Five minutes later they were sitting at the conference table with their jazzed-up smoothies, going over the wedding for that evening, making certain no detail had been forgotten. Madelyn had turned on the small television in the corner and they both breathed a sigh of relief when the local weather showed clearing by lunch. “Thank God,” drawled Peach Reynolds as she breezed into the conference room in time to hear the weather prediction. She automatically started making a pot of coffee; she was one of those who drank coffee almost nonstop all day. “And while I’m giving thanks to the Good Lord, I’ll throw in my heartfelt gratitude for air-conditioning, because the humidity is going to be unbearable. Are y’all drinking those god-awful smoothies again?”

Peach—whose real name was Georgia, of course—scorned anything that even remotely resembled healthy eating, evidenced by the chocolate-filled Krispy Kreme doughnut she’d brought in. She had a cloud of bright red hair, slanted green eyes, and fifteen or twenty extra pounds that put her just the other side of lush. It was evidently a body type that was very popular with men, because she never lacked for dates, though it was fair to say her exuberant personality also had something to do with that. Madelyn was more low-key, but barely. The two of them together could work a room in a way that would turn any politician green with envy.

“We are,” said Madelyn. “But when you drop dead at the age of sixty from a heart attack caused by sky-high cholesterol, I promise I won’t add insult to injury by toasting your poor stiff, cold body with a nutritious smoothie. Because you’re my friend, I’ll break out the good whiskey.”

“Consider me comforted.” Peach took a bite of her doughnut, delicately licking the chocolate that oozed out. “But I’m going to be cremated, so you’d better toast me before I’m toasted, if you want to keep to that stiff, cold idea.”

“You are not.”

“Are not what?”

“Going to be cremated. You’ve told me you want a lavish funeral with all your ex-lovers weeping over your beautiful body as you lie there in the casket, which, by the way, you said you wanted festooned with white lilies, though I think festooning is in poor taste for a funeral, with a bagpiper piping away and white horses pulling your gun-wagon thingie to the cemetery. You can’t be beautiful in a casket and be cremated. They’re kind of mutually exclusive.”

“You don’t get a gun carriage,” Jaclyn said. “Heads of state get gun carriages. Think of the traffic nightmare. I’m pretty sure you’d have to have permission from the governor.”

“Well, rain on my parade, why don’t you?” Peach grumbled. “You’d think the one time a person could have everything she wanted was at her own damn funeral. At least play the songs I want, okay?”

“Sure,” Madelyn agreed, “as long as it isn’t ‘You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille.’”

“Spoilsport. Okay, how about Floyd Cramer’s ‘Last Date’? Get it? Because it will be.”

“You’re sick. Just sick. You won’t be here anyway, so what do you care? I’ll give you a perfectly lovely funeral, in keeping with Premier’s reputation and standards.”

“You’re turning my funeral into an event? I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed that you’d use my death to promote the business.”

“Oh, honey, I promise you, your funeral will be an event. I’ll just have to make sure it’s a tasteful one.”

“Speaking of taste … Jaclyn, sweetheart, you do know your Saturday wedding is a rolling disaster, don’t you?”

Jaclyn looked up, her lips already twitching. “I began to get a glimmer of that when the bride insisted her eleven-month-old daughter, who isn’t the groom’s child by the way, be pulled down the aisle in a red wagon.” She couldn’t help laughing. The wedding was going to be hilarious, but as long as the couple was happy with the arrangements, her job was to make the wedding happen the way they wanted. Taste, or lack of it, wasn’t her call to make. “Diedra is thanking her lucky stars we have so much booked this week, so she can take one of the Saturday rehearsals instead of doing the wedding.”

“I’ll be so glad when this week is over,” Madelyn said, looking at the schedule on the board. Because they were so booked for the week, they weren’t trying to slot in any appointments; they had their hands full, since six weddings also meant six rehearsals. She rubbed her hands together. “Our bank account, however, is very happy. None of the checks bounced.”

“Glory hallelujah for that,” Jaclyn said wryly. “Now, if I can just get through all of today’s appointments with Carrie without anyone quitting, including me, the rest of the week will be smooth sailing in comparison.”

“Quit if you have to,” Madelyn said, her lips pressing together. “Don’t take any bullshit from her. The amount we’d have to repay would be well worth getting rid of her.”

Their contracts were prorated, so Premier got paid for the work they’d done to date. That protected them from being fired at the last minute and then refused payment because they hadn’t completed the job. Several times some frugal, or fraudulent—depending on how you looked at it—brides and/or mothers had tried that. Once they’d learned they couldn’t get the hefty fees repaid, every one of them had then decided that Premier’s services were just fine, after all.

“If we can just get past that magic point where she thinks she can change her mind and still have time to get what she wants done, I think we’ll be okay. Not happy, but okay.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes. “We’re already past that point.”

“Not in her mind. I’m hoping she reaches it this afternoon. She isn’t exactly reasonable, though,” she added in the understatement of the year, and possibly the decade. She wondered if maybe she could get Eric to come stand behind her, with that big gun visible in his holster—

—and just like that, boom, he was front and center in her thoughts so sharply that for a moment she physically felt him inside her. A warm flush swept over her body, and her face got hot. Swiftly she looked down, hiding her expression. She should not be having thoughts like this with her mother sitting right there, for God’s sake. She should be concentrating on the job and nothing else.

But how could she, really, just block him out as if the night hadn’t happened? She couldn’t compartmentalize her life like that. He was way outside her experience, and until she got an emotional and mental handle on how explosively fast things had happened between them, of course she’d think about him—even when she was trying her best not to.

If she could just get through this week, she’d have time to think about him.

The weather cleared as promised, with a breeze chasing the rain to the east and a nice blue sky following. That afternoon, Jaclyn found herself smiling, just a little, even though she was on her way to meet with Carrie and the poor vendors. The next few days were going to be hectic, but so far things were going smoothly. Wedding number one was relatively small and Madelyn shouldn’t have any trouble handling it on her own, unless there was an unforeseen problem. Unforeseen problems were par for the course, but they tried to be prepared for any contingency.

Lunch had been excellent, a take-out salad eaten at her desk. The phone hadn’t rung for a good twenty minutes, so she’d had time to eat in peace.

And now the sky was a clear blue, traffic was light, and her body hummed in contentment, as it had all day.

“Don’t think about him, don’t think about him,” she murmured to herself. She had to be on her toes for the next several days, until after the week’s final wedding; if she let herself get distracted she’d make mistakes, overlook details. In five days this crush of work would be behind her and she could decide … whatever she decided. He might not call. She thought he would, but who knew? Maybe he was special—the possibility of which scared the crap out of her even though it also made her feel excited and happy and on the brink of something important. If he did call, and he was special—She was doing it again, thinking about him despite her best efforts.

But there was nothing like dealing with Carrie to bring her back to reality with a resounding thud.

The reception hall was built like a Greek temple, with columns and urns and ivy climbing the walls. The building was about ten years old, and judging by how long it took to get a booking, it had been a wonderful investment for the owners. Carrie had insisted that her wedding be here and nowhere else, and had even pushed back her wedding date when the date she’d selected had already been booked. That was one time she hadn’t been able to throw a tantrum and get her way.

Because this was a weekday the spacious parking lot was far from full, but a few cars were parked near the side entrance. Jaclyn recognized Carrie’s car, and her smile quickly faded. Carrie had the unique ability to affect time, making a minute seem like an hour, and an hour seem like an eternity in hell. There were times when Jaclyn had wondered what the poor groom saw in the woman he was marrying, but in Carrie’s case she actually felt as if she should call the guy and tell him to run far and run fast.

As she grabbed her briefcase, slung her purse over her shoulder, and stepped out of the Jag, Jaclyn spotted Gretchen’s car. Her heart dropped. Gretchen wasn’t supposed to be here for another half hour; Jaclyn wouldn’t schedule any vendor to meet with a bridezilla without someone from Premier present to smooth the way. She’d bet the Jag that Carrie had called the dressmaker and changed the time of their meeting. This could not be good.

Jaclyn picked up her pace as she strode toward the side entrance, hoping she wasn’t too late. She’d taken six steps down the hallway when she found out she was much too late.