Bridesmaid For Hire

By the time she hung up, Gina was fairly certain that Sylvie had calmed down sufficiently to be downgraded from the level of “bridezilla” to an almost normal, anxious bride-to-be.

While talking to Sylvie, she’d gotten very specific directions about the kind of multitiered wedding cake the bride and groom had their hearts set on—although she strongly suspected that the groom’s “heart” wasn’t nearly as involved in this choice as the bride’s was. She’d even had to promise Sylvie that she’d stop by the bakery to engage this so-called sought-after cake “artiste” known as Cassidy right after she ended their call.

All in all, Gina thought, pressing the end call button on her cell, this was shaping up to be a really productive day.

But before she did anything else, she decided as she grabbed her purse and her squadron of keys, she needed to stop at Manetti’s Catering. It was only right for her to thank the woman who had sent this new bit of business her way.

Because of its ever-expanding clientele, the catering company had recently moved out of its former rather small, confining quarters to a genuine homey-looking shop where the shop’s homemade pastries and sandwiches-to-go could be properly showcased and also seen through the large bay windows.

Located in the heart of an upscale shopping center, the sight of the food enticed shoppers to come in, sample, and, ideally, be inspired to book a future party ranging from small and intimate to a blow-out bash.

Walking into the shop, Gina was impressed by what she saw and exceedingly pleased that she had managed to catch the attention of someone like Theresa Manetti. She was certain that if she came through for Sylvie, Mrs. Manetti could be counted on to throw more business her way down the line.

It never hurt to network, Gina thought.

“May I help you?” a soft, almost melodic voice asked, coming from behind the counter.

“Hi, I’m Gina Bongino—the professional bridesmaid,” she answered, tagging on her signature label, hoping that would mean something to the older woman.

Coming around the counter, the thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair took her hand in hers. “Gina, what a pleasure to meet you. I’m Theresa Manetti.”

Gina’s first thoughts were that the woman looked just the way she had sounded on the phone last night. Warm and gracious. And genuine.

Gina found herself eager to please the caterer who she had taken an immediate liking to.

Theresa took out a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. “I’ve written everything down for you,” she told Gina, tucking the paper into her hand. “That’s the baker’s name, phone number, the address of the shop and, of course, the kind of wedding cake Sylvie wants at her wedding.”

Gina glanced at the paper, nodding. “She already described it to me when I talked to her this morning,” she told Theresa.

“Well, it never hurts to have it written down in front of you,” Theresa said with a smile. “I’d take care of this myself,” she told Gina again, “but as I’ve already mentioned to you last night, we are extremely busy these days.”

As if to bear her out, there was continuous noise coming from the back of the shop. Gina guessed that was where the kitchen was located and the woman’s employees were undoubtedly all busy working.

Gina caught herself being very grateful that fate had somehow brought them together. She was sure that Theresa Manetti could throw a little business her way down the line.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. Manetti,” Gina replied. “I’ll take care of ordering the cake and everything else that I gathered Sylvie needed done.” She tucked away the paper Theresa had handed her into her purse. “I just wanted to come by and say thank you,” she explained.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Theresa told her. “My fees are nonrefundable, so it’s not a matter of my losing money. But I have to admit I get personally involved with all my clients and I really do want them, if at all possible, to come away happy and satisfied.”

Gina could only smile at the woman. It wasn’t often she heard someone espousing something as selfless as that. Again she found herself thinking that she liked Theresa Manetti right from the start.

“I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship,” she told Theresa, preparing to leave.

“I certainly hope so, dear,” Theresa replied, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “I certainly hope so,” she repeated as the door closed on the departing enterprising bridesmaid for hire.

Following Theresa’s directions, Gina made her way to another, smaller shopping center. This one was located on the far side of Bedford. She briefly entertained the idea of calling ahead but decided against it. She wanted to be there on the premises in case she had to convince this “Cassidy” to accept the order and have it ready by the day of the wedding.

She knew from experience that people who fancied themselves to be “artistes” were, for the most part, temperamental and constantly needed to have their egos stroked. She had learned that stroking was best done in person.

So Gina went over to the Fairview Plaza where the shop was located, parked in the first empty parking space she saw, and set out to find the bakery and this Cassidy who created works of art that could be eaten with a fork.

The store was so small and unassuming, she missed it on her first pass through the center. She was searching for something eye-catching and ostentatious.

The shop, when she found it on her second time around, was neither. It was a small white shop with blue lettering and it was nestled in between a children’s toy store and a trendy store selling overpriced organic fruits and vegetables.

Gina looked over the outside as she stood in front of the entrance. “Well, either ego’s not his problem or the rent’s really cheap here,” she speculated.

There were no hours posted on the door, so she had no idea if it was open or not. Maybe she should have called ahead, she thought.

Trying the doorknob, Gina found that the door was open. Coming in, her entrance was heralded by the light tinkling of an actual bell that was hanging right over the front door rather than a buzzer or a symphony of virtual chimes.

It was almost charming, she thought. Probably to catch the customer off guard so that they wouldn’t think fast enough to protest being hit with an oversize price tag for a cake that could have just as easily been made out of a couple of everyday, standard box mixes.

At first glance, there was no one in the front of the store. She did, however, see a partially closed door that led to what she presumed was the back where “all the magic happened.”

“Hello?” Gina called out, raising her voice slightly. “Is anyone here?”

Listening, she heard movement coming from the back. Maybe it was the person who took the cake orders, she thought. Odd that they didn’t come out when the bell sounded.

When no one came out to the showroom, Gina tried again.

“I’d like to order a wedding cake for a wedding taking place three weeks from now.”

Actually, it was three weeks from this past Saturday, she thought, but that was a tidbit she was going to save until she had someone in front of her she could make eye contact with.

The movement she’d initially heard had definitely stopped. And still no one opened the back door any farther. Weren’t they coming out?

This was all very strange, she thought. Maybe this “artiste” wasn’t here and she had walked in on a misguided burglar who was caught in the act of trying to rob the place.

She tried one last time. Raising her voice again, Gina called out, “If this is a bad time, I’ll come back. You don’t have your store hours posted, but—”

She saw the door leading to the back room opening all the way.

Finally, she thought.

And then, when she saw the person walking to the front of the shop—walking toward her—her jaw slackened, causing her mouth to drop open. Any other sound that might have come out at that point didn’t.

After a beat, Gina realized that she had forgotten to breathe.

Shane.

But it couldn’t be.

Could it?

And yet… It was definitely Shane, cutting the distance between them in what now felt like slow motion.

Was she dreaming?

She would have blinked to clear her eyes if it didn’t strike her as being almost cartoon-like.

A hot wave washed over her.

Breathe, damn it. Breathe! she silently ordered herself.

When he heard her voice, Shane was almost convinced that he was imagining things. He had come out to see and prove himself wrong.

Even so, he knew he would have recognized her voice anywhere.

And he was right.

It was her.

Ten years went up in smoke and just for an instant, he was that lovesick kid again.

And then reality, with all its harsh reminders, returned with a vengeance.

“Hello, Gina.”

Because for one wild split second, the shop she was standing in had insisted on going for a quick spin around her, Gina grabbed the edge of the counter to keep herself steady. She refused to do something so incredibly hokey as to pass out even though she felt as if she could barely get her legs to support her.

“Shane?” she whispered.

His name slipped out before she could stop herself. It looked like Shane, except that it was a handsomer, upgraded version of the man who lived ten years, unchanged, in her past. His face appeared more gaunt now, and more rugged. Some of the boyishness had worn away, replaced, she noted, by an almost arousing manliness.

His hair was still blond, though, and his eyes, his eyes were still that piercing shade of blue that always seemed to go right through her. Time hadn’t changed that, she thought.

The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly at the confusion that was on her face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I look like,” he said in response to the questioning way she had said his name.

Oh God, no, Gina thought. Even if she had gotten amnesia, there was no way she could ever forget Shane’s face. Like it or not, it was and always would be permanently embossed on her brain.

Because she realized that she was staring at him as if he were an apparition, Gina cleared her throat and stumbled her way through an explanation.

“I’m sorry—” she began only to have him interrupt her.

“Nice to finally hear you say that,” Shane said.

Gina wasn’t able to read his expression, but she instantly pulled her shoulders back, prepared to engage in an unpleasant exchange. Not that, at least from his point of view, she could actually fault him. But in her own defense, she had tried to find him and apologize. But she wasn’t able to and that was his fault. He was the one who had taken off and disappeared, not her.

“—but I seem to be in the wrong place,” Gina continued tersely. “I’m looking for a cake designer named Cassidy—”

Shane inclined his head. For now, he stayed behind the counter. He didn’t trust himself to come any closer to Gina than he was at this moment. Despite the fact that he felt she had humiliated him, despite being angry at her, the woman had still managed to fill his head, not to mention his dreams, every waking minute for more than an entire year.

It had taken that much time for his longing to subside, and then another year for him to pull himself together. That was when he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be a lawyer. That had once been his parents’ dream, not his, even though he’d tried to honor it. So one day he just walked away from it, had gone to work with his older brother halfway around the world and ultimately found something he felt he had a passion for. Something unique and unlike anything he had ever done before.

Myriad emotions pulsed through Shane right now as he looked at Gina, although he was able to keep any of that from registering on his face.

Instead, he told Gina in a very calm voice, “I’m Cassidy.”

Gina stared at him, her eyebrows coming together almost in an upside down V. What was he trying to put over on her?

“No, you’re not,” she contradicted, almost annoyed that he was trying to fool her. “You’re Shane.”

Just saying his name again after all this time sent ripples of warmth and longing undulating through her. Her brain was having trouble computing seeing him after all this time. At the very least, the man should have had the decency to look a little paunchy and worn around the edges, not like some rugged movie star stepping off the big screen.

And why was he smiling at her like that? Was he going to say something sarcastic?

“You don’t remember,” Shane guessed.

“Remember what?” she asked, feeling more and more confused, befuddled and exasperated.

This morning, she had been happily saving yet another anxious bride’s wedding, and now, less than a couple of hours later, she felt as if she was suddenly caught up in the center of a whirlpool, being tossed around and unable to figure out which way was up.

“That my middle name is Cassidy,” he went on to tell her. “Shane Cassidy Callaghan,” he said, giving her his full name as he watched her face.

Seeing Gina again without any warning just served to remind him how much he had missed looking at that face. How much he had missed the scent of her hair and the feel of her soft body pressed against his.

Get a grip, Callaghan. She did a number on you once, don’t leave yourself open for another assault. She’s even forgotten your middle name.

But that didn’t surprise him. She’d undoubtedly forgotten a great many things about him, Shane thought. And about the two of them.

Things that he couldn’t forget no matter how much he tried.

“Then Cakes Created by Cassidy is your company?” she asked him, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

Gina was having a great deal of trouble processing any of it. Not just seeing him again, but the rest of it, as well.

A cake designer? Really? Shane?

The Shane she’d known back in college had occasionally slipped her notes with drawings of the two of them at the bottom. She recalled that he liked to draw. But back then the only thing he was capable of doing in the kitchen was opening the refrigerator door.

How had he gone from kitchen illiterate to a master baker?

“It’s catchy, don’t you think?” Shane asked. There was a touch of pride in his voice that she found hard to miss now.

“More like incredible,” she admitted.

“That’s a word I usually hear after someone has sampled one of my cakes.” Before she could say anything, Shane changed the conversation’s direction. “When you walked in, you said something about coming here to order a wedding cake.”

She was almost grateful to him. It was as if he had snapped his fingers, getting her out of her mental haze and forcing her to focus on the reason she had come here in the first place. The sooner she stated it, the sooner she could get away.

“Right.” She took out the paper that Theresa had given her. The cake’s specifications were written in the woman’s rather striking handwriting. She focused on it now. “I need to have this cake made and delivered to the Blue Room at the Bedford Hilton Hotel by two o’clock.” Pointing to the line on the paper, she said, “I need it by that date. That’s in three weeks.”

He didn’t bother looking at the paper. “I know when it is—”

“Good then.” She left the paper on the counter for him. “You can send the bill to—”

“—and it’s not possible,” Shane said, completing his sentence.

Caught off guard, she stared at him, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

“I said that it’s not possible,” Shane repeated in the same quiet, calm voice.

“What do you mean it’s not possible?” Gina demanded. “I’m giving you three weeks’ notice.”

“I know,” Shane responded, unfazed. “And I’m booked solid.”

Was he bragging? Okay, she’d let him have his moment. All things considered, he deserved it. She had never wished him ill. She looked around, noticing for the first time that there were framed photographs on the walls. None of him, she noted, but of some of the cakes he had created.

The one that caught her eye was amazingly constructed in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. How did someone even begin to do that? she wondered, stunned.

She looked at Shane, utterly impressed. “You’re doing well, I see.”

Shane nodded and replied without a trace of bravado, “Very well, thanks.”

“And I’m happy for you,” she told him—and she meant it, aside from attempting to get on his good side for the sake of her client. “Surely you can squeeze in one more cake.”

She couldn’t read the expression on his face. But there was no misunderstanding his words. “No,” he replied flatly. “Sorry.”

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