Buried In Buttercream

“the spa was gracious enough to allow us to cancel that reservation. Which means, we’re looking for another wedding present to give you ... for the next wedding, that is.”
    “You don’t have to give us anything,” Dirk told them. “Your friendship’s enough and—”
    “You don’t mean that,” Ryan said with a grin.
    Dirk laughed. “True. I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to, far be it from me to refuse ... considering the kind of presents you two give!”
    “Well, this one’s a bit unusual, but we think you might like it,” Ryan continued. “You see, we’ve been worried about you, Savannah. All the exertion and stress, and you trying to recuperate from your ... um ... you trying to heal and ...”
    Dirk raised one eyebrow and said to Savannah, “Now, see there. I’m not the only one who’s protective. Why don’t you yell at them when they tell you to take care of yourself?”
    “Because they don’t hover over me, night and day, like a giant, half-starved, Louisiana mosquito.” She shot warning looks at Ryan and John. “But if they get carried away and get on my nerves, I’ll yell at them, too.”
    “Now, love,” John said, “we just want what’s best for you. And that’s why we thought you might benefit from the services of a top-notch wedding planner.”
    “A wedding planner?” Savannah shook her head, unable to even conceive of such a luxury.
    “We’ve already spoken to one, an acquaintance of ours, and told her about your sad situation,” Ryan explained. “She knows about the fire, about all your family being here from out of state, about your ... well ... how you’re trying to get your strength back.”
    “My strength is back. Wanna arm wrestle?” Savannah propped her elbow on the table beside him, fist in the air.
    Ryan blinked a couple of times. “You’re kidding, right?”
    She took her arm down. “Of course, I am. But watch what you say.”
    She took a long drink of coffee and tried to choose her words carefully so that she would sound appropriately grateful and not bitter. “So, you told this wedding planner gal about my ... uh ... run of bad luck, and she took pity on me and is willing to take me on as some sort of charity case?”
    Okay. So much for not sounding bitter.
    “I’m sorry,” she added, staring down into her coffee mug. “That didn’t come out right.”
    For a long time, no one said anything. Then, just as the silence became unbearable, Ryan reached over and put his arm around her shoulders. “Savannah ... honey,” he said, “you’re not even close to a ‘charity case’ of any kind. There’s nothing in the world wrong with letting the people who love you lend a helping hand from time to time.”
    “And this is one of those times, dear,” John said. “Madeline Aberson is one of the best at what she does. Her client list is most impressive! She’s wonderfully creative and resourceful and has connections that you or I never dreamed of.”
    Savannah shook her head. “I’m sure that her clients’ pocketbooks have a few more shekels than mine. If I can’t afford her services myself, I’m sure I can’t afford her sort of party.”
    She looked down at the plateful of crumbs. “Heck, I’m going to have to bake my own cake next time.”
    “Naw,” Dirk said. “I figure I can go into Patty Cake Bakery and flirt with Patty and get a deal. I’ll wear those jeans that she likes so much.”
    Savannah gave him a baleful look across the table as she briefly contemplated the feasibility of cramming that little groom figurine up his left nostril.
    John rolled his eyes and gouged Dirk in the ribs with his elbow. “Anyway, if you could just speak to her, Savannah. She’s willing to meet with you and discuss it, and you can make up your mind then.”
    She thought it over.
    She hated the idea, but when she looked into her friends’ faces, so hopeful, so eager to please, so determined to help—whether she wanted them to or not—what could she do?
    “All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to her. That’s all. No promises.”
    Ryan and John were all smiles. Even Dirk had a big grin.
    “And you ,” she told him, “you stay away from Patty, or I swear, I’ll slap you neked and hide your clothes ... especially those damned jeans that she ... and I ... are so fond of!”

Chapter 4
    I hate her.
    The simple sentence kept running through Savannah’s brain as she sat in the stuffy little tearoom of Madeline Aberson’s choosing and