Alex was at the restaurant supervising the food preparation, assisted by the entire kitchen and waitstaff. It was all hands on deck.
Malcolm and Luke got out ladders and strung thousands of fairy lights on anything that didn’t move—trees, bushes, even Nan’s chicken coop. After the rental company arrived and set up the tent and dance floor, they strung up even more lights, winding them around the tent poles and over the dance floor. Bob, who spent the morning at the hospital to make sure Monica was doing all right, came over to help in the afternoon. However, he spent so much time fielding calls from Monica, who was trying to micromanage everything remotely, that we sent him back to the hospital to confiscate her phone and keep her calm.
On Saturday morning, a dozen volunteers from Rainbow Gate showed up to help with the setup at almost the same time that the restaurant crew, led by Alex and Angie, descended en masse and took over Nan’s kitchen. It was organized chaos—everybody moving fast, working fast, talking fast, racing the clock—but chaos just the same. And there was still so much to be done.
When I got into my car at five o’clock, rushing home to change into my costume, the ice cream still hadn’t arrived, the water goblets had spots, a heap of mulch was still sitting in the middle of Nan’s driveway, and Luke and Malcolm were still in the backyard, muttering and cursing because every time they tried to turn on the fairy lights, they blew out the breakers.
“Maisie,” I said, glancing into the backseat, “I don’t mean to sound negative, but there is no way in the world they’re going to be ready by seven.”
Two hours later, I took it back.
* * *
“Wow,” I said, turning the corner onto Nan’s street. “Maisie, are you seeing this?” I asked, calling over the back of the seat. Maisie reared onto her hind legs, put her paws on the window, and yipped. “Nan’s house looks like something out of a magazine.”
The newly washed windows sparkled. The flowerbeds, burgeoning with mounds of freshly planted pansies, showed nary a weed or stray blade of grass. And the two hundred luminarias, lit and lined up along the curb and driveway at two-foot intervals, cast a soft, magical glow over everything. It was about as close to Cinderella’s castle as you could find in Portland, Oregon.
If the front of the house was beautiful, the garden was breathtaking. The thousands of white lights that Malcolm and Luke had sweated, fussed, and cursed over turned Nan’s garden into a fairyland, a charmed kingdom populated by costumed people and pets.
There were any number of kings and queens, as well as knights and fairies and sprites. I counted four dinosaurs and two unicorns. There were also cheerleaders, superheroes, and various Star Wars characters. A lanky greyhound wearing a white tunic and a pair of braided Princess Leia earmuffs was one of my favorites. But I also liked Peter Pan, who was accompanied by Princess Tiger Lily, a spaniel wearing a buckskin skirt and feather headdress, and Heidi, in her dirndl and blond braids, who strolled across the grass with a St. Bernard, simply clad in his natural fur and a collar with a little wooden beer barrel.
Dinner wouldn’t be served until eight, so people were milling around the garden, talking and taking selfies, nibbling on appetizers and sipping glasses of champagne or sparkling cider as they checked out each other’s costumes. Everyone had been handed a ballot upon entering. After dinner they would be collected and tallied to determine the winners of the costume contest. Judging from the way people were oohing and cooing over Dorothy, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, and Toto, it looked like Nan, Malcolm, and company were the team to beat.
A passing waiter with a tray of home-baked dog biscuits stopped to ask if Maisie would prefer chicken or beef. I broke a beef biscuit into Maisie-sized bites and started feeding them to her when the blue silk drawstring bag on my wrist started to vibrate. I tossed the last piece of biscuit onto the grass, then reached into the bag and took out my phone.
“Monica? Why are you calling? Where’s Bob?”
“He’s in the bathroom,” she whispered. “I’ve only got a minute before he comes back. How is everything? Did you try any of the appetizers? The crab cakes. Are they crispy? Do they have enough crab?”
“Monica. Hang up and go back to bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Resting,” she huffed. “Do you know how boring that is? Now, quick—tell me about the gorgonzola puffs. Are they puffy enough? Because sometimes, if you add too much cheese, they turn out gooey.”
A man emerged from the shadows. Maisie yipped, ran toward him, then started jumping and pawing at his leg.
“Sorry, Monica, have to go. I just spotted a handsome prince.”
“What? Wait! Grace, just tell me about the crab—”
I hung up and slipped the phone back into my purse. Luke bent down, scooped Maisie up with one arm, and used the other to encircle my waist and pull me close for a long, lingering, tender, and utterly delicious kiss.
“Oh my,” I murmured when he released me at last. “Maybe I should have come as Snow White instead. That kiss definitely would have broken the spell.”
Luke took a step back and made a show of looking me up and down. “Mmmm . . . I think I like you better this way. But I can’t be sure until I get the whole effect.”
Laughing, I took two more steps back and spun in a circle. The layers of sapphire chiffon lifted and fluttered in the soft summer air.
“I like that dress,” Luke said, appreciation evident in his eyes. “You know why?”
“It moves?”
“Exactly.” He pulled me close again, kissed me
