USA TODAY bestselling author NANCY WARREN lives in the Pacific Northwest where her hobbies include skiing, hiking and snow shoeing. She’s an author of more than thirty novels and novellas and has won numerous awards. Visit her website at nancywarren.net.
To Sharon Kearney,
for too many years of friendship to count.
“STACY REALLY WANTS the circus theme,” Patricia Grange said, a note of appeal in her voice. It was a tone Karen Petersham knew well—the desperate cry of a woman who has spoiled her baby girl for so long she doesn’t know how to stop. As one of the top wedding planners in Philadelphia, Karen got her share of spoiled princesses and their bizarre wedding requests, but this was right up there.
“A circus themed wedding is certainly unusual,” Karen said smoothly. “You don’t get a lot of them.”
“It’s because of Cirque du Soleil,” Patricia explained, throwing her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.
“Cirque du Soleil?” What on earth could a bunch of acrobatically theatrical circus performers have to do with a wedding?
The mother of the bride nodded. “Hudson took Stacy to see the touring production of Kooza for their first date. They think it would be romantic to recreate the circus theme for their wedding.”
“Well, I guess we can be happy he didn’t take her ice fishing for their first date.”
The woman smiled weakly. “I suppose so.” She straightened the perfectly straight hem on her Gucci skirt. “Cirque is about both clowning and acrobatics, of course.”
“Two excellent attributes of a successful marriage.”
“Exactly.” The woman smiled at her gratefully. “And Cirque did perform at the Academy Awards one time. I remember seeing it on television.”
Only a Philadelphia society girl could equate her wedding with the Academy Awards. Already Karen suspected that this ceremony was going to be one of those nightmares. The mother of the bride had shown up for the appointment, but no bride. Always a bad sign. She was conscious of a wish to tell the woman to take her flying circus acrobats and find another wedding planner, but she didn’t. As much as she despaired over some of the demands made of her and her company, If You Can Dream It, Karen also got the most juice out of the toughest assignments. Frankly, the challenges stopped her from succumbing to boredom.
Rich October sunshine streamed through the windows of the renovated brick warehouse she’d bought in Old Town to house her growing business, bringing out the rich caramel in the floors she’d had restored.
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll put together a proposal for you and we can meet again, shall we say in two weeks? Perhaps with the bride this time.”
When the mother left, Karen sat for a few minutes, typing her notes into her computer, then she got up and walked through the office.
“I’m going to see Chelsea,” she said to her assistant, Dee, on the way out. The young blonde British girl who was both support staff and her assistant wedding planner nodded, unsurprised, since Karen took the short walk to her caterer and good friend’s premises at least once a day. She trekked to Hammond & Co. to discuss jobs with Chelsea Hammond, her exclusive caterer, or simply to chat with the woman who’d become a close friend. And if she walked the two blocks briskly enough, that was as good as fifteen minutes on the treadmill.
Slipping on sunglasses and a light coat, she strode toward the storefront where Chelsea sold takeout gourmet food and coffee while she ran her growing catering business from the huge industrial kitchen in back. Upstairs was a small apartment that she used as her office.
Chelsea was placing a heaping bowl of quinoa salad into the display case when Karen walked in. She only knew it was quinoa because a sign said so. Unlike her friend, food was not her passion but her enemy and she tried to think about it as little as possible. She certainly wasn’t one for cookbooks and those endless TV torture shows featuring gorgeous men preparing mouthwatering meals—two things she most wanted and that were so bad for her, with her figure that was both top-heavy and bottom-heavy on a much too short frame.
The caterer—blessed by nature with a long, slim body that was neither top-nor bottom-heavy, but just right—smiled her rich, slightly mischievous smile at Karen as she straightened from her task. “Perfect, you’re just in time for coffee.”
“Make mine with cream. And I want one of your four-thousand-calorie brownies to go with it.”
Since Karen was on a perpetual diet, Chelsea raised her brows. “Bad day?”
“The bride wants a circus theme. Cirque du Soleil, no less.”
Chelsea poured two cups of coffee, deftly popped several decadent treats onto a plate and called out to someone out of sight in the back kitchen, “I’m taking a break upstairs. Keep an eye on the front and call me if you need me.”
“’Kay,” came the reply.
They hiked up the stairs and Karen said, “I wonder if the wedding night will feature trapezes and human pyramids.”
“Your cynicism is showing,” Chelsea said, as though it were a slip hanging below her skirt hem.
Karen sighed. “I know. Easy for you, with a big rock sparkling on your finger and the world’s cutest guy in love with you, but I’m a bitter divorcee. The wedding planner who doesn’t believe in marriage.”
“Sure you do,” Chelsea soothed. “You simply haven’t found the right man.”
“I’m thirty-five years old. And the brides get younger every year.” She gazed longingly at a brownie. “And thinner. I should give up and let myself get fat. It’s not like anyone ever sees me naked. If I’m not getting sex, at least I should take pleasure in food.”
“You are not fat, what you are is voluptuous.” The woman saw where Karen’s eyes were straying and said, “I know you. If you eat that brownie you’ll only torture yourself.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “But that lemon dream bar is low-cal.”
“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, almost snatching the yellow confection off the plate.
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have this great location or half the business I have if it wasn’t for you. I am so happy you took a chance on me.”
It was true, Karen mused as she bit into a lemon-flavored slice of paradise. When they’d first met, Chelsea Hammond had just returned from cooking school in Paris and was trying to launch her own catering business. When Karen had tasted the woman’s food and chatted with her for a few minutes she’d experienced the gut deep excitement of knowing she’d found the missing piece of her wedding planning business. She’d pretty much signed up Chelsea on the spot to be her exclusive caterer. It meant that no other wedding planner could use the services
