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“Yeah,” Hanna says. “Trying out that new sitter. Do you know how long it’s been since the two of us went anywhere together, alone? You’d think with all the potential grandmas and aunties I’d be rolling in babysitters, but lately you have to practically get on a waiting list to get grandma time, and the aunties are all mommies, and—I’m so, so excited just to sit and stare at him across a table.”
Aw. That’s so stinkin’ cute.
And instead of getting closer to finding something like that for myself, I’ve gotten into this tangle with Shane.
Shane, who left for LA the morning after I lost my mind and tried to lick his mouth.
That kiss.
My face gets hot with shame thinking about it. That was the least professional moment in my entire on-screen career. I grabbed his wrist. I moaned, for fuck’s sake. And I totally, completely stuck my tongue into his mouth.
And then I remembered who and where I was—and why—and managed to save the moment from disaster.
I think I was actually pretty calm and cool about it, given that my heart was pounding and my core was throbbing and every cell in my body was begging for another chance at Shane Hott’s mouth.
Then he went to LA, which was actually great because it sent my brain a nice, clear message—he isn’t interested in more kissing.
Signed, sealed, delivered.
Now I peel myself out of the tulle vomit. “We’ve been at this for hours. And I still haven’t seen anything I can imagine myself actually wearing, let alone allowing myself to be photographed in and posted to social media and?—”
I try not to think too hard about the wedding day itself because the idea of that much attention being paid to me makes me feel like I ate too many glitter cupcakes.
“I have an idea,” Reggie says
We all turn to her.
“I think we should go thrifting.”
Hanna mutters, “Big surprise.”
Reggie’s way of dressing is…distinctive. Short skirts, goth-style makeup, multicolored hair. Today she’s also wearing lace stockings and a black lace top and rubber-duck earrings. I’m a little wary of taking fashion advice from her but also curious. And it’s not like we’ve found anything good here. Plus I’m grateful for the subject change. I don’t really want to get into a mental excavation of that kiss.
I can save that for when I’m alone in bed.
Sonya looks at Hanna. Hanna looks at Nia. Nia looks at me and shrugs. “Not the worst idea I’ve heard today,” she says.
Which is how we find ourselves in a huge consignment shop in Bend, the biggest “city” close to Rush Creek.
We cluster into the no-nonsense dressing room with several I don’t hate this, but it doesn’t really fit white dresses.
“This bodice fits perfectly?—”
“But there’s a huge stain on the skirt,” Hanna says with a sigh.
“And I love this skirt, but you could fit several of me into the top. And it’s too long.”
“So what you’re saying,” Sonya says, “is that if someone had the sewing skills to attach this bodice to this skirt, but hemmed to your height, you’d have the perfect wedding gown?”
We all turn to look at her.
“Look.” She crosses her arms. “I’m not a professional seamstress or a dressmaker. But I’m good with a machine and I’ve done garment construction, and I’m totally willing to give it a shot. If you trust me.”
I’ve been asked to trust a lot of people recently, and Sonya’s definitely not the worst of them. I shrug. “Sure. Go for it.”
After all, it’s not like I’m really getting married. It’s not like I’ll be showing photos of myself in this dress to my grandkids someday, beaming at them as I say, I remember the first time I ever saw your granddad.
Although I do. I remember the way his eye caught mine in the Hott Spot hallway. I remember thinking, OMG that guy is hot. And I remember my body going unexpectedly, instantly molten.
