Black Rose

the living room and the boys’ rooms painted and furnished. You wouldn’t believe some of the gorgeous pieces his mother gave him that he’s had stuffed in a storage garage.”
    “This dracaena should work here. Nerves are expected, I’d think. A bride’s still a bride, first time around or not.”
    “Were you nervous the second time? I know it turned out awful, but...”
    “No, I wasn’t.” Her tone was flat. Not bitter, just empty. “Should’ve told me something. You’re nervous because you’re excited and you’re happy, and because you’re the type who’ll worry over every detail. Worry especially when it’s important.”
    “I just want everything to look special. Perfect. I must’ve been crazy, deciding to have the wedding outside in the backyard when the gardens weren’t even finished. Now we only have until April to get it all done.”
    “And you will. You and Logan know what you’re doing about the planting, about each other, about everything that matters.”
    “Remind me of that every now and again, would you?”
    “Happy to. These look good.” She stepped back, fisted her gloved hands on her hips. “You got prices worked up?”
    “Thirty-four fifty. Forty-five ninety-five for the large size.”
    “Sounds good. Nice profit margin since the plants are mostly all divisions.”
    “And a good value for our customers since they’re not going to see dish gardens this full or lush anywhere. I’ll help you carry some in, then plug these into the inventory.”

    They loaded a flat cart, wheeled it into the main building. When Stella started to shift stock to rearrange, Roz nudged her aside.
    “Go on, do the paperwork. If you start here fiddling with display, you’ll be here an hour. You’re just going to come back when I’m done and fool with it anyway.”
    “I was just thinking if we grouped some of the smaller ones over there, and used a couple of those tile-topped tables—”
    “I’ll figure it out, then you can come behind me and... refine it.”
    “If you put one of the larger ones on that wrought-iron patio table, and put one of the little brass lanterns with it, then set that sixteen-inch clay pot of bird of paradise beside it, it would be a strong display. And I’m going.”
    Amused, Roz shifted stock, arranged the new. And since she had to admit Stella was on target, as usual, set up the table as outlined.
    “Why, Rosalind Harper, there you are!”
    Because Roz’s back was turned, she indulged herself in a single wince before schooling her face to more welcoming lines.
    “Hey there, Cissy.”
    She allowed the standard greeting, a peck that stopped an inch from her cheek, then resigned herself to losing a quarter of an hour in chatter.
    “Don’t you look pretty,” Roz said. “Is that a new suit?”
    “This?” Cissy waved one of her French-manicured hands, dismissing the cherry-red suit. “Just yanked it out of my closet this morning. I swear, Roz, are you ever going to gain an ounce? Every time I see you, I feel obliged to sweat an extra twenty minutes on my exercise machine.”
    “You look wonderful, Cissy.” Which was invariably true. One of the skills Cecilia Pratt had most honed was in turning herself out. Her hair was an attractive streaky blond worn in a ruler-straight swing that suited her round, youthful face with its winking dimples and walnut-brown eyes.
    From the outfit, Roz assumed she’d just come from some lady lunch, or committee meeting, and had come by to sow and to harvest gossip.
    Gossip was Cissy’s other keen skill.
    “I don’t see how I could, I’m just worn out . The holidays just about did me in this year. Every time you turned around, there was another party. I don’t think I’ve caught my breath since Thanksgiving. Now before you know it, it’ll be the Spring Ball at the club. Tell me you’re going this year, Roz. It’s just not the same without you.”
    “Haven’t thought about it.”
    “Well, do. Sit down here a minute and let’s catch up. I swear I can’t stay on my feet another minute .” To prove it, she sat on the bench near the table display Roz had just completed. “Isn’t this nice? It’s just like sitting in a tropical garden somewhere. Hank and I are heading down to the Caymans next week for some sun. I need the break, let me tell you.”
    “Won’t that be fun.” Trapped by manners, Roz joined her on the bench.
    “You ought to take yourself a nice tropical vacation, honey.” Cissy patted Roz’s