Page 135 of At the Heart of It
There. She surveyed her work, then nodded. Someone else would find them and claim them. Someone else would take them to a sick relative who’d smile and laugh and reach up to touch the plump, colorful shapes.
She turned back to the car and moved around to the passenger side, winded and spent as she dropped into the seat again.
“Feel better now?” Kendall asked.
“A little.”
“Probably better than that dead pigeon you almost stepped on.”
Meg turned in her seat to look behind them as Kendall pulled away from the curb. Get well soon! the balloon commanded the corpse of a gray and green bird.
Meg closed her eyes and slid down in her seat, wondering if pigeons mated for life the way doves did, wondering if she had any right at all to feel this undone.
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As promised, I wanted to give you a peek at my Ponderosa Resort rom-com series. It’s a reader favorite centered around adult siblings working to turn their late-father’s vanity ranch into a luxury resort (all while getting to know each other because they had different mothers. Er, Dad got around). Keep reading for a peek at Chef Sugarlips . . .
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Amber
“Picture a bunch of twinkle lights in those rafters, and the hay bales over there would be the edge of the dance floor.”
I deliver my most charming smile to the bride and groom before zeroing in on the mother of the bride. She beams like I’ve handed her a puppy and a vodka-laced Frappuccino, and I’m positive I am currently her favorite person in this barn.
I have that effect on moms.
But it’s the bride who needs convincing, so I turn back to her. Julia’s blonde hair is arranged in a stylishly messy French twist, and her outfit is classic college-girl-approaching-the-threshold-of-real-life. I want to ask where she found her vintage Coach bag, but now’s not the time.
“Did you get the Pinterest page I sent with those flowers in mason jars?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says slowly, glancing around like she expects a farm animal ambush. “They’d be pretty with rose gold ribbon.”
“Absolutely.” I flick a hand toward the imaginary tables. “Picture them with little stargazer lilies. Or maybe early-season tulips. Those should be available this time of year.”
Julia’s blue eyes continue a survey of the space, and I know she’s seeing it in her mind.
The rustic wine barrels spilling with wildflowers.
The cute chalkboard signs pointing people to her guest book.
The train of her gown gliding through a pile of fresh reindeer droppings.
The beast responsible for the droppings snorts and rubs her branchlike antlers on a post.
“Tammy won’t be invited to your ceremony,” I assure the bride and groom. “We keep the reindeer penned up during weddings.”
Tammy the reindeer stamps a hoof and keeps banging her antlers on the post. She’s due to lose them any day now, and I say a silent prayer it won’t happen in the next five minutes.
“It’s totally fine, honey,” the mother of the bride assures me. “The whole point of doing a rustic, country-style wedding is having some flavor.”
“We can certainly offer that.” I turn back to the happy couple. “We’re all about the quaint, country charm.”
The groom—who’s been mostly quiet up to this point—takes his bride’s hand and studies her face as intently as she’s watching Tammy. “What do you think, honey?” he says. “It has that homey, folksy vibe going for it.”
