Love Letters from Ladybug Farm by Donna Ball Read Free Book Online Page B

branches.”
    Catherine looked disappointed. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Dogwood. Is there a runner-up state flower?”
    Cici said carefully, “Most people have the wedding theme in mind long before they start planning the wedding. I mean, isn’t three weeks out a little late to be starting from scratch?”
    “Darling,” confided Catherine dramatically, “I can’t tell you how many themes we’ve been through! Every time we get a new wedding planner we get a new theme! Everything from Cinderella’s Ball to Winter Wonderland—in the middle of June, mind you! It’s positively outrageous.”
    “Every time?” Cici kept her tone neutral, but she couldn’t prevent a single, meaningful gaze in Paul’s direction. “How many wedding planners have there been?”
    Catherine gave a limp-wristed wave. “Too many. But the last one was really the pits. I mean, really, when he booked us into a swamp...”
    “I’m sure it wasn’t a swamp when he booked it,” Paul offered consolingly, and refilled her glass. “And you are getting your money back.”
    Bridget turned to Traci. “What kind of theme did you have in mind, dear?” she asked pleasantly.
    The young woman looked up from her phone with an expression that suggested she had only then realized that an actual person was sitting on her right. “Are you a wedding planner?” she asked.
    “Well, no, but...”
    Traci turned back to her telephone.
    “When will you start bottling wine?” Catherine asked suddenly. “Maybe we can do a vineyard theme! That first woman had that whole Tuscan thing going, do you remember, Traci? With the crumbling walls and the grapevine arbor and the girls all in purple? Can you do crumbling walls?” She turned to Cici, growing more excited as she spoke. “And if we could serve the actual wine from your vineyard...”
    Paul laughed, holding up a staying hand. “I think you might be getting a little carried away, Catherine. You can’t make wine on demand, particularly when the grapes aren’t even on the vine yet.”
    “We don’t have any crumbling walls,” Lindsay added, looking offended.
    “But we’ll be happy to serve wine from our own vineyard,” Cici said sweetly, “if you don’t mind waiting three years until it’s ready.”
    Bridget cast a warning look from one to the other of them. “There are some wonderful local wines,” she assured Catherine. “And I’m sure we can find something you’ll love once we settle on a menu.”
    Traci said suddenly, “I like it.”
    Everyone stared at her.
    Catherine prompted, “The vineyard theme?”
    Traci spared her a glance that was surely reserved for only the most imbecilic of her acquaintances, pushed a final button on her telephone, and pocketed it. “The farm ,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “The grass, the mountains, the sheep.” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Very now. Local, organic, outdoors, simple, back to basics, very Obama.” She gave a firm, decisive nod of her head, and for the first time she smiled. “Let’s do it.” She stood. “Give them a deposit. I’m going to get a close-up of the sheep.”
    Catherine’s eyes widened with delight even as her shoulders slumped with relief. “Why it is, isn’t it?” she declared. “Very Obama! Perfect!” And suddenly she sat up straight, turning to Paul. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
    “The rose garden!” The two of them spoke in unison, and Paul held up his palm for a high five.
    “There really isn’t a lot of room for guests in the rose garden,” Lindsay pointed out worriedly. “It’s mostly paths.”
    “How many guests are we talking about anyway?” Cici said.
    “Fifty,” Bridget reminded her. “Fifty.”
    “Do you know what would make it perfect?” exclaimed Catherine excitedly. “One of those marvelous twig arbors!”
    “It has an arbor,” Lindsay reminded her. “A gorgeous white arbor with gingerbread details.”
    “But it’s on the wrong