Wasn’t the best way to find something to retrace your footsteps? Going back to his roots as a young pyrotechnician would certainly be retracing footsteps that were long gone. Had he dropped something so long ago he’d forgotten what it actually was?
‘There is one way I might be able to help,’ he found himself saying.
‘A personal recommendation to another company?’ Hope made her eyes shine. They had a dark outline to their pupils, he noticed. Black on brown. A perfect ring to accentuate them. Striking.
‘No. I was thinking more in terms of doing it myself.’
Her breath caught in an audible gasp. ‘But...all those things you said...’
‘They still stand. Whether or not it’s doable would depend on cooperation from your clients with any restrictions, such as what fireworks we happen to have in stock. The site survey and decisions on style and music would have to be done immediately. Tomorrow.’
‘I could arrange that.’ That breathless excitement in her voice was sweet. ‘What time would you be available?’
‘It’s Saturday. We don’t have any major shows happening and I make my own timetable. What time would your clients be available?’
‘We’ll be on site all day. They have a dance lesson in the morning and we’re doing a ceremony rehearsal in the afternoon. Just come anytime that suits. Would you like me to email you a map?’
‘That won’t be necessary. By coincidence, I’m familiar with the property, which is another point in favour of pulling this off. The site survey wouldn’t be an issue.’
* * *
The massive image of exploding fireworks was impossible to miss as Penelope left the office but it was more than simply a glorious advertisement now. For a heartbeat, it felt like she was actually there—seeing them happen and hearing the bone-shaking impact of the detonations.
Excitement, that was what it was. Ralph Edwards might look like a cowboy but he was going to help her get the biggest break she could ever have. Clarissa’s wedding was going to finish with the kind of bang that would have her at the top of any list of desirable wedding planners. On her way to fame and fortune and a lifelong career that couldn’t be more perfect for her. She would be completely independent and then she’d be able to decide what else she might need in her life.
Who else, maybe...
Thanks to the traffic, the drive back to Loxbury was going to take well over two hours, which meant she would be up very late tonight, catching up with her schedule. She could use the time sensibly and think ahead about any potential troubleshooting that might be needed.
Or she could think about fireworks instead. The kind of spectacular shapes and colours that would be painted against the darkness of a rural sky but probably seen by every inhabitant of her nearby hometown and have images reproduced in more than one glossy magazine.
As the miles slid by—despite an odd initial resistance—Penelope also found herself thinking about the tousled cowboy she would have to be working with in the coming week to make this happen. He had to be the most unlikely colleague she could have imagined. Someone she would have instinctively avoided like the plague under normal circumstances, even. But if he could help her make this wedding the event that would launch her career, she was up for it.
Couldn’t wait to see him again, in fact.
‘NO, NO, MONSIEUR BLAKE. Do not bend over your lady like that, or you will lose your balance and you will both end up on the floor. Step to the side and bend your knee as you dip her. Keep your back straight.’
Blake Summers abruptly let go of his bride-to-be but Clarissa caught his arm. ‘Don’t you dare walk out on me again. How are we ever going to learn this dance if you keep walking away?’
He shook his arm free. ‘I can’t do it, babe. I told you that. I. Don’t. Dance.’
‘But this our wedding dance.’ The tone advertised imminent tears. ‘Everyone will be watching. Taking photos.’
‘This whole thing is all about the photos, isn’t it? I’m up to here with it.’ Muscles in the young football star’s arm bunched as he raised a fist well above head level. ‘You know what? If I’d had any idea of how much crap this would all involve I would have thought twice about asking you to marry me.’
‘Oh, my God...’ Clarissa buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Penelope let out a long sigh. She felt rather inclined to follow her example.
The dance teacher, Pierre, came towards her with a wonderfully French gesture that described exactly how frustrated he was also becoming.
‘It’s only a simple dance,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve been here for an hour and we have only covered the first twenty seconds of the song. Do you know how long Monsieur Legend’s “All of Me” goes for?’ He didn’t wait for Penelope to respond. ‘Five minutes and eight seconds—that’s how long. C’est de la torture.’
Blake’s expression morphed from anger to irritation and finally defeat. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Really.’ He put his arms around Clarissa. ‘I just meant we could have eloped or something and got away from all the fuss.’
‘You did mean it.’ Clarissa struggled enough to escape his embrace. ‘You don’t want to marry me.’ She turned her back on him and hugged herself tightly.
‘I do. I love you, babe. All of me, you know, loves all of you.’
Clarissa only sobbed louder. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage left. She walked briskly across the polished wood of the floor and put an arm around her client’s shoulders.
‘It’s okay, hon. We just need to take a break.’ She gave a squeeze. ‘It’s such an emotional time in the final run-up to such a big day. Things can seem a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’
Clarissa nodded, sniffing loudly.
‘And we’ve got a whole week to sort this dance out. Just a few moves that you can repeat for the whole song, isn’t that right, Pierre?’
Pierre shrugged. ‘As you say. Only a few moves.’
Penelope turned her most encouraging smile on the groom-to-be. ‘You’re up for that, aren’t you, Blake? You do know how incredibly sexy it is for a man to be able to dance, even a little bit, don’t you?’
‘Dancing’s for pansies,’ Blake muttered.
Penelope’s smile dimmed. She could feel a vibe coming from Pierre’s direction that suggested she might be about to lose her on-call dance teacher.
‘How ’bout this?’ she suggested brightly. ‘We’ll put the music on and Pierre will dance with Clarissa to show you what you’ll look like on the night. So you can see how romantic it will be. How gorgeous you’ll both look.’
Blake scowled but Clarissa was wiping tears from her face with perfectly French-manicured fingertips. The sideways glance at the undeniably good-looking
