Stroke of Luck

“Good thinking,” she said wryly.

“And when we got there,” Quinn said, “we realized they might suspect something if we walked in with a bouquet.”

Her eyebrow popped up. “Wouldn’t they just think we came prepared?”

“Well, yeah, that makes sense now, but last night…” Austin shrugged.

“Okay. So why did you laugh when I asked about the roses?”

“We had to ditch the flowers,” Quinn continued, “but you wouldn’t let us throw away your wedding bouquet. You were quite insistent, even getting a little weepy, saying it was special.”

“It was a small bouquet,” Austin said, “made up of three pink roses, so we pulled out the three flowers and broke off the stems on two of them and tucked one in each of our pockets as makeshift boutonnieres. When we walked in, the guy thought we were nuts.”

Quinn laughed harder. “But not because of that.” He grinned at April. “You insisted on clinging to the third rose. When the guy saw the three of us, he raised his eyebrows uncertainly and said, ‘I see you already have flowers.’ Then Austin said, ‘Yes, but I’d like something more substantial for the bride.’”

Austin chuckled. “He really did think we were crazy.”

April vaguely remembered her hand wrapped tightly around the short stem, the lovely blossom a symbol of love and marriage. Of everything she’d lost.

In the end, the flower would always remind her of how Quinn, in his infinite kindness, had tried to give her back that dream, even if only for one night. Of course she wouldn’t let them throw it away.

She smiled tremulously, trying not to let them see the moisture in her eyes.

“So how did you get the rose away from me?”

Quinn stroked her arm. “I promised you I’d keep it safe. You let me take it from you then, and I slid it behind your ear.”

She gazed into his midnight eyes, so filled with warmth, and smiled.

“That’s nice. Thank you for that.”

“I get some credit, too,” Austin said. “Quinn didn’t even notice that it fell out of your hair while you and he were … enjoying yourselves in the entryway. After we all went to bed, I was the one who came back out to get it and put it in water.”

Quinn stood up and slapped him on the back, laughing. “As husband number two, you really are trying harder.”

Quinn offered his hand to April, and she took it and stood up.

“Now let’s get this woman some breakfast,” Quinn said.

“Good thinking,” Austin said. “That way she’ll have lots of energy, so when we get back, we can remind her exactly what else happened last night.”

He winked at her. Her heart fluttered, and she was already looking forward to returning to the suite.

* * *

April stood beside Austin as Quinn told the hostess that they’d like a table for three for the Sunday buffet, preferably in a quiet corner. The woman led them to a nice booth, already set with silverware and crystal glasses.

“Would you like mimosas, Mr. Taylor?”

Austin groaned. Quinn glanced at April, and she shook her head. Champagne was the last thing any of them wanted this morning.

“Just coffee and some orange juice, please,” Quinn said.

A waitress showed up promptly with a silver carafe of coffee and filled their cups.

“We have an extensive Sunday buffet,” she said and listed several items, including lobster tails, shrimp, prime rib, omelets made to order, and eggs benedict. “I’ll be right back with your orange juice.”

“I’m going to get some eggs benedict and a lobster tail,” April said.