Page 68 of Savannah Sweethearts

It was one of my favorite pieces in the place. “My mother commissioned that from Geoffrey Bucklier. Have you heard of him?”

The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Heard of him? He’s my favorite artist, I would kill for one of his paintings.”

Amaya crinkled her nose. It was adorable, not that I noticed. “Misty, did I tell you that Geoffrey’s daughter Ingrid was married here seven years ago? Sadly, I was not in attendance, but that should attest to the beauty and prominence of this venue.”

It was a fact I didn’t even know. I only remembered my mother telling me she had commissioned the piece. The bride squealed in delight.

“Why don’t you all go into the ballroom right here? I will be right behind you,” Amaya offered. The bride scurried in, the groom bored behind her. When they were out of sight, Amaya turned to me. “Thank you. That is a great selling point. She’s a socialite if you couldn’t tell.”

“High profile client, then?”

She nodded. “I get them on occasion. And sometimes they don’t want it to look like they had to hire a coordinator. And the guy’s only request was that his brothers be groomsmen and he has four brothers. She has a sister and two best friends, so she needed a fourth. It will be a huge wedding.”

Unsure what to say, I nodded and made my excuses to let her get back to her clients. She briefly touched my hand as she said goodbye and I could feel a spark come from her. Was it an electric shock? No, these floors weren’t carpeted, there was nothing to cause it. Maybe it was just from her own electric charm.

Back in my office, I made a few phone calls and looked over the schedule for the next several months. Every weekend was booked with weddings, anniversary parties, corporate events, and more. The business was making money but largely sat unused during the week. There had to be something more that the space could be used for. Maybe we could rent it out to small businesses. I understood practicality, not all this whimsy.

Which is why I was considering selling the entire place once my mother retired properly. I was a corporate man, not a party planner. I knew nothing about running an event location except how to pay for the catering. I had spoken to three interested parties already and planned to show them The Promenade in the coming weeks to gauge their interest.

My mother flitted into my office. “Orlando, darling, did you see that Amaya Journet is here?” She perched on the arm of a chair opposite me.

“I did indeed. I told the bride with her that we had a Bucklier. She was duly impressed.” I lifted my coffee cup for a drink of the lukewarm liquid.

“Such a sweet girl, that Amaya. You could speak with her today about working here. I would love to have her join the family.”

Coffee sputtered from my mouth as I choked. Join the family? Thankfully most of the coffee was swallowed and a little ended up leaving droplets all over my desk. I was glad there were no contracts laying on top.

“Orlando! What on earth?”

I wiped my mouth with a tissue and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Mom. Join the family? What do you mean?”

Her eyes grew large. “Join us here working at The Promenade. What did you think I meant?”

Tears formed in my eyes from the coughing. “I don’t…” cough, cough, “I just…” cough, cough, “Nevermind.”

Slight wrinkles worked their way around my mother’s eyes. “You like her, Orlando. I thought you might get on with her. She’s sweet young lady.”

“I’m here to assess the business, Mom, not swoon over gorgeous bridesmaids.” I cleared my throat again, finally feeling somewhat normal.

“I never said she was gorgeous. That was you.” She stood and looked out my office door, her face lighting up even more. “And there she is now with a vision of a bride. How did you like The Promenade?” Mom shook hands with the couple and then with Amaya.

“It was perfection. The crystal chandelier!” The bride made a chef’s kiss gesture and gushed some more.

“Right in here and my son can talk with you. I have an appointment of my own to rush off to,” Mom said, ushering the three visitors into my office.

I only had two chairs and Amaya immediately offered them to the couple. The woman – Missy? – took one and the guy hesitated before Amaya jumped back out and grabbed a chair from elsewhere. He finally sat.

We hashed out details for their nuptials. Everything was still done in an old black binder with dates that stretched out two years. We’ll need to update this if I keep everything going. We need a site-wide network that allowed everyone to interact and see what was happening when, from caterers to waitstaff to the cleaning crew.

After booking their wedding and paying a hefty deposit, the couple excused themselves and left. Amaya stayed behind just outside my office door. Once they were out of earshot, she turned and looked at me expectantly.

“Did you need something else?” I again picked up my coffee mug, only to remember it was completely cold now.

She plopped herself down on one of the chairs that belonged in my office. “Cordelia said you wanted to speak with me,” she said as she rotated her foot in the air, wincing as she did so.

“Is your ankle okay?”

She chuckled. “Don’t laugh at me, but I can feel rain coming in my ankle. Old dancing injury that flares up in bad weather. It’ll be okay.” She put her foot back down, her calf muscles flexing in the three-inch heels she wore. “What did you need to talk about?”

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