and bathroom and others for the living areas. Mrs. Bradley had called in her order and left it up to Ashley to make decisions when it came to the particular flowers and greenery.
“I trust your judgment,” the older woman had said. “And you’ll set them around for me, won’t you? My older daughter is expecting her second child soon into the new year so I’m staying with her until the very last minute.”
Ashley reached in to tweak a bit of Queen Anne’s lace that was out of place and put a stern note in her voice. “Suzanne Janice Reynolds, don’t think I can’t detect the guilty vibrations coming over the line.”
“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”
She said it so fast Ashley couldn’t separate the syllables. “What?”
“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”
This time her brain managed to decipher the sentence. She dropped to take a seat on the back bumper as heat bloomed on her nape and over her face, dissipating the late-afternoon chill. “Suze!” she said in an irate tone. “You promised—”
“And you promised me that you were ready to climb out of your shell.”
“I can’t do a date. You know that. It’s too soon—”
“Four years,” Suze pointed out.
Four years and seventeen days. “Still—”
“Climbing out of your shell,” Suze said again.
“A date on New Year’s Eve is more like...like...bursting out of a birthday cake!”
“Calm down,” her friend advised.
Ashley pressed her hand to her stomach. “I feel sick. I don’t think I can make it to the party after all.”
“Coward.”
“Cautious,” Ashley countered. “Who is this guy anyway?”
“A gym friend of Jackson’s.”
She groaned. “It’s going to be one of those men who stares at himself in the mirror, grunting with every biceps curl.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“Haven’t you ever noticed how they dead drop the free weights so that everyone in the room looks over? I hate that type.”
“When was the last time you were in a gym?”
Guilt nibbled at Ashley. She supposed she had no choice but to come clean. “Um...look. I’ve been taking classes every morning. Alternating between spin and Pilates.”
There was another long silence on the other end of the phone. “We have a pact,” Suze finally said with a lacing of hurt. “You broke the pact.”
It was true. When they were fourteen, they’d taken a solemn vow to tackle any new exercise or diet regimen together. There’d been those four days when they’d eaten broiled bologna at every meal. The training for the 10K that had gone well until Suze sprained her ankle. The weeklong cabbage soup cleanse that upon mutual disgust they’d ended after seven hours. If one was going to commit to concerted calorie restriction or sweat production, they were supposed to do it together.
Ashley hung her head. “Suze, I’m sorry.”
“My fat behind is sorrier.” Her friend blew out a sigh over the phone. “Well, as payback, you’ll make an effort with Moose.”
“Moose?” Ashley nearly shouted the word. “He’s called Moose?”
“It’s just a nickname.”
“I don’t only feel sick to my stomach,” Ashley said. “Now I have a migraine.”
“That’s no excuse to avoid the first stop on your year of yes.”
Ashley thought hard, hoping to come up with something better than feigned illness. Because...Moose!
“When are you going to get here?” Suze demanded. “I have all the ingredients for your special dip—you know, the one Jackson loves—and I need you to make it.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “You rip open the packet, pour it into the sour cream container. Stir.”
“With a spoon or a fork?”
“Suze—”
“It’s past time for a change, honey, and that change starts with tonight’s party. Come concoct the dip.”
“I’m at the Bradley estate now. I have to deliver the flowers. After that—”
“It’s yes time.”
With a sigh, Ashley slowly nodded her head, though it felt as if she was agreeing to disaster. Moose. “All right. It’s yes time.”
* * *
ASHLEY DREW OUT a rolling cart from the van and filled it with the first round of arrangements. She cast a glance at the mansion’s side door, certain it was unlocked. The caterer’s truck was parked nearby, the one that read Fare by Fanny on the side. She knew Fanny. Ashley’s stomach growled a little because even as she thought of the other woman, the smell of her famous beef bourguignonne tickled her nose. Maybe she could beg a bite or two after she finished up with her own duties.
The cart rattled across the flagstone drive toward the immense house made of rock, stone and wood. She ducked under an arch and found the door she wanted indeed unlocked. More delicious smells were drawn into her lungs as she entered an expansive, rectangular mudroom. As Ashley continued into the kitchen, pushing her flower arrangements in front of her, Fanny glanced over.
“Happy New Year,” the older woman called out. She wielded a wooden spoon, and a butcher apron was wrapped about her apple-round middle. Her gaze inspected the profusion of floral beauty. “Those look wonderful.”
“Just my first load,” Ashley said. “Everything going all right with you?”
“Well...” Fanny grimaced. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be like other Bradley parties,” she began, only to be interrupted by the musical ring of her cell phone. One finger went up as she half turned to take the call.
Not like other Bradley parties? The warning made Ashley’s brows rise a little, but she shrugged off her concern and kept moving her cart forward. There was dip in her future. Moose. Suze, whom she couldn’t in good conscience disappoint. And after today, two weeks off from work. The florist shop always closed in January to accommodate the owner and her family’s ski vacation.
So Ashley needed to take care of the task at hand and then move...
...on with her life.
Ignoring the uneasiness that idea brought on, she began looking for signs of the Bradleys’ arrival. Nancy had said she and her husband, Arthur, would be arriving only shortly before their guests, but she was an attentive hostess, and Ashley wouldn’t be surprised to find her fussing with the position of the furniture or
