Okay...if anyone has the time...I need some opinions.

I am debating on a POV switch...but the entire book is finished....92,000 words. This would be a MAJOR project. Book is written in 1st, debating on switching to 3rd so I can insert some POV from the hero.

So here goes. First scene. What do you like better?

The original in 1st:

I sighed and rolled my eyes as I answered the question for the third time.

“Yes, Mrs. Vandewater, your daughter’s wedding bouquet will be delivered to your house by noon along with all of the attendant’s flowers.”

I slouched into my leather desk chair and doodled the name Vandewater on a yellow legal pad. I added horns to the V and a pointed tail to the R. As the owner of a service oriented business, “The customer is always right” becomes a motto I have no choice but to live by, regardless of how insane it makes me sometimes. Numerous times I would have liked to take this lovely adage and chuck it right out the window, watching it splatter on the street like a water balloon tossed from ten stories up. What joy I’d have telling the customer exactly what I thought of them and where they could take their “one last question”. But in the end my desire to please everyone triumphs.

“No, I will not get lost getting to your house. I have the directions you gave me, plus printed directions off the Internet. I also have your home phone number, your cell phone number and your maid’s cell phone number programmed into my phone just in case.”

The door chime sounded and I watched a wide-eyed twenty-something step over the threshold. Her face beamed as her head slowly panned the shop. She smiled as she stepped toward the nearest shelf and caressed a plumed guestbook pen.
High-pitched screeches resonated from the receiver of the phone and I turned my attention back to this year’s Momzilla, a severe pain in the ass that had given headaches to my headaches. Each wedding season there had to be one nut and this lady was the whole can. She had driven me completely crazy for the past nine months, ever since she and her blue-eyed, blonde of a daughter/princess/pretty puppet on a string walked into my shop.

“Yes, I already spoke with the caterer about setting up the centerpieces exactly how you described. Is there anything else?…Okay then, I will see you on Saturday. Have a wonderful day!”

The greeting rolled off my tongue quite naturally with my perfected fake niceness, even though my brain was ready to explode. I then took a deep breath and let it out, purging my body of all things Vandewater.

“Hello! I’m Roda,” I said as I approached my newest client. “Can I help you with something?”

“Um, yeah, I guess. I uh, just got engaged,” she smiled coyly and waved her sparkly little diamond in front of me. It was a really pretty one. In this line of work I see many diamond rings and I’d seen my share of ugly ones over the years. This one was simple yet elegant, the kind I’d dreamed of seeing on my own finger someday. But first I needed to find a man willing to stick around for more than a month or two.

“Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations! Have you set a date?”

“Yes, June 7th of next year.”

I heard the phone ring as I showed her around the shop, pointing out various books, magazines and bouquet samples.

“Roda,” my assistant called out. “Line two is for you. It’s Mrs. Vandewater.”

“You’ll have to excuse me one moment,” I said to the new bride and sat her down with a photo album filled with pictures my past brides had sent me, snapshots showcasing the beautiful floral bouquets I made for them. I dragged my feet over to my desk, plopped into my chair and took a cleansing breath before picking up the receiver.

Mrs. Vandewater and her daughter Penelope had sat with me at least a dozen times to choose the bouquets and other flower arrangements for the wedding with several of those times being impromptu visits and of course only five minutes before I planned to close up shop for the night. In between our meetings, Mrs. Vandewater called me at least once a week to ask the most mundane of questions. Each and every time she called I cringed, but thanks to my fake niceness, I proudly maintained my professionalism. This was one wedding I could not wait to be done with. Only had three more days to go.

“Yes, Mrs. Vandewater. What can I do for you?”

“I need to make sure there won’t be any of that tacky netting in my Penelope’s bouquet. You know how I hate anything cheap.”

I answered her as politely as possible, even though she could have found the information herself if she simply looked at her copy of the order. It had been printed in big bold letters: ‘NO TULLE WHATSOEVER’.

After going over the directions with me yet again, I finally hung up the phone. I looked up to find my new bride-to-be standing in front of a full length mirror holding one of my silk bouquet samples, a simple hand-tied arrangement of white roses and Lily of the Valley. I took a rhinestone encrusted tiara off the shelf, fluffed its finger-length veil and placed it atop her head.

“What do you think?”

“Wow,” she replied as her eyes glossed over. The smiles I’d seen in that mirror were what I lived for. Those moments got me through the insane headache moments of other brides and their mothers and reminded me why I loved my job so much.

“Will I really look like one of those pictures on my wedding day?” she asked while pointing to a poster-sized print on the wall.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you do!” I promised.


New in 3rd:

Roda Morgan sighed and rolled her eyes as she answered the question for the third time.

“Yes, Mrs. Vandewater, your daughter’s wedding bouquet will be delivered to your house by noon along with all of the attendant’s flowers.”

She slouched down in her leather desk chair and doodled on a yellow legal pad, taking the name Vandewater and added horns to the V and a pointed tail to the R. As the owner of a service oriented business, “The customer is always right” became a motto she had no choice but to live by, regardless of how insane it sometimes made her. Numerous times she would have liked to chuck that motto right out the window, watching it splatter on the street like a water balloon tossed from ten stories up. What joy she’d have telling the customer exactly what she thought of them and where they could take their “one last question”. But in the end, her desire to please everyone won out.

“No, I will not get lost getting to your house. I have the directions you gave me, plus printed directions off the Internet. I also have your home phone number, your cell phone number and your maid’s cell phone number programmed into my phone just in case.”

The door chime sounded and Roda looked up to find a wide eyed twenty-something. She had a glossed-over look in her eyes and began browsing around the shop, stopping to caress a fluffy guestbook pen and smiled.

More screeching came from the receiver of the phone and Roda turned her attention back to this year’s Momzilla, a severe pain in the ass that had given headaches to her headaches. Each wedding season there had to be one nut and this lady was the whole can. She had driven Roda completely crazy for the past nine months, ever since she and her blue-eyed, blonde of a daughter/princess/pretty puppet on a string walked into her shop, Bridal Blossoms by Roda.

“Yes, I already spoke with the caterer about setting up the centerpieces exactly how you described. Is there anything else?...Okay then, I will see you on Saturday. Have a wonderful day!”

The greeting rolled off her tongue quite naturally with what she called “fake niceness”, even though her brain was ready to explode. She took a deep breath and let it out, purging her body of all things Vandewater.

“Hello! I’m Roda,” she said as she approached her newest client. “Can I help you with something?”

“Um, yeah, I guess. I uh, just got engaged,” she smiled coyly and waved her sparkly little diamond in front of Roda. She admired it, a simple yet elegant setting; one she’d dreamed of seeing on her own finger someday. But first she needed to find a man willing to stick around for more than a month or two.

“Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations! Have you set a date?”

“Yes, June 7th of next year.”

The phone rang as Roda showed the bride-to-be around the shop, pointing out various books, magazines and bouquet samples.

“Roda,” her assistant called out. “Line two is for you. It’s Mrs. Vandewater.”

“You’ll have to excuse me one moment,” she said to her customer and sat her down with a photo album filled with pictures past brides had sent in, snapshots showcasing the beautiful floral bouquets Roda made for them. She dragged her feet over to the desk, plopped into the chair and took a cleansing breath before picking up the receiver.

Mrs. Vandewater and her daughter Penelope had sat with Roda at least a dozen times to choose the bouquets and other flower arrangements for the wedding with several of those times being impromptu visits and of course only five minutes before the shop closed for the night. In between meetings, Mrs. Vandewater called at least once a week to ask the most mundane of questions. Each and every time she called Roda cringed, but proudly maintained her professionalism and most treasured trait. This was one wedding she could not wait to be done with. Only three more days to go.

“Yes, Mrs. Vandewater. What can I do for you?”

“I need to make sure there won’t be any of that tacky netting in my Penelope’s bouquet. You know how I hate anything cheap.”

Roda answered her as politely as possible, even though she could have found the information herself if she simply looked at her copy of the order. It had been printed in big bold letters: ‘NO TULLE WHATSOEVER’.

After going over the directions yet again, she finally hung up the phone. Roda looked up to find the new bride-to-be standing in front of a full length mirror holding one of the silk bouquet samples, a simple hand-tied arrangement of white roses and Lily of the Valley. Roda took a rhinestone encrusted tiara off the shelf, fluffed its finger-length veil and placed it atop her head.

“What do you think?”

“Wow,” she replied as her eyes glazed once again. The smiles Roda had seen in that mirror were what she lived for. Those moments got her through the insane headache moments of other brides and their mothers and reminded her why she loved her job so much.

“Will I really look like one of those pictures on my wedding day?” the bride asked while pointing to a poster-sized print on the wall.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you do!” Roda promised.