I need the space to breathe and pretend the last few days haven't ripped open old wounds I swore were long healed. So, instead of having fun with my family, I'm burying myself in preparations for the New Year's Eve rodeo on Thursday.
Contracts, sponsor decks, travel itineraries, and riding schedules aren't doing much to distract me. It all reminds me of Wyatt. Every time my mind drifts to him, I dive deeper into work, trying to drown in it. Unfortunately, I keep grabbing a life raft to keep me from going under, and then I have to try to forget about him all over again.
Phoebe is the one person who takes my mind off Wyatt. When I'm not working, we're giddy over her engagement, obsessing over wedding dresses, bridal shoes, and bouquets.
And it's ironic. At one point, I thought I'd be Wyatt's wife. Now, I'm scrolling through endless photos of lace trains and champagne fountains, and it's the only thing keeping me from spiraling into dangerous memories of my past with Wyatt. And I hate how he's the only man who still has the power to set my skin on fire by merely looking at me.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with me to the florist on Wednesday?" Phoebe asks, holding her tablet up to show me the different designs the local flower shop posted on Instagram.
I smile, forcing my voice steady. "You don't need me hovering while you and Alexander pick out flowers. Besides, I have meetings scheduled all week. Sponsors don't woo themselves."
Phoebe arches a brow. "I know, but you're my ride-or-die. Planning a wedding is supposed to be fun, you know."
"Who's not having fun?" I question, sipping my coffee and adding, "I'm having a blast. And it makes me happy to see you and my brother so happy. And out in the open." I wink, referring to the secret romance they had, even though I knew something was up between them.
She narrows her eyes at me playfully. "And what about you? You've been working yourself into the ground lately. You need something—or someone—fun too."
I try to deflect, saying, "My kind of fun is making sure everything is ready for this rodeo."
Phoebe sighs dramatically. "You're impossible sometimes." She scrolls to another image of a floral arch. "I don't understand why Alexander keeps telling me to look at venues instead of having the wedding here. The view at the lake is perfect for sunset photos. But I swear, if one cloud ruined my pictures, I might throw a full-on bridal tantrum."
I chuckle. "You'll be stunning no matter what. Alexander will be too busy staring at you to notice if you're inside or outside."
Phoebe's cheeks heat. She swipes the screen and lowers her voice. "But seriously, Willow, look at this dress." She holds the tablet out. "I know I said I wanted simple, but this one? The beading, the train… Do you think it would be too much? I'm kind of in love with it."
I study the photo. The dress is stunning, a perfect balance between classic and dramatic. "It's gorgeous, Phoebe. If you feel amazing in it, you should wear it. Alexander won't know what hit him."
Her smile goes soft, dreamy, and excited.
She gushes, "That's exactly what I want. I want him to lose his breath when he sees me walk down the aisle."
I reach over and squeeze her hand. "He will!"
She admits, "I never thought I'd get married."
"That makes two of us," I mutter.
"You will," she insists.
I shrug. "Doubt it."
All the dreams I used to have of marrying Wyatt pop into my mind, and I blink hard.
Phoebe's expression shifts, a hint of hesitation creeping in. "Speaking of men… Can I ask you something?"
I stiffen slightly and then force a nonchalant tone. "Of course."
She glances around to make sure we're still alone, and her voice drops to a curious whisper. "Is there something going on between you and Wyatt?"
My stomach clenches. I blurt out, "He's going to be more trouble for me than a snake in a sleeping bag."
"I didn't mean client-wise." She arches her eyebrows.
Panic hits me, and all I can do is lie. "No. Nothing is going on. Why would you insinuate there's anything besides the trouble he's created for me?"
She studies me for a moment, then says, "Every time his name comes up, you get this look."
I scoff. "He's a pain in my booty, that's why."
