Bouquet of Love (Weddings by Design Book #4) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Janice Thompson

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172 pages

English

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Cassia Pappas has found herself in a nearly impossible situation. She wants to spend her time immersed in her new job at a Galveston Island floral shop, arranging blooms and brightening occasions with her lovely creations. But her huge Greek family--especially her father--has other ideas. They've all relocated to Galveston to open up a new family restaurant location on the Strand--directly across the street from the Rossis' popular pizza place--and they want Cassia's full participation. To make matters worse, as Cassia is trying to develop a strong professional relationship with Galveston's premier wedding coordinator, Bella Neeley, her own father is intent on stealing all of the Rossi family's faithful customers. Not exactly the best way to get into Bella's good graces!Still, at least Alex, that hot delivery guy from the nursery, is always hanging around the flower shop . . .Fan favorite Janice Thompson gives readers one more romp with Bella, Galveston, and the bustling wedding biz in the final installment of her popular series. Anyone who loves quirky families, loads of laughter, and tender romance will find themselves hooked.

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Love

Love (disambiguation)

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	12 août 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441245175
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2014 by Janice Thompson
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www . revellbooks .com
Ebook edition created 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4517-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author is represented by MacGregor Literary Agency.
To the real Patti-Lou. This is all your fault.

In memory of the awe-inspiring Judy Garland. She helped shape my life and my desire for the stage as a child, and she continues to inspire me as an adult. What fun to use her films and songs as chapter titles!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1. Strike Up the Band
2. The Boy Next Door
3. I Wish I Were in Love Again
4. Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home
5. A Star Is Born
6. By Myself
7. Till the Clouds Roll By
8. Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart
9. Yours and Mine
10. Me and My Shadow
11. Fly Me to the Moon
12. More Than You Know
13. You Go to My Head
14. Journey to a Star
15. We Must Have Music
16. Babes on Broadway
17. Come Rain or Come Shine
18. What’ll I Do?
19. On the Sunny Side of the Street
20. For Me and My Gal
21. Get Happy!
22. After You’ve Gone
23. Puttin’ On the Ritz
24. You Made Me Love You
25. Stormy Weather
26. Buds Won’t Bud
27. Just You, Just Me
28. Meet Me in St. Louis
29. I Could Go On Singing
Galveston Tourism Commercial
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Janice Thompson
Back Ads
Back Cover
1 Strike Up the Band
You know you’re Greek when you can’t understand why McDonald’s rejected your idea for the McFeta sandwich.
Y ou know that old saying about how you should stop and smell the roses? Well, in my world, you would have to sniff your way past the garlic, cumin, and roasted lamb before you could pick up the scent of flowers. At Super-Gyros—my family’s sandwich shop—we’re known for drawing the customers in with both their noses and their eyes. So smelling the flowers is out. Sniffing the shish kebabs and freshly baked pitas is in.
What do flowers have to do with Greek food? To the average Joe, nothing. To a girl like me, everything. I can’t think of one without the other. In my heart, I see myself owning a florist shop, arranging lovely bouquets, and bringing smiles to the faces of my customers. In reality, I see myself slapping together sandwiches, whipping up tzatziki sauce, washing dishes, and doing whatever else it takes to please my father.
Babbas. The best Greek papa on the planet. If you don’t believe it, just ask him. He’ll tell you, using a wide assortment of descriptions from the Old Country. Not that he’s ever actually been to Greece, mind you. Nor is he likely to go anytime soon. The man never stops working long enough to ponder a vacation. He’s far too busy trying to open our new shop on Galveston Island.
I’m still not sure how the Pappas family ended up in Texas, to be honest. Just five weeks ago we were doing our normal thing in Santa Cruz, California, where we enjoyed a relatively boring existence, one that focused on our family-run sandwich shop on the boardwalk. Then suddenly, in a day, everything changed. Out with the old, in with the new. Goodbye, Santa Cruz. Hello, Texas. Crazy.
When Babbas makes an impulsive decision—say, moving the family a couple thousand miles to the humid south to open a second shop—he does so without consulting anyone. Except the Lord, of course. Babbas never moves without the Almighty’s approval, so this trek to Galveston Island must’ve received a high five from heaven.
I don’t usually argue with heavenly plans, but this move . . . well, it put me in a not-so-heavenly frame of mind. For one thing, the murky brown waters of the Gulf of Mexico don’t come close to the Pacific. Did I mention that we lived in Santa Cruz, home of the world-famous boardwalk, nestled against the white-sand beaches of the mighty blue Pacific? What could Galveston, Texas, possibly have to compare? The only thing I’d fallen in love with so far were the flowers. Galveston was loaded with them, and they took my breath away.
Imagine my joy as I glanced out our window that first Tuesday in May, my gaze landing on a colorful trolley clang-clanging its way up the Strand. On the side of the brightly painted car was an advertisement for a local flower shop, Patti-Lou’s Petals, along with the words “Help Wanted” and a phone number: 1-800-PETALS4U.
Hello, possibilities!
I started humming the melody to one of my favorite Judy Garland songs—the one about the trolley—and pondered my dilemma. Working with flowers was my dream job. Definitely the ribbon on my proverbial bouquet. But Babbas would never allow it. Like every Greek daughter, I would remain tied to his apron strings until the day I married. Not that I had any prospects, especially now. What kind of a Southern gentleman would brave a relationship with a girl whose father ran around in a superhero cape and matching tights to promote his business? No, I’d be single forever. Might as well get used to the idea.
My gaze shifted from the sign on the side of the trolley to a handsome fellow seated inside. For a moment our eyes met. Fate! Kismet! Then, just as quickly, his attention shifted to a pizza joint across the street from our place. Just my luck. Still, this gave me a lovely glimpse of his gorgeous, wavy dark hair from the back. Be still, my heart! But his hair didn’t hold a candle to those smoldering eyes I’d caught a glimpse of. Yummy.
The familiar Judy Garland melody soon made its way from my heart to my lips as the trolley clang-clanged on by. How could I help myself? My dreams would soon come true! I whispered the phone number “1-800-PETALS4U” and did my best to commit it to memory. Maybe I would work up the courage to apply for the job. Wouldn’t that be something? The very idea put me in a remarkable frame of mind. I pondered the possibilities of my new life as I unloaded boxes, my heart now singing.
“You’re humming again, Cassia.”
I turned and looked beyond the stack of half-emptied boxes, bins, and cooking utensils until I located Mama. She stood off in the distance, her upswept hair falling loose in damp ringlets around her neck.
“I am?” Oops. Caught again.
She swept beads of perspiration from her brow and smiled, lighting up her overly painted face. The ruby-red lipstick might’ve looked better if she’d colored inside the lines, but Mama was never one for confines. In some ways, I appreciated that about her. The eye shadow—a theatrical shade of teal—came into full view as her eyes narrowed. “Yes. I love it that you’re so musical.” Mama retied her frayed Super-Gyros apron, which had come loose around her plump midsection. “I think you came out of the womb singing.” She pulled up the ragged bottom of the apron and dabbed her upper lip, which caused the apron to come loose all over again.
“You think?” A little sigh worked its way out, much as I fought to keep it inside. “I just love those old show tunes. Did you ever see that Judy Garland movie, the one with the trolley—”
“Helena, I need you!” Babbas’s voice sounded from the kitchen and Mama scurried out of the room to do his bidding, as always, still fussing with the temperamental apron. So much for finishing my sentence. Or my song.
I turned to the open boxes at my feet and spent the next few minutes pulling things out and trying to find a home for them. With the room in such a chaotic state, who could guess where anything went? How we would be ready to open by Saturday, I couldn’t imagine.
When boredom set in, my gaze shifted out of the plate-glass window once again. This time my sights fell on the ever-growing lunch crowd at the pizza restaurant across the street. Must be a popular place. I shifted my angle to read the sign above the store. Parma John’s. Cool name.
Something about the place drew me like the Pied Piper playing his merry little tune. I stepped outside onto the sidewalk and caught a whiff of pepperoni. Yum. I could almost taste the spicy goodness now, could picture it oozing with reams of melted mozzarella. What I wouldn’t give to have a thick, gooey slice of pizza. But I couldn’t. My father would kill me.
Still, it might be worth the risk.
Or not.
I sensed the presence of someone standing behind me and turned to discover my father had joined me. Oops. So much for daydreaming about pizza.
His thick salt-and-pepper brows furrowed into a perfect unibrow as he watched the crowd coming and going from Parma John’s. “Looks like they have some sort of lunch special going on.” My father’s eyes filled with concern. The tone of his voice grew more serious. “But just you wait. Those customers will be mine. Soon.”
“We don’t open for a few days, Babbas.” My little sister’s voice sounded from the open doorway. I turned to give little Gina a smile. The precocious six-year-old skipped our way wearing mismatched clothes, as always, her loose ponytail waving in the breeze. She turned a couple of cartwheels on the sidewalk before squealing in glee. “But I love it here already.”
“Stop that, Gina,” Babbas scolded. “You’re not a monkey, you’re a—” He stopped midsentence as a carload of teenagers pulled up to Parma John’s and got out. “Hmm.”
“I’m a superhero just like you, Babbas!” Gina struck a funny pose, one meant to show off the muscles in her upper arms, and I laughed. That wacky kid always made things better, even with