Page 52 of Heart Strings
“Gabriel Maguire, huh? You’re an arsehole.” Saoirse rejects the card.
He blinks a couple times before his expression falls. “Oh…Oh no.You’rethe florist.”
“I guess I’m not a ‘real professional’ like you.”
“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to say that I wouldn’t have paired sunflowers with—”
“I don’t care.” Saoirse shoves the taper back into place on a branch a little too forcefully for it tonotbe a message.
“I thought you worked for the castle!”
“I thoughtyouworked for the castle.” Saoirse seems to remember me, still up on the ladder, watching this entire interaction. “I don’t need help, Mr. Maguire. Thank you. Aidan, let’s get this ugly thing hung so I can finish setting up this amateur design.”
Gabe’s attention snaps to me, and God help me, I pity the man. He doesn’t even say anything, just gazes at Saoirse in consternation. Then there’s the sound of his crutches against the stone floor of the reception hall as he retreats.
Tossing her head, Saoirse marches over to the second cable holding the branch. She never allows herself to be proud of her achievements, like successfully running the flower shop or playinga fiddle solo on a hit song, but as we entered this decadent space, I could feel her sense of accomplishment. Then one careless comment dashed it all.
“You’ve done a fine job, Saoirse. It’s beautiful and Lark loves it. Ignore that twat,” I say, readying my length of cable. Together, we smoothly pull the branch and secure each side.
“I should expect it. Things get cutthroat in the wedding world, especially when you start getting booked for custom installations in venues like this.”
“He’s clearly threatened by you, then.”
Saoirse smiles. “He should be.”
As the timeof the ceremony draws near, I busy myself with last-minute tasks. A mechanic arrives to pick up Callum’s car and after that’s squared away, I head to the bar. A toast with the groom is in order. Callum doesn’t do well with a lot of attention and a nip of whisky might ease his anxiety. There’s a quick exchange—the barkeep already knew to expect me—and I thank him for the bottle. Whisky acquired.
Cielo’s father, Gustavo, is seated in a leather chair in the lobby, tapping away on a laptop. Lo must have inherited her tireless work ethic from him.
“Mr. Valdez. Good morning.”
“You’re Lo’s friend.”
Friend.
“Aidan. Best man,” I supply, extending my free hand. Of course, being spotted at a bar just after breakfast doesn’t give the best impression. He’s businesslike, especially in that impeccablesuit. Cielo told me he rarely cuts loose. Holidays, mostly, which is why she loved their family’s annual Nochebuena celebration. It was a glimpse into the more carefree version of the man who raised her.
His eyes are trained on the bottle clutched in my hand.
“I’m, erm, just picking up something to calm the groom’s nerves,” I explain.
Gustavo’s smile warms slightly. “Been there.”
My family bickers and then makes amends minutes later. Lo’s communication with her parents feels like it’s in breakdown by comparison, but I can’t force things between them. Lark, Cielo, and their mothers enjoyed a private breakfast to avoid the bad luck of the bride and groom seeing each other before the ceremony. It made sense that Lo’s father wouldn’t be invited, but I feel for the man.
“About what happened at the rehearsal—Lo is just protective of her mom.”
“Well, I’m not here to cause trouble,” Gustavo says. “I’m just here to support my niece and spend a little time with my daughter. But she doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me.”
There’s hurt and guilt in his eyes. I understand because I’ve been there, regretting the decisions I made with Lo. “Yeah, she’ll push you away at first, but she’s worth the trouble. Don’t give up on her because she’s stubborn.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” I say. “She’ll just act like she does for a while.”
“Okay, you’re definitely speaking from experience,” Gustavo says then lightly laughs.
I crack a cautious smile. “Maybe.”
