Page 4 of Rules

"I'm not even going to say anything, this one has to be experienced." Mary spun on her heel and left the room with the most mischievous smile.

"Shit."

Mary's been my right hand since I opened the shop. I cherish her 'say it like it is' policy when it comes to people, even when her snark is borderline insulting. Although I would never admit my cherishing to Mary as that would just encourage her. I know, when she uses that voice, it usually means the customer is going to be a pain in the ass to deal with. When she won't even tell me what they're like, it's going to suck.

Planner, phone and pen in hand, Joey, my Chihuahua, catches my hesitation and tilts his head questioningly. He's been my constant companion since Tobias found him abandoned in our parking lot, just a tiny puppy shivering in a cardboard box. The sheriff brought him in for water, and that was it - love at first sight. For both Joey and me, though in his mind, I'm completely forgotten about when Tobias is around. I think it's a bromance thing.

"Come on, handsome." I look down at him. "Time to work your charm."

Rounding the corner into the main shop, I stopped for a moment and had to stifle a groan. Three cork boards packed with pictures, strings, and arrows stand on easels looking like some sort of flower murder scene. Six women crowd around my consultation table, tension radiating between them like heat waves. The bride is easy to spot - she's clutching three different wedding planners, a laptop, and what looks like enough fabric swatches to reupholster the entire shop. But it's the two older women flanking her that set off my warning bells. Both are dressed for battle in designer suits, their smiles as sharp as cut crystal. Each of them examined my shop like someone just served them a paper bag of fast food complete with ketchup packets and oily napkins.

Oh, for the love of all things holy. Why didn't I go into medicine?

"Welcome to Blossoms." I slide my planner onto the table, claiming my usual spot at the head. "I'm Ruth. You've met Mary, and this little gentleman is Joey."

The usual chorus of coos and awws follows as Joey makes his rounds. He may be small, but he's got impeccable timing - his presence often defuses tension better than any words could. Today though, even Joey's charm can't fully dispel the crackling hostility between the two matriarchs.

"The bride next to me, please," I direct, watching the elaborate dance of musical chairs that follows. Everyone shifts, rearranges, then shifts again until they're satisfied with the pecking order. I've seen this choreography enough times to know it's all about power - who sits where, who speaks first, who controls the narrative. Only this time I've thrown a wrench into the seating order by positioning myself next to the bride. One of the suits sighs and slides around me, booting the girl that was seated there.

I could have been a nurse or maybe a radiologist. But, no, I chose flowers.

"Now then," I open my planner, "congratulations on your engagement. May I see the ring?"

The bride, Jessica, according to my notes, practically thrusts her hand at me. The diamond is enormous, ostentatious really, but before I can comment, both mothers lean in.

"I helped pick it out," they chorus simultaneously, then turn to glare at each other.

"They helped him," Jessica smiles while looking at the table.

It's my policy in these situations to deal with the bride. It's her day and usually I find that the barracudas have worn the bride down so much that she's not even sure what she wants anymore.

"Let's start with your vision for the big day," I address Jessica. "What sort of feeling are you hoping to create?"

"Traditional," the mother on the left declares.

"Formal," insists the one on the right.

"A rainy night," Jessica whispers, her voice nearly lost between them.

"That sounds fun, what colors have you picked?" I glanced at the boards.

"Teal and dark purple," Jessica hands me two paint swatches, "with silver accents."

"No, no, no," the lady next to her shakes her head. "We discussed this, you can't plan a wedding around a rainy night. No, you want soft pink and ivory."

"Soft pink and ivory, no thank you. We're going black and white, a formal affair. I can't for the life of me figure out where you came up with the rainy night plan."

"I'm curious about that too," I said facing Jessica, "why a rainy night?" She looked nervously at the two women then at me and I smiled an encouraging smile.

"We love to dance in the rain," Jessica looks happily lost in a memory, "he proposed in the rain."

"Aww, I think that's wonderful," my inner romantic kicked in. "We definitely have some options."

The next hour passes in a blur of competing demands. Every suggestion meets with instant opposition. By the time we reach centerpiece discussion, I'm at my breaking point. It's clear that Jessica wanted none of the boards, planners, nothing. She just wants to have the wedding she wants. After showing my suggestions for her bouquet, I had to put a stop to the current mother argument.

"I'm so sorry neither of you got the weddings you wanted." I started, "but this is Jessica's wedding and as far as my shop is concerned, we'll be helping Jessica bring her dream to life. If the two of you want to continue to argue every decision, you can leave. But my hope is that Jessica means more to you than your behavior suggests." I paused as they stared at me. "Trust me, wecan make this a stunning event. One that will make all the ladies in town incredibly jealous." Catching Jessica's eye she smiled and gave me a small wink.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mary who's working the front counter: "Chet next door just called and he said the bakery was robbed this morning. Sue Bradley got hurt. Like hurt, hurt."

---