The next evening, Greer sat down at La Di Da, where Royal Bliss was back in the front window, feeling more relaxed than she had in years. It had to have been her sexual shenanigans with Ford. An utterly delicious torpor had overcome her and stayed with her all night and the next day at work. She’d had such a hard time focusing at Two Love Lane, she’d had to drink an extra cup of coffee. She also took a lot of breaks from the phone and computer to walk out to the front porch and stand with her face in the sunshine, breathing the sea air. But everything she did reminded her of the night before at the studio, when she’d sat beneath the transom window and let Ford have his way with her. It made her weak in the knees remembering. Each time she did, a bolt of desire shot to her lower abdomen.
Could anyone tell? It was a little embarrassing. Even at lunch with Miss Thing and a mutual friend, she couldn’t stop daydreaming about Ford. She’d had to cross her legs, but then she’d uncrossed them—nothing was working! She could hardly wait to see him again that night for a few more sketches … and whatever else would come afterward.
But meanwhile, she had to win the wedding cake bake-off. She had no points from the first challenge. So she had to go big or go home.
Chatting with all the brides the day after they’d been chosen as finalists was fun. There wasn’t a mean one in the bunch. And she didn’t feel at all guilty about being in the contest.
Henny disappeared in the back room to take a few phone calls and said she’d return in a jiffy. “Get to know each other,” she said.
Fine, they said. They would. Each one of them looked around a little warily.
“Hi,” said Greer, realizing she could be in the hot seat, and sure enough, someone immediately pounced.
“Do you think you two will actually stay together?” asked one bride, who was a yoga instructor. Her name was Carol.
“I don’t know,” Greer said. “I mean, it was pretty crazy. I was already in the contest, but having a partner helps, and hey … if he’s willing to be my partner, I’ll take it.”
“That’s not very romantic,” another bride said. She was Toni, a cashier at Target.
Greer recognized her because Target was her favorite store. She was there way too much buying random kitchen gadgets, cute tops, sandals, books, and chocolate. “I’m not going to lie,” she said, “and pretend to be in love with him. Do you think I should? I just met him.”
“No,” Toni said. “I like you, and I appreciate your honesty, but I don’t think it’s fair or right that you’re in the contest. You’re not in love, and you aren’t getting married, and you don’t have a real soul mate.”
“Wait,” said the military bride, Lisa. “She does, too, at least a potential one. I heard him ask her to marry him. No guy does that without meaning it at some level.”
“How could he mean it?” Toni asked. “They met the day before. She admits she doesn’t love him.”
“You ever hear of arranged marriages?” Lisa asked. “Sometimes they work. And my own best friend got married on her first date. Seriously. In Vegas.”
“Did they stay together?” Serena asked.
“No,” Lisa said, her cheeks pink. “But they lasted six months!” she added. “That’s pretty darned good.”
Greer wanted to be patient. “Someday I’d like to get married,” she said for the umpteenth time. “Why shouldn’t I look for my dress now? Especially one that will bring true love into my life? Weddings don’t—”
“Just happen by themselves,” Toni and Serena finished for her at the same time.
“They don’t,” said Greer, feeling exhausted. And small. And confused.
Serena shrugged and smiled. “Greer, you have a point. Marriage was on my mind for years, way before I met Wesley.”
“Thanks for telling me that, Serena.” Greer honestly appreciated it. She also hoped no one would find out Serena’s groom was Greer’s old boyfriend, which would make things even more awkward around the other contestants.
Carol smiled. “This is a special group of women. I feel it. And even though Greer is in a slightly different boat from the rest of us, I can’t fault her. She’s been honest the whole way through this contest. She hasn’t broken any rules, and a lot of women start planning their weddings before they even have someone to marry. I say let’s all just enjoy the experience together.”
“I want to do that,” Toni said wistfully. “But I still wish you’d drop out, Greer, because everybody likes your story. They want to see if you two fall in love. So they’re going to vote for you, and I want that dress.” Her voice cracked just a little.
“I wish we all could win Royal Bliss,” Greer said. “Honestly.”
“I have high hopes for you and your new man, Greer,” said Lisa. “When he put his hand over his heart, it made me cry.”
“It was sweet,” Greer said. “I was very touched.”
“Sorry, Greer, but we all know he was totally faking it,” Toni said.
“There’s such a thing as faking it ’til you make it,” Carol said. “I’ve done it myself.”
“That’s what I mean about shopping for my gown now,” said Greer. “I want to fake it until I make it.”
“I think you make a lot of sense,” said Carol.
“I kind of do, too,” said Serena.
“Me, three,” said Lisa.
“Thanks so much.” Greer was grateful for their support.
Toni sighed. “I guess your ‘fake it until you make it’ idea is okay, but I’m still not happy. But don’t mind me. If you’d been one of my best friends doing this, I’d be all for it, probably.”
“Thanks for giving me a chance,” said Greer.
There was a comfortable silence. At least they were getting along.
And then she got an idea. “If I win,” she said, “cross my heart, every one of you is welcome to wear Royal Bliss on your wedding day. As long as you return it to me in my size so I can wear it, too, when I get married.”
“Like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?” Lisa asked.
“Exactly,” said Greer.
The rest of them started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Would you ever share Royal Bliss?” Toni asked the other women. “Think about the history associated with it! It’s one-of-a-kind.”
“A treasure,” Serena agreed. “No way. I’d never share it, except with my future daughter.”
“Same with me,” said Toni.
“I wouldn’t share it, either,” added Carol. “Sorry. Plus, what if you spilled red wine on it?”
“Um, dry clean it?” Greer said.
“As if!” Serena said. “It would never come out.”
“Okay,” Greer said meekly.
“Your idea won’t work for me,” said Lisa, “but thank you for the offer. I’m so tiny, there’s no way we could alter it down for me without cutting out some fabric, so I couldn’t get it back to you in your size.”
Which admittedly, was way bigger than Lisa’s size.
“All right,” Greer said. “But if I win, the offer still stands, and I’m sorry you can’t take me up on it,” she told Lisa.
Henny reappeared. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” said Greer.
“We were just discussing,” Serena said, “the best way to make sure the mothers of the couple getting married complement each other’s look at the wedding.”
Henny’s face brightened. “That’s always an interesting topic!”
The other women nodded but didn’t elaborate. For some reason, no one seemed to want Henny in on their new closer dynamic.
But she figured out it was happening. “Ladies, I’m glad to see y’all bonding,” she said. “I heard you stop talking about something when I came over again. Good for you. Brides need to support each other. You’ll be competing, but that shouldn’t stop you from looking out for each other.”
“Right on,” murmured Lisa.
Henny sat down in the circle and smiled. “All righty,” she said, “it’s time to get the bake-off rolling.”
Everyone clapped.
“Let me explain the voting first,” Henny said. “The people who come to the event get two ballots apiece. They can split their votes, or give you both. We want them to feel some power and extend the fun for them as they walk around the ballroom at Hibernian Hall, looking at your displays and trying to make up their minds.”
“Suits me,” said Toni, the Target bride.
“The number one thing you need to know,” Henny said, “is to be as creative as possible. Your goal is to get people to vote for you. It’s actually more about you and your overall display than the cake alone. So make a statement and pull in those votes, however you feel you can within your budget. There are no rules, really, limiting your creativity. Understood?”
They all said yes.
Henny smiled at all of them. “Okay, now I’m going to have you pick a number out of a hat.”
Greer got the number five, and it turned out that meant she got last pick of the five local vendors who would be baking the cakes. They’d bake two identical ones. One would be for display, and the other would be for the public to consume. The cakes had to be the right size to feed one hundred guests.
Greer got the doughnut store, and felt her heart sink. Yes, everyone loved doughnuts, but hadn’t that wedding cake trend passed? She’d cut out several pictures of different versions of the tiered, ringed creations several years earlier—and now the new trends were much more, well, cake-oriented. Real cake, the kind that had crumbs, and icing.
Beaded cakes were in. They were probably the hottest new look. But so were cakes inspired by geology that featured marble, geodes, and precious metals. Tropical cakes were trending, as were floral-and-fruit ones. Lace cakes and cakes covered by ruffles were all the rage as well.
The other ladies were excited about choosing from their vendors’ selections. They pored over the photos included in their vendor’s file, oohing and aahing, and generally had a ball selecting their cakes.
But what could Greer do? Her file held photo samples of doughnut-themed tiered cakes. They were almost identical to each other. Sure, the icing varied, but that was it.
How to make this wedding cake special? How to make everyone turn to her doughnut cake and say, “I’m voting for this one”?
She had no idea. She tried to logic it out even further, and all she could come up with is that everyone loved doughnuts, and her cake would cost less than the other cakes. They were each given five hundred dollars in their budget, which was to be used for the cake and to decorate their cake table however they wanted to reflect their wedding theme and personality.
What could she do to make people vote for her cake?
She thought about it while walking back home to the Baker House. And when she got there, she saw Jill’s car parked out front. Jill had come into Two Love Lane that morning to pick up the keys to Greer’s apartment.
“Tonight,” she’d said, “when you come home, everything will be in place. Your bedroom will be transformed.”
Now Greer stood in her living room. “You move fast,” she called toward her bedroom.
Jill came out, a big grin on her face. “Hi. Hope you had a good day.”
“Great. How about you? How’s Fern?”
“My day’s been good, “Jill said, “and you’ll be happy to know Fern’s staying in your room. I couldn’t move her. She’s like a queen, all dignified on your new bureau, with those beautiful fern fronds cascading around her.”
“See?” Greer was excited. “She’s like a person.”
“I’ve never met a plant like a person,” said Jill with a laugh. “She’s my first. And she looks amazing in her new surroundings.”
Some of Greer’s nerves departed her. Maybe this room transformation would work out, after all.
“As for moving fast,” Jill said, “I’ve been renting a storage room for a year and filling it with special finds I’d purchase every month with money I scraped together after I paid my bills. I’m glad I can finally use my inventory.”
“I am, too,” Greer said. She decided then and there that if her room was awful, she would simply tell Jill she couldn’t keep it that way and help her move the new furniture back to her storage room and get her old stuff back.
“Ready to see it?” Jill asked.
“Sure.” Greer’s stomach had butterflies. “But I hate to take some of your inventory, especially because you’re not letting me pay for any of this. You’re losing money.”
“I’m investing money in my business,” Jill corrected her. “You’re my guinea pig. Doing this free is the least I can do. And I have a re-buy program. If you ever get sick of this theme—or it outlives its usefulness—I’ll buy the furniture back pro-rated by the number of months you kept it.”
“I love how confident you’re sounding,” said Greer. “Good for you.”
Jill held out her hand. “Trust me, Miss Jones. Now take my hand and close your eyes.”
Greer felt a stirring of excitement. Or dread. She wasn’t sure which. She did as Jill asked, following her across her hardwood floors, felt herself pass over the threshold into her bedroom, and waited for more orders.
“Okay,” said Jill. “Before you open your eyes, do you remember what I said about once you commit to making your living space your loving space, you’ll start noticing changes across the board?”
“Yes.”
“I can see a change in you already. You’re not wearing one of your executive-looking pantsuits. You’re in an A-line skirt. With flowers on it! What happened?”
“I forgot to go to the dry cleaners, is all,” said Greer.
“Why?”
Greer thought about last night and couldn’t help smiling. “I had other things to do.”
Jill laughed. “The way you said that, I know exactly what those other things were! It’s already working. Remember that when you open your eyes. It’s already working and no way do you want to stop the momentum, no matter how shocked you are by what you see.”
“Okaaay,” said Greer.
“Now open your eyes!”
Greer did. She did a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. Her bedroom was now a … a boudoir. Or a bordello. A very pink one. It definitely wasn’t a regular bedroom anymore.
Jill smiled broadly. “Welcome home to ‘The Working Diva Without a Man’ theme, guaranteed to bring a man into your life faster than you ever would otherwise. Go lie down on your new bed.”
Which was covered in a leopard print coverlet and about eight toss pillows in various shades of pink. A big black velvet portrait of Elvis in a gilded gold frame hung above it. And opposite the bed was the Elvis-decoupaged bureau. Fern sat on top of it, her pot wrapped in a giant pink velvet bow.
“My goodness,” said Greer, lying down on her bed. “This is … everything I expected. And more.” On the ceiling above her head was a picture of the entire Baywatch crew in their red bathing suits.
“Do you know how valuable that Elvis picture is?” Jill said. “It’s a collectible. I’m not even going to tell you; you’d get nervous. And that Baywatch poster is giving you California vibes. We all need some of that. What do you think of the mattress?”
Greer had sunk into it. “It’s very fluffy,” she said. She wasn’t used to fluffy. It was kind of fun.
“I almost gave you a water bed instead.”
Greer sat up. She definitely felt perkier. Who wouldn’t? “I didn’t know they still made those.”
“Oh, yes.” Jill sat on the bed next to her. “So do you feel the energy?”
Greer bit her thumb. “I think I do. Actually”—she looked around the room, at the pink ottoman studded with fake diamonds, the fringed lamp, the faux white sheepskin rug in front of her small fireplace, and the big, inviting pink armchair—“I know I do.”
Somehow, this bedroom was making Greer feel a little more loosey-goosey. But that was neither here nor there when she had a bake-off to worry about, and she had only the next day to get ready.
When Jill left, she ran to the arts and craft store on Calhoun Street and picked up some supplies. Ford called while she was there.
“Still coming over?” he asked.
“Yes. See you there at eight.”
She ran home and worked on her bake-off stuff, then finished up a Perfect Wedding album—her nineteenth one. She filled eight pages with pictures of flower arrangements. Then she rode her red Vespa to the cigar factory. She waited on the elevator, and when it opened, Ford was standing there.
She almost jumped.
“I saw you coming on your Vespa,” he said and tugged her into the elevator.
She laughed.
“Need any help with this bake-off?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll let you—”
He pulled her in before she could finish.
It was a very slow ride to the studio. The elevator kept stopping between floors.