She is pinned between the wall and an imitation ficus tree. Doris is furious that the floral arrangements on the head table are twenty-four inches tall rather than eighteen, per her instructions.
“You’ll have to ask the janitors for a pair of shears,” she’d said. “Cut six inches off each of the stems. But be discreet about it! We don’t want our guests thinking this was a DIY wedding.”
Fern has no intention of asking the janitorial team for anything, not even a hammer to beat Doris over the head with.
“Imagine meeting you here.” Mack approaches with a shit-eating grin on his face and a beer in his hand. “Regretting keeping your announcement secret yet?”
“I regretted it from the beginning.” She reaches for his beer and takes a long sip. “But I’m taking my punishment. I deserve it.”
“Taking your punishment by hiding from Doris?”
Fern scowls at him. He doesn’t need to rub it in. “I’m on break. Every worker is mandated to have a break after a certain number of hours. It’s the law.”
Mack’s grin softens, his sympathetic side reemerging. “Need anything to eat? I can bring you a basket of rolls.”
“Yes, please.” She honestly doesn’t know what she’d do without Mack. “And promise you’ll check on me before you leave tonight. My invitation to the after-party at Emma’s has probably been rescinded.”