say thank you again for the flowers for the fundraiser luncheon. They were lovely. Several people said so, and I was quite proud to say they were your work.”

Mom’s the best. She really is. When I started SweetPea, I wouldn’t do the flowers for Dad’s office for a while. It felt too much like special privilege and I wanted to earn my way. But Mom had instead offered opportunities to show my creativity in a different way.

With her encouragement, I’d donated dozens of arrangements to every charitable event and gala for over a year, getting my name out there, not as an Andrews but as a floral designer. People had seen my work firsthand, and when they called on me for paying jobs, it’d felt like my marketing and exposure were paying off, not my name.