“It’s getting late.” He said the words reluctantly, as if he didn’t want them to be true. “I should be going while I still can.”
I caught his gaze and held it, waging a fierce internal war as I stared into his hazel eyes. If I let myself, I could get lost in this man. I didn’t want to get lost in anyone. Or I hadn’t. I didn’t know anymore, and I didn’t like not knowing. After a long moment, I nodded and watched his expression shutter to something I couldn’t easily read.
He pulled me close, resting his cheek against the top of my head.
“This was an exceptional day, Charlotte. Thank you.”
“You did everything. The muffuletta was your idea.” I knew he wasn’t talking about the food, but that didn’t stop me from turning things back to familiar territory.
I waited for him to protest, to push me. Instead, he tipped my face up to him, cupping my cheek with his warm palm as he slanted his lips over mine. He tasted like toasted pecans and the slightly bitter bite of almost burnt sugar, and I knew regardless of what happened between us going forward, the taste of pralines was always going to mean Ford to me.
“Text me about next time,” he said, gently disentangling himself and getting to his feet. And then he was out the door, leaving me alone exactly the way I said I wanted.
“ISN’T IT EARLY TO BE doing this kind of thing? The wedding’s almost a year away.” I felt like the Grinch saying it, but as much as I secretly loved the idea of true love and happily ever after, my day-to-day made it clear that kind of thing was more fiction than real life. The mountains of silk, satin, and lace arrayed before us were very real. And after the cooking lesson, the extended couch cuddle, and Ford’s inevitable exit, which had started to seem less inevitable, I was feeling unsettled. It had started to bleed into other parts of my life. Most recently, the bridal salon in front of me.
“Some bridal houses take nine months or longer to make dresses. With the kind of wedding Alex and Erik are planning, she’s going to need a significant dress.” Elena shot me a look that said she knew much more about this than I did.
She wasn’t wrong. And although I understood that weddings had social repercussions and in Erik’s case some business ones as well, it was hard for me to get excited about the amount of resources that went into a single day. Not when the lace was likely to far outlast the marriage, but I wasn’t about to say that part out loud. Especially not to Alex.
“Try to be excited for her,” said Elena, as if she’d read my thoughts. “Choosing a wedding dress is the biggest decision a bride makes.”
“I’ll behave.”
I followed her through the door and into a showroom that tugged at even my cynicalheart. With its dark wood ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and white alabaster floor, it felt like a gorgeous turned upside down world. Wrought-iron fixtures lined the palest-gray walls, and a huge mirror with a dais filled a corner of the spacious room. But the dresses stole the show.
They stood like punctuation marks in the expensively austere space. Dressmaker dummies wore clouds of tulle and sheaths of delicate lace, beaded bodices and satin skirts. Dresses of every shape and style imaginable filled the room. My inner little girl had the reaction I imagined almost every woman had when faced with all her fairy-tale princess dreams come to life.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said Alex, hurrying toward us. She had a champagne flute in one hand and a black-clad salesclerk following in her wake.
She gave me a quick hug and then tugged Elena toward one of the racks on the far wall, going on about blush versus white and tulip versus mermaid silhouettes. Another clerk appeared and pressed a champagne flute into my hand and motioned to a seating area in front of the platform and enormous triple mirror. Before I had time to decide whether to sit or follow my friends, Kindra and Meredith came through the door. There were hugs and more champagne and in moments we were crowded together on the white Duncan Phyfe sofa—I knew the name because Elena picked a similar one for my place—and the salesclerk whisked Alex away to a dressing room, two additional clerks following in a cloud of lace and tulle.
“Wait until you see her in the Vera Wang. I have a very good feeling about that one.” Elena perched on the edge of her seat, ready to spring into action if she was called on.
We might have a very different skill set and different priorities, but if I ever had anything to plan—party, retirement, wake—I wanted Elena on my team. The woman was driven and organized. I had no doubt; she’d take care of details Alex didn’t even know to worry about.
“The ombre tulle is gorgeous and the sweetheart neckline is perfect for her.” Meredith’s expression shifted from the dreamy-eyed look she’d worn since we walked in to something sharper.
Kindra nodded her agreement.
I took a sip of champagne and followed along under thefake it until you understand what’s going onpremise. No one needed to know how little I knew—or cared—about wedding dresses.
“Here she comes!” bubbled the clerk, leading Alex up onto the platform. Anothersalesclerk followed, corralling the reams of tulle that made up the dress’s train and threatened to swallow my friend.
“You need something with presence but that’s a lot of dress.” Elena leaned forward, eyeing Alex critically. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m being eaten by a cupcake instead of the other way around.” Alex blew out a breath, ruffling her dark hair. Instead of her normal sleek twist, she’d pulled it back in a messy updo. Presumably made messier by wrestling herself into the gigantic princess dress.
“Can we put her in the Katie May?” Elena phrased the words as a question, but it was clearly a command.
“Of course. The corded Chantilly lace on that bodice is exquisite. It will be gorgeous on her.” The woman took Alex’s hand and helped her off the platform.
By the speed she moved, I had no doubt Alex actually needed the help getting turned around and off the step without falling. The train gatherer shuffled along behind them.
“She had to try it. That much train on a ballgown is clearly too much dress for her height, but she’s got to have a statement dress. The photos she sent me weren’t quite enough.” Elena seemed to be talking to herself as much as to any of us.
“Why?” I wasn’t going to be the asshole friend who ruined the appointment, but while Alex was busy in the dressing room, I had questions.
“Why what? The dresses were too ordinary. Neither Alex nor her wedding will be ordinary.”
