Page 71 of Only Be Mine

But beneath the irritation was something else, something warm and inconvenient.

“I did love those dresses,” I admitted.

“Then go,” he said. “Get whatever you want, no matter what it costs.”

I should have been angry. Maybe part of me was. But curiosity won.

Amy drove with me. I couldn’t face it alone.

By the time we reached Nederland, my nerves were shot. I’d built Gerry into something threatening in my head - tall, blonde, effortlessly beautiful.

The woman who greeted us was none of those things.

She was short and round and bright, with red lipstick, too many bracelets and an energy that filled the room.

“Oh my!” she said before I could even introduce myself. “You must be Cate.”

“You’re Gerry?” I blurted.

She beamed. “The one and only. And John told me everything about you,” she added cheerfully.

My heart stuttered.

“He did?”

“Oh yes. He showed me your picture last February. Said he was going to marry you someday.”

Last February.

We’d only been dating a few months; almost a year before he proposed.

Before I’d even let myself believe that was possible.

Gerry led us to a small back room. She flicked on a light, then stepped aside without saying a word.

The dress stood there, waiting.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t sparkle or shout or demand attention. It didn’t look like something pulled from a magazine or meant to impress a room full of strangers.

It just… was.

Pale pink. Soft, almost warm in tone, like it had been touched by light instead of dyed. The fabric fell in clean lines, skimming instead of clinging, fitted just beneath the bust before drifting down in a way that felt intentional but unforced. White ribbon traced the waist, delicate and quiet, and antique pearls were sewn along the bodice - small, imperfect, and real.

My breath caught.

Not because it was beautiful, though it was, but because something inside me loosened. Like I’d been holding myself tense for weeks without realizing it, braced against a choice I wasn’t sure I wanted to make.

This didn’t feel like a costume.

“I saw it immediately,” Gerry said softly, as if afraid to break whatever had settled over the room. “In the photo John showed me. You didn’t look like someone who needed to be dressed up. You already knew who you were.”

My fingers curled against my palm.

John had shown her my picture.

I stepped closer, drawn in without thinking, my hand hovering just above the fabric before I finally touched it. The silk was cool and smooth beneath my fingertips, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected.

This is it.