Page 54 of Igniting Sparks
“I’m not most men. Who knows, I might even find you the perfect dress. Show them all up.”
“It would be nice to have a buffer between Aunt Bitsy and me. I’m well aware I’m not living up to her expectations.”
“What did I say about putting yourself down? Don’t make me whip out some old-school discipline on you, Mina.”
“What does that mean?” That flush creeps into her cheeks again. She knows damn well what it means—she just hasn’t experienced it.Yet.
I loop an arm around her shoulder, barely hiding my grin when she initiates the kiss. “Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy it.”
“So says you.” She pauses, resting her hand on my chest. “I wish all men were like you.”
“No way. Then I’d have too much competition.”
“Trust me—there’s no competition.”
She’s right. By the end of today, everyone at the expo will know exactly whose rings she’s wearing.
I know people spend a crap ton of money on weddings, but this is next-level.
The main ballroom is a flurry of activity, the numerous French doors propped open as vendors spill onto the stone patio and grassy areas.
Every facet of the wedding industry is here. Hell, maybe every company.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration—but this is twice as large as the tattoo expo in Vegas, and that’s saying something. Granted, the extracurriculars differ slightly. Here, it’s champagne and discussions about tying the knot. In Vegas, it’s beer and a far different variety of knots.
Guess where I feel more at home?
But then I spot a table labeled Build Your Bouquet off to the side.
Now this, I can get behind.
“How much time do we have?” I ask Mina, steering her toward the booth.
“About fifteen minutes. Why?”
I motion to the sign. “Let’s start here. Have a little fun.”
Mina cocks her head, a sprinkle of laughter in her voice. “Really? You’re into flowers?”
I shoot her an exasperated look. “How many greenhouses do I have on the farm? I grew up around plants. Know pretty much every variety of flower.”
“So, you’re a floral genius, huh?” She taps her chin and gives me a playful hip check. “Why don’t we test that theory?”
“Bring it on, beautiful. I’m ready. Home run all the way.”
She exchanges a sunny smile with the florist before pointing to a pink flower. “What’s this?”
“Too easy. Peony.”
She throws up her hands in mock surrender. “Let’s kick it up a notch then, Mr. Big Shot. What’s that one?”
Talk about tossing me softballs. “Iris. Seriously, give me something harder.”
She purses her lips. “What kind of iris?”
“Now we’re talking.” Yeah, I’m showing off—but it’s fun to find something here that makes me feel like an insider. “Siberian iris. Symbolizes elegance and purity. Good enough description for you?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know if you were right or not.”
