One Day Like This: A feel-good summer romance Read online

  One Day Like This

  A feel-good summer romance

  Laura Briggs

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Hear More From Laura

  A Letter from Laura

  For all the readers who joined me for my

  first wedding book and whose support has continued

  to inspire new projects.

  Prologue

  “You sit here, and Penny sits here,” six year-old Tessa said. “Next to Raggedy Ann.”

  “Do I have to?” said Penny. She was the same age, but only came over to play because Tessa had the biggest collection of glitter ponies in the whole neighborhood.

  “You do. I made place cards.” Tessa’s voice became slightly bossy. “Natalie is next to Mr. Bear and Fashion Girl is across from me.” At each place there was a carefully drawn card made with glitter markers, with names printed on them. Froggy, an overstuffed bean bag animal, had fallen forward on his face and squashed it flat, which Tessa noticed and fixed for the eleventh time.

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Just do it,” she told Penny. “It’s easier than arguing.” She sat down at the end of the table in her “chair,” which was only a cardboard back drawn with crayons. Next to her, Mr. Bear slumped over his teacup, while Raggedy Ann looked more chipper at her place opposite.

  They were in Tessa’s playhouse, built out of an old cardboard appliance box with windows and a door cut into it, so, technically, she could make the rules for the tea party. As usual, Tessa’s tea party couldn’t consist of just a toy tea set and some stuffed animals. Her playhouse’s crayon-illustrated interior was decorated with lots of old white Christmas twinkle lights she had hauled out of attic boxes, and her mini table had a bouquet of flowers picked from the vacant lot down the street and the next-door neighbor’s flowerbeds—she probably hadn’t realized yet she was short a few gladiola stalks.

  “This one’s too tall.” Tessa’s small fingers trimmed the biggest stalk with a pair of blunt-tipped school scissors. “There, perfect,” she said, as she stuck it back in the cracked glass vase. “Don’t eat the cookies!” she said to Penny, who had reached for the plate of gingersnaps in the middle of the table. “The party hasn’t started yet.”

  “But I’m hungry,” whined Penny. “What are we doing here, if we’re not having a party?”

  “Everything has to be perfect,” said Tessa. “Wait, I’ll put on my hostess apron.” A pink apron decorated with a cupcake picture was hanging from the plastic yellow stove behind her. “And my hostess crown.” It was made from gold paper, decorated with plastic rhinestones.

  “Now I’m official,” she announced. “We can start the party for Fashion Girl’s engagement. Penny, you’re the bridesmaid, and so are Raggedy Ann and Natalie. Mr. Bear is giving away the bride, and Froggy is going to be the photographer.”

  “Fashion Girl isn’t engaged,” said Penny. “She’s a famous worldwide model in the commercials. Plus, she’s just a plastic head.” She cast a scornful glance at the Fashion Girl at the head of the table, who was only a smiling head with shoulders and a champagne-blonde wig, wearing a dozen barrettes in her hair and too much washable eyeliner.

  “It’s why we’re having the party,” said Tessa stubbornly. “It’s her engagement party, so we’re using special china with roses and having two kinds of cookies for guests to pick, and I hung the banner.” A very worn vinyl “Congratulations” banner was draped across the cardboard playhouse’s wall behind her.

  “Big deal. They sell china tea sets for dolls in every store—and this water is brown! Ew, ick,” said Penny, making a face when Tessa poured her a cup from the little rose china teapot.

  “It’s real tea,” explained Tessa. A long string with a teabag tag hung from the opposite side of the pot.

  “Can’t we just play house the normal way?”

  “No, we can’t. We need to have a reason to hold a party,” said Tessa. “It has to be a special one, like this one.” She held out a scrap page torn from a magazine, showing a big white tent decorated with tiny white star lights, and sprays of white gladiolas and lilies in the gold and cream painted ceramic vases on its buffet table, surrounded by smiling, chatting guests with champagne flutes. In the distance, a little girl chased fireflies. The picture’s caption read, A charming outdoor party celebrates the happy couple’s nuptials on a sultry Southern twilight eve.

  “See?” said Tessa, as if holding all the proof anyone needed.

  “This is DUMB!”

  “But everybody likes gorgeous parties,” said Tessa. “I want everything to be extra nice.” She looked at the third living person at the table for support.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Natalie. “My mom only brings me over to this house when Gramma has to go to the doctor.” She played with the end of one stubby dark braid of hair.

  “I’m leaving.” Penny seized her glittery pink book bag and crawled out the playhouse’s rectangular door opening. “You can have your stupid fancy party without me. You’re weird, Tessa Miller.”

  “Am not!” Tessa shouted back. But she looked crestfallen as she plopped down at her place at the table. The only smiling faces left were those of Raggedy Ann and the guest of honor, which was mostly painted on with real lipstick “borrowed” from Tessa’s mom’s cosmetic case.

  “Are you gonna go home, too?” she asked Natalie. After a minute of quiet pouting, she looked at the only human guest left at her table.

  “No. I can’t go until my mom comes back for me,” Natalie said. “But I’ll play.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I like weddings okay. Plus, I think playing house all the time is boring anyway.”

  “Here’s your tea.” Tessa poured a cup for her. “And a cookie.” She passed her the plate. “There are two kinds, because this is a special occasion. You can try both.”

  “Thanks,” said Natalie. “Want me to fix Fashion Girl’s makeup? If it’s her party, she should look good. I know a lot about makeup—my cousin lets me read all her fashion magazines. She’s fourteen.”

  “Okay,” said Tessa. “Her makeup kit is by the grandfather clock.” The clock was drawn on the opposite wall, near the chintz curtains created by pink and yellow Crayola markers. The party was suspended for a few seconds as Natalie made the guest of honor a little more fashionable.

  “Where’d you get the picture you showed that other girl?”

  “From a magazine,” said Tessa. “I have lots of them. I put the best ones in a special folder.” She pulled it from her Strawberry Shortcake backpack. Marker letters spelled out “Tessa’s Big Dreams” between glittery flower stickers.

  “Weird,” said Natalie. “What’s in it?”

  “It’s all the big celebrations that people want to have,” said Tessa. She stuffed the folder back in place behind her history notebook. “That’s when people are happiest. I want to make them come true.”

  “So, like, you have a big book full of parties and f
ancy dinners and that’s what you want to do—plan stuff so other people have fun?”

  “It’s my dream,” said Tessa. That stubborn tone returned. “I like it.” She tossed a lock of her long, orangey-red hair behind her shoulders in a gesture of indifference to any opinions.

  “Can I have another cookie?” Natalie asked.

  “Okay. But we’re having the party now, so you have to talk to your neighbors too. Mr. Bear, would you like a cookie, too?” Tessa demonstrated. “Don’t you think your niece looks so pretty? A real fashion expert did her makeup.”

  “I think she should have been a famous model in Milan instead of deciding to marry that dumb Ninja Turtle.” Mr. Bear’s voice was a creakier, deeper version of Natalie’s real one.

  Tessa’s pouting lip returned, so her tea party guest stopped making the bear talk and ate another fig cookie bar. “Who’s the picture in the frame?” Natalie pointed to the one drawn with gold crayon, apparently sitting on a brown crayon table with stick legs that didn’t reach the bottom of the wall. Another magazine picture was pasted inside, of a hunky teen heartthrob who appeared frequently on the cover of TV magazines.

  “Him? That’s my boyfriend,” said Tessa. “When I grow up, I mean.” She poured another cup of tea. “Here you are, Froggy. Sugar or lemon?”

  “Are you going to marry him in a big tent with star lights?” Natalie asked.

  “Maybe.” Something dreamy entered Tessa’s voice. “When I fall in love, I’ll find out.” She set aside the teapot. “Time for the special cake,” she announced, after ducking under the table and bringing forth a little bakery box with a cellophane top. Inside was an oversized cupcake, generously frosted with vanilla icing and dotted with bright patches of food coloring, whose containers seemed to have exploded horribly in the vicinity. “I made the icing myself.”

  “I can tell.” Natalie wrinkled her nose.

  Tessa stuck a birthday candle on top. “Make a wish,” she said to Fashion Girl. “All your dreams will come true on your big day that way.”

  Matches clearly weren’t allowed. They waited a moment while Tessa made a blowing noise behind Fashion Girl’s smiling head, before she began cutting the cupcake—or decimating it—with the blunt blade of the kitchen’s play knife. She smushed the portions back together before serving it, then ate her own with a plastic play fork, while Natalie finished smashing hers to mush, pretend eating.

  “I wish I was grown up now,” said Tessa.

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s when all the best stuff happens,” said Tessa. “That’s when all your dreams finally come true.” The faraway tone from before was matched by the look in her eyes, as if she was imagining that perfect life right then. Starry hopefulness shone in those bright childish irises, before the party’s hostess remembered the guest at hand.

  “More cake, anybody?”

  One

  With a sigh, Tessa checked her watch as she leaned against the wall beside the bouncy castle. “Ten more minutes!” she called to the kids inside, all of whom ignored her.

  “Tess, get those kids out of the castle pronto, will you?” Her boss Bill appeared. “We’ve got to break down the hotdog table in another twenty minutes.”

  “Sure,” she said. And managed not to sigh again until he turned his attention to the birthday party clown, who was trying to fill his tiny suitcase with magic props. “Come on, kids! Time to go! There’s extra cake waiting for you!” She clapped her hands together to get their attention.

  Another Saturday afternoon at a rented venue for a kid’s birthday party. Despite its name, Party 2 Go actually had four employees. Today, Tessa had drawn the short straw and was stuck with bouncy castle supervision and accidental spills. Lucky June was serving cake and soft drinks, while Tina was decorating ice cream sundaes with sprinkles.

  At least she didn’t have Steve’s job, she reflected. The inside of the T-Rex costume’s head had been really smelly as of late.

  By now, Tessa was supposed to be one of the top wedding planners in all of Bellegrove, the charming Southern haven where she’d grown up. The city lay on the coast, with a history of rugged sailing ships and willow-lined streets of mansions; it was now a modest metropolis split into sections. The neighborhoods had a cozy, intimate feeling with their old architecture sprawling across the last two centuries, from the waterfront and the fast-growing ethnic districts in historic buildings, to modern office complexes. Stretching from quaint churches and cemeteries in the old town’s district to museums in converted antebellum manor houses, chic restaurants in renovated warehouses, and department stores, this was where Tessa had lived all her life—here was the place she planned to make other people’s dreams come true: weddings beneath the open sky under shady willows, engagement parties in garden parks, solemn ceremonies in the old stained-glass chapel located mere walking steps from one of Bellegrove’s nicest beaches.

  That was the plan in her head, anyway. It was one of the reasons she had stayed there after college, rather than moving to a bigger city like Charlotte or Raleigh—or moving to Florida where her mother had chosen to retire. But Tessa loved her childhood home town, with its cozy shops and cafes and sprawling oaks, the magnolia and dogwoods that bloomed in the parks and along the sidewalks every summer, and the distant beach that reminded her the ocean was the gateway to the world. But she might as well be six again, staging parties for her toys—except six-year-old Tessa had been much closer to living her dream than her grownup counterpart seemed to be.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. She had graduated with a hard-earned dual business and design degree, and after peddling her résumé to every event planner from one side of the city to the next, she’d snagged a job at the Antebellum, a local tearoom. For five blissful months, Tessa had arranged real tea parties for small occasions instead of dolls, until an economic slump left fewer customers celebrating birthdays and girls’ days out with overpriced Darjeeling and macaroons—leaving her jobless again and peddling her résumé anywhere that would take it.

  No event planners needed yet another junior drudge at the moment, even with a recovering local economy. Which had landed her here, in the last possible role she ever imagined for herself in dreaming of planning someone’s celebration: mopping up soda spills in record time and removing mustard stains from the big T-Rex costume. When she wasn’t being forced to wear it, that is.

  “Time to pull the plug,” said Bill.

  You said it, Tessa thought, although not for the same reasons. Her boss had found the release button for the inflated bouncy castle, and its walls began sagging. “Give me a hand, Tess.” The two of them folded it, as a crowd of disappointed children booed, then dispersed as one of their mothers intervened.

  “This thing is heavier than it looks,” said Tessa with a grunt. She struggled beneath the box with the folded castle and the air compressor inside.

  “Use those muscles, Tess.” Bill thumped her on the back with his clipboard. “We still have to fold tables and clean up that slice of cake somebody smashed over by the emergency exit.”

  “Great.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Steve remove his T-Rex head. A whiny eight-year-old began screaming immediately at the sight of a human head atop the dinosaur body, a group of adults trying to console him.

  Bill occasionally needed help planning birthday parties, but not often. Most birthday party clients weren’t interested in creativity; otherwise they hired one of the glitzier ‘gung ho’ planners in the city. Bill advertised the all-in-one package heavily, which included cake, cookies, hotdogs or pizza, with a bouncy castle and two entertainers (one of whom was always dressed as either a dinosaur or a princess). Except for choosing cookies or cupcakes, or picking up new plastic tablecloths, there wasn’t much for Tessa to do.

  Watching her future slip away was hard. All those classes on hospitality, design, small business budgets—her college years were a hectic collage, with all those bits and pieces helping develop her natural talent for negotiati
ng with people, coordinating their tastes and dreams into a harmonious event, and troubleshooting little setbacks and mistakes for a smooth experience. She had never pictured her degree leading to the same bouncy castle and confetti-print napkins, week after week.

  “Hey, Red, you missed a spot.” Red was Tina’s nickname for Tessa, because of her bright red hair. Her sarcastic coworker pointed to the remains of a hotdog obviously trampled underfoot multiple times, something the broom in Tessa’s hands could never possibly clean.

  “Thanks a lot,” she muttered. She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue, though Tina’s back was facing her by now anyway. This was a job for the putty knife in the cleanup supply bucket. Tessa couldn’t prevent herself from groaning aloud as she reached for it. She would never crave hotdogs again, she decided, her nose wrinkling in disgust. To top it off, this one had chili sauce on it, making it look a little like someone’s barf. That was chili, right?

  Don’t go there, Tessa. She made herself plunge into her latest cleaning task. It was the fifth accidental spill, and they hadn’t even finished serving dessert yet—meaning mushy bits of cake and ice cream sundaes were probably in her immediate future.

  There were worse lives to live, of course. But there were better ones too—and lately, Tessa found herself thinking of the better kind more and more. The fantasy life where she ran her own event planning firm, creating moments that were both special and personal for her clients. Portfolios of celebratory concepts both unique and dazzling; digital contact lists of caterers, florists, and suppliers who would provide anything and everything a client wanted. Creating moments that would seem like magic when her clients looked back on them years later, a snapshot of happiness in life’s jumbled-up collage—that was Tessa’s idea of a future.