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Excerpt

Excerpt

A Wedding on Primrose Street

Roberta, Wedding Maven of Icicle Falls

 

Roberta Gilbert smiled as she surveyed the wedding guests dressed in their finery. This wedding had a Val­entine theme, and Roberta had placed little heart-shaped boxes filled with chocolates on the linen-clad tables, along with the pink carnations and red roses the bride had requested.

It was the second time around for both bride and groom, who’d each been badly hurt by their exes. But that was behind them now, and the couple was clearly delighted with their new beginning as they swayed to­gether in the center of the reception room.

It had once been two separate rooms, but Roberta had combined them years ago, making more space for guests. Every time she entered it she could feel the positive en­ergy stored up from so many happy events. Tonight the chandeliers glowed in the antique gilded mirrors, re­flecting the image of two beaming people, surrounded by forty well-wishers.

Roberta’s eyes misted, partly from sentiment and partly because, darn it all, her bunions were killing her. Much as she loved these touching moments, she’d be very happy when midnight came and the party ended. Her daughter kept telling her she was getting too old for this, but what did Daphne know? Seventy-one wasn’t that old. Anyway, Roberta couldn’t imagine living any­where other than her pretty, pink Victorian with the white trim here on Primrose Street. She did love wed­dings, and after thirty years of hosting as well as plan­ning them, it was a hard addiction to break. So here she would stay until she keeled over and they carried her out, bunions first.

All right, maybe she could be tempted to pack in her business if some handsome older man who enjoyed Ca­ribbean cruises and watching old doo-wop groups on PBS arrived on the scene.

The odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Roberta winning the lottery…which she never played. Besides, she had several wedding years left in her.

“How are you doing?” asked a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see her assistant, Lila Kurtz, looking festive in a red dress and white apron decorated with red hearts.

In charge of the caterers, Lila always saw to it that everything ran smoothly. And tonight’s food was espe­cially elegant. It had been prepared by Bailey Sterling, who owned Tea Time Tea Shop and Tearoom on Lav­ender Lane, and the guests had raved about the three-cheese stuffed chicken, the pasta and tossed salads and the lavender cake. Roberta would definitely use Bai­ley again.

“Just fine,” Roberta lied. Even though she had Lila and her crew, Roberta worked on the table settings, plated some of the food and did whatever else needed to be done. And no matter how much help she had, there was always plenty to do when a woman offered a full-service venue. Her bunions would attest to that.

“You could duck out now,” Lila suggested.

She could. Once she was in her bedroom, she’d be oblivious to any noise coming from below or from the second-floor changing room at the front of the house reserved for the bride and her bridesmaids. Lila would see the revelers on their way and then lock up. But for heaven’s sake, it was barely past nine o’clock. Only little old ladies went to bed at nine o’clock.

Still, she had her Vanessa Valentine romance novel waiting for her. “You know, maybe I will.” She used to love watching the bride toss her bouquet but tonight her nice, soft mattress and a looming love scene were win­ning out over sentiment. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Lila said. Lila was a single mom with two grown children and she liked to stay up late.

“Well, then, I’ll go upstairs. I have a few things to do,” Roberta added in case Lila thought she was poop­ing out.

Lila nodded approvingly. “Take it easy tomorrow. Leave the mess for the cleaning crew on Monday.”

“I will,” Roberta promised. She had no desire to work any harder than she had to.

“And don’t forget you’ve got Muriel Sterling com­ing over to do that interview for the paper on Monday afternoon,” Lila reminded her.

Ah, yes. The interview. Roberta hoped Muriel didn’t ask any nosy questions that would be awkward to an­swer, but if she did, Roberta knew how to dodge them. She’d been doing it for years.

The DJ was now spinning an upbeat song and the room pulsed with dancers. Roberta made her way around the edge of the crowd, ready to put her feet up and read her book. With her comfy flannel jammies on, she’d be free to let the story carry her away.

Suddenly it looked as if there wasn’t going to be any carrying away—not considering who’d just arrived at the party. Roberta blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, Daphne was still there, hovering in the doorway, her lovely face contorted with a scowl. What on earth was her daughter doing here?

She hurried over to where Daphne stood, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket thrown over a plain, black sweater, a carry-on suitcase parked next to her. Her big blue eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red, probably from too many close encounters with a tissue.

“Daphne, darling, what are you doing here?” On a weekend, looking like the bad wedding fairy. And with a suitcase? Oh, wedding bell blues. Roberta could al­ready guess what was wrong.

Copyright © 2015 by Sheila Rabe

A Wedding on Primrose Street
by by Sheila Roberts

  • Genres: Fiction, Romance
  • Mass Market Paperback: 400 pages
  • Publisher: Mira
  • ISBN-10: 077831815X
  • ISBN-13: 9780778318156