“Don’t think she missed it,” Gal went on.
“I…she didn’t miss what?”
“That huge-ass binder,” Gal said. “The fact you knocked yourself out so me and Katie could concentrate on Alex. Us showing up for hair and makeup still hungover, which was stupid, but you made that all right too. I don’t think she knows about the grass snafu, but she overheard the cake was late being delivered, and she didn’t blink an eye because she knew you’d sort it.” She held her beer my way. “You’re a good kid, Blake.”
My belly gave an astonished, happy flutter.
I held my half-empty champagne flute her way and whispered, “Thanks, Gal.”
We clinked. We drank. She looked back at the party.
And then she said, “Me and Katie, we’ve been bitches to you. It wasn’t our place, but Alex is our girl. You guys didn’t really?—”
“I get it,” I said swiftly, the belly flutter long gone. Now my chest was feeling tight at the reminder I hadn’t been the best big sister for oh, not long. Only thirty years.
They had every right to be wary of me.
Hell, I was wary of me one hundred percent of the time. Terrified I’d backslide to that place. That place that was leading me to be a grown woman the same class as Helena Coddington-Sharp.
The scariest place in the world.
She turned back to me. “Maybe you get it. It still wasn’t cool.” She shook her head. “Girl, the way you went all out to make this day all it could be for Alex?”
She said no more.
She simply twisted to me, pulled me in her arms and gave me a tight, sit-down hug.
I didn’t think a girlfriend had ever hugged me, sitting down or otherwise.
Not in my life.
I didn’t even know Gal was a girlfriend.
Until right then.
Shit!
I was going to cry again.
I held on, just as tightly, and kept holding on for a bit even after she started to pull away. But I finally let her go.
“Sorry, I’m a little tipsy,” I muttered.
“Yeah?” she asked on a grin. “Well, good. You deserve it. Before you go back to New York, give us a bell. We’ll take you out and get you proper shitfaced.”
I let out a startled laugh.
Even though no way I was getting “proper shitfaced,” I thought that would be fun.
Just as long as we didn’t go to a honkytonk (or maybe I should let my hair down and just go with it—so they might never wear designer at honkytonks, c’est la vie).
She glanced sideways and said, “Incoming hot guy.”
I turned to where she was looking and saw Dair headed our way.
My heart started beating faster.
Damn it!
