Page 33 of Champagne Fizz

8

SIMON

It’s three in the afternoon, and I’m sitting in my office running the numbers when Arie blows into my office like a red-haired typhoon.

“Special delivery!” My business partner announces, carrying a large delivery bag in one hand and a black and gold Flambé pastry box in the other.

I don’t do deliveries.

In fact, it’s Olivia who normally does them, shooting through the city on her mint-green moped like the confection-carrying ninja she is. Only, she’s been unavailable lately with wedding plans.

“What is that?” I ask suspiciously as Arie places the box in front of me with a wicked smile on her lips. I push the box to the farthest corner of my desk with a single finger like it contains a tarantula. “I’m not the delivery man.”

“Yes, but this one’s special,” Arie sing-songs, tapping the top of the box with a trill to her fingers.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’ve worked with you and Connor long enough to knowspecialis code for meddling.”

Arie flips open the box and tilts the contents toward me. Inside is a bright yellow tart with big red hearts piped on them.

“It’s a peace offering for Miss Canary Pom-Pom,” Arie says sweetly. “A metaphoric olive branch if you will. One that says—”

“I’ve poisoned this tart and I’m going to metaphorically eat your heart?” I interrupt, pointing at the decorations.

“Wow,” Arie chides. “Someone spent way too much time over-analyzing whatever he read in English class. This is very literal, Simon. Her name is Hart and she likes yellow. I thought this would be—”

“If you say the word nice,” I warn, cutting her off again and pointing an accusing finger in her direction. “Then I’m going to walk this piece of evidence down to security and have it tested for arsenic. After which, I’m going to be forced to close the restaurant because I won’t trust you to serve non-poisoned food anymore.”

Arie tilts her head like she hadn’t considered that option, but maybe she is now.

“Fine,” Arie says, crossing her arms. “It may be a bit on the nose.”

“A little?” I toss back. “In fact, I’m surprised they’re not covered in fuzz.”

“I thought about that,” Arie admits. “But if Canary Pom-Pom doesn’t eat them, I know Olivia will. Tarts have a special place in her and Ned’s—”

“Yes, we all know you played matchmaker with Olivia and Ned using tarts,” I grumble, which is why I don’t trust this fool’s errand. Arie always has an ulterior motive and being friendly and generous isn’t one of them. “What’s the real point of this errand? Kendall’s not going to accept free desserts from her arch nemesis without being suspicious.”

Arie drops the delivery bag on my table with a thunk. “These also go with the tarts.”

I lean forward and peek into the bag, not sure I want to know what’s inside it. To my surprise it’s a stack of wedding magazines. I pluck the first out of the bag, only to see that it’s feathered with several dozen post-its.

“What is this?” I ask hesitantly.

“Olivia and I went through these together,” Arie says with an air of possessiveness as if she needs to prove that Olivia was her friend first, even though Kendall was hired to plan the wedding and isn’t trying to encroach on anyone’s friendship territory. “And we’ve made some notes about whatwouldbe acceptable for the wedding and whatwould notbe.”

I open to the first post-it and there’s an arrow pointing to a picture of a balloon arch with the note:If you do this, I’ll murder you.

“Murder?” I say pointedly, tilting the page at Arie. “Are you trying to give the cops an iron-clad case when Kendall not-so-mysteriously kicks the bucket after eating your desserts?”

“I use colorful language,” Arie defends. “And she wears colorful outfits. Po-tay-toh, Po-tah-toe, Simon.”

I flip to the next marker and at least it’s nicer. It points out decorations that would be Arie-approved: black candelabras, wedding invitations with wax seals, gold accents.

“It’s not your wedding, you know,” I warn as I flip through several more pages.

“Hence, I did thiswithOlivia,” Arie reiterates.

“Nobody likes to be micromanaged,” I hedge, certain this is a bad idea.

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