Read Online Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra D. Bricker
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exquisite," Sherilyn gushed. "I love the place."
"How much stretch do you think the sellers have on their asking price?" Andy inquired.
"The house has been on the market for more than ninety days. In this economic climate, I think they'll be excited to have an offer."
As Andy discussed the details of the offer with Lola, Sherilyn wandered into the empty family room. The visual came readily: Andy's brown micro suede sectional, and her two easy chairs upholstered in deep navy blue. They would look beautiful centered around the focal point of that large stone fireplace on the far wall.
Just as she turned back in hopes of painting the picture for Andy, Sherilyn spotted the large ball of fur at the sliding glass door, and she jumped.
"What's wrong?" Andy asked, stalking toward her from the kitchen.
She nodded toward the door, and Lola gasped. "What in the world is that?"
"It's a dog," Sherilyn replied. "He was hiding in the trees in the backyard."
"Oh, he should have stayed there," she said, wrinkling up her nose and shaking her head.
Sherilyn chuckled, but Andy hurried toward the door and slid it open. "Don't say that," he said, rubbing the dog's neck.
"He's lost."
Lola raised an eyebrow at Sherilyn and clicked her tongue.
"Not anymore. Sorry, sweetie."
The drive back to Vanessa Drummond's house confirmed Lola's suspicion. Sherilyn drove while Andy sat in the back seat, the large, once-white beast draped over his lap.
It's okay, she told herself. It's only temporary.
Surely, she could count on Andy's mother to put the kibosh on things the instant her son came walking into her pristine home with Big Foot in tow.
"What is that noise he's making, Andy?"
"Ah, man! It's in my shoe."
"What's in your shoe? . . . Oh, and what is that smell?"
"He's apparently not used to riding in a car."
This was Andy's explanation for the dog vomit that ran down his pant leg and into his shoe.
"Thanks so much for coming, everyone! Just take a seat around the table and Fee will pour you some tea."
Sherilyn sat down at the foot of the table on one of the counter-height stools around the stainless steel worktable in Emma's kitchen, Madeline to her left and Pearl to her right.
"You met Norma Jean," Madeline noted, and Norma smiled at her. "Have you met Georgiann?"
"I have not."
The older of the two women on the other side of Madeline offered her hand. "This is Georgiann Markinson. Georgiann, meet Sherilyn Caine."
"I'm so happy to meet you," Georgiann told her. "Emma has been singing your praises for weeks on end."
As Emma pulled a stool over to the far end of the table and angled it next to Fee, Norma whispered, "I can't wait to work with you, Sherilyn. Welcome."
"Thank you," she mouthed in reply.
"So Pearl arranged for us to meet a friend of hers last week," Emma announced, and the group of women shifted to give her their full attention. "This woman was amazing, wasn't she, Fee?" She paused long enough for Fee to nod before continuing. "Cynthia Starkey. She's been studying and creating recipes for English tea for more than thirty years. Well, she came and spent two days with us and shared her expertise so that we can improve upon the tea room menu."
"Before I met Cyn," Fee told them, "I was like, dude, why fix what ain't broken, right? But an hour with her, and Emma had me right on board."
"I don't know if everyone here had the chance to see the write-up a couple of weeks ago in the Sunday Journal?"
"I meant to congratulate you both," Susannah Littlefield said from her seat beside Pearl. "Jackson showed it to me that Monday morning."
"They wrote that, in the short time we've been here, we've emerged as Atlanta's Best in tea rooms!" Emma said straight to Sherilyn.
"That's wonderful!"
"So anyway, Fee and I met with Cynthia, and I think we've developed some pretty great additions to the menu. We didn't go to all the trouble of setting it up in the courtyard with full china and linens—"
"What, we're not worth the trouble?"
"How much stretch do you think the sellers have on their asking price?" Andy inquired.
"The house has been on the market for more than ninety days. In this economic climate, I think they'll be excited to have an offer."
As Andy discussed the details of the offer with Lola, Sherilyn wandered into the empty family room. The visual came readily: Andy's brown micro suede sectional, and her two easy chairs upholstered in deep navy blue. They would look beautiful centered around the focal point of that large stone fireplace on the far wall.
Just as she turned back in hopes of painting the picture for Andy, Sherilyn spotted the large ball of fur at the sliding glass door, and she jumped.
"What's wrong?" Andy asked, stalking toward her from the kitchen.
She nodded toward the door, and Lola gasped. "What in the world is that?"
"It's a dog," Sherilyn replied. "He was hiding in the trees in the backyard."
"Oh, he should have stayed there," she said, wrinkling up her nose and shaking her head.
Sherilyn chuckled, but Andy hurried toward the door and slid it open. "Don't say that," he said, rubbing the dog's neck.
"He's lost."
Lola raised an eyebrow at Sherilyn and clicked her tongue.
"Not anymore. Sorry, sweetie."
The drive back to Vanessa Drummond's house confirmed Lola's suspicion. Sherilyn drove while Andy sat in the back seat, the large, once-white beast draped over his lap.
It's okay, she told herself. It's only temporary.
Surely, she could count on Andy's mother to put the kibosh on things the instant her son came walking into her pristine home with Big Foot in tow.
"What is that noise he's making, Andy?"
"Ah, man! It's in my shoe."
"What's in your shoe? . . . Oh, and what is that smell?"
"He's apparently not used to riding in a car."
This was Andy's explanation for the dog vomit that ran down his pant leg and into his shoe.
"Thanks so much for coming, everyone! Just take a seat around the table and Fee will pour you some tea."
Sherilyn sat down at the foot of the table on one of the counter-height stools around the stainless steel worktable in Emma's kitchen, Madeline to her left and Pearl to her right.
"You met Norma Jean," Madeline noted, and Norma smiled at her. "Have you met Georgiann?"
"I have not."
The older of the two women on the other side of Madeline offered her hand. "This is Georgiann Markinson. Georgiann, meet Sherilyn Caine."
"I'm so happy to meet you," Georgiann told her. "Emma has been singing your praises for weeks on end."
As Emma pulled a stool over to the far end of the table and angled it next to Fee, Norma whispered, "I can't wait to work with you, Sherilyn. Welcome."
"Thank you," she mouthed in reply.
"So Pearl arranged for us to meet a friend of hers last week," Emma announced, and the group of women shifted to give her their full attention. "This woman was amazing, wasn't she, Fee?" She paused long enough for Fee to nod before continuing. "Cynthia Starkey. She's been studying and creating recipes for English tea for more than thirty years. Well, she came and spent two days with us and shared her expertise so that we can improve upon the tea room menu."
"Before I met Cyn," Fee told them, "I was like, dude, why fix what ain't broken, right? But an hour with her, and Emma had me right on board."
"I don't know if everyone here had the chance to see the write-up a couple of weeks ago in the Sunday Journal?"
"I meant to congratulate you both," Susannah Littlefield said from her seat beside Pearl. "Jackson showed it to me that Monday morning."
"They wrote that, in the short time we've been here, we've emerged as Atlanta's Best in tea rooms!" Emma said straight to Sherilyn.
"That's wonderful!"
"So anyway, Fee and I met with Cynthia, and I think we've developed some pretty great additions to the menu. We didn't go to all the trouble of setting it up in the courtyard with full china and linens—"
"What, we're not worth the trouble?"
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