I shooed her on, then went back to my original task. I slid the cart out of the van, then carefully started loading it so I could get everything set up on the terrace and in the ballroom where the reception would be held.
It didn’t take long. After an hour and three trips, everything was placed exactly where it needed to be. All I had left was to find someone to deliver the corsages, boutonnieres, and bouquet.
“This looks amazing.”
I jumped. I might have squeaked. I definitely pressed a hand to my heart as the burst of adrenaline made it race, as I turned to find the speaker. I knew it would be Monroe. I’d know that deep voice anywhere.
“Don’t do that,” I hissed. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on people?”
He shrugged, unrepentant, and that grin I was coming to adore spread over his lips. God he looked stunning. He was already dressed in most of his tuxedo without the jacket, and the way the pants hugged his legs made me want to drool. He looked damn good in the red vest and black cravat, too. My gaze snapped back to his when he spoke. “Really, West. This is awesome. Lincoln is going to love it.”
I preened just a little because I loved hearing praise. But even while I was doing an internal happy dance, I tried to play it off. “That’s why your brother hired me. It’s what youpaid me for.”
“True enough.” Monroe’s gaze slid down my body, blatantly checking me out. “You look great, too.”
I hadn’t been expecting that, so I just gave a demure “thank you” and gathered the cardboard flat that held the wearable and carriable flowers. I held it out as I walked to him. “Here. Last thing I need to do. And now that I’ve passed these off, I’ll get out of your hair.”
Monroe took the box, but his face fell. “You’re not staying?”
“Uh, no.” I shook my head. “Why would I?” I stepped back and turned, ready to leave. I wasn’t about to tell him that I sometimes hid and watched, just to enjoy the wedding. There was a particular alcove off the terrace that would have worked great for today, and I hadbeen considering staying. But Monroe didn’t need to know that.
“Wait! Do you have extra flowers?”
I turned to face him again. I always have extras in case anything gets damaged in transit or something happens during set up. I know my confusion showed, because Monroe was quick to explain.
“For the cake.” Monroe gestured with his chin toward the three-tiered white, pink, and red confection sitting on the far table. It was understated but beautiful, and it was definitely lacking a topper.
I wrinkled my brow. “You’re not supposed to mess with people’s work. The baker probably just hasn’t put the topper on yet.”
It didn’t look like one of Missy’s creations, and I’d seen just about every version of wedding cakes the proprietor of Sweet Treats had concocted. It was possible Lincoln had brought one in from a neighboring town, or even from further, but somehow that didn’t seem like him.
My question was answered when Monroe let out a deep laugh, and his eyes alighted with mirth. “Well, it’s my work, so I figure I can mess with it however I like. Lincoln gave me free rein.”
Something inside me bubbled and burst, though I couldn’t put a name to it. Monroe had made the cake? He baked? I was a sucker for a man who was good in the kitchen, and even though I had no idea how that beautiful confection tasted, it looked stunning, and that won him a lot of points.
“Uh, yeah. Uh…” I shook my head and all but fled to the van. When I raced back inside, Monroe was just getting to the door.
“Wondered where you went,” he murmured, stepping close.
I had to curb my reaction, so I awkwardly thrust the box at him. “Extras!”
He muttered something that sounded like “you’re adorable,” but he took the box and I knew the way his fingers brushed mine was deliberate. His grin this time was definitely flirty. “Flowers aren’t my thing. Come help?”
I trailed behind him and if my gaze dropped to his ass in the tight-fitting tuxedo pants, no one could blame me. He was so damn good-looking. By the time we reached the table, I had my drooling under control and I also realized we had a problem. You couldn’t just smoosh real flowers into a cake without preparing them properly.
But Monroe was already a step ahead of me. He had a roll of floral tape and a bag of wide straws sitting next to the cake, and as he started to pick through the box, I just watched. He hummed as he worked, choosing calla lilies and some amaryllis, then a touch of greenery. He fussed a little, setting them on the table and making a mockup of what he wanted. I could see what he was going for, but not quite achieving.