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Aria reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Of course, it’s okay for you to change. It’s also healthy and natural to grow and evolve. You don’t have to be Mom’s idea of perfect to deserve love and happiness and all your dreams coming true.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.” I squeeze Aria’s hand. “Sometimes it feels like everyone has their mind made up about who I’m supposed to be and there’s no changing it. Like I’m expected to be sweet, baby sister Melody forever. And sometimes I like that, because I feel safe as that person, but sometimes… I don’t know.” I let out an audible breath. “I think I’m still confused.”
“And that’s okay, too,” Aria says with a smile. “The early twenties are all about being confused. It’s normal.”
I scrunch my nose. “Still feels pretty crappy.”
“But exciting, right?”
I consider that and my lips curve. “Yeah. Exciting, too.”
“Nash told you I was wise.” She stands, dropping a kiss to the top of my head before grabbing our mugs. “You ready for a refill before more chat?”
I push my chair back. “I’m good on chat, but I’ll take more coffee and a bagel. Then I need some Aunty time with Felicity. I’ve been missing her like crazy since you guys moved out of Mom and Dad’s house.”
“You’re welcome to babysit anytime,” Aria says, heading for the back door. “I could bring her to your place for an overnight. Nash and I never turn down a chance to be alone.”
“To get all hot and sticky and gross?” I ask, making Aria laugh as she glances at me over her shoulder
“Touché.” She lifts a considering brow. “You are getting naughty in your old age, aren’t you?”
“We’ll see.” I shrug and lead the way inside, feeling a hundred times better.
I’m still almost as confused as I was before the sister talk, but at least I feel like someone understands what I’m going through and is rooting for a happy ending.
With any luck, that happy ending might include discovering Nick really does have feelings for me, feelings I just have to convince him it would be stupid for us to ignore.
Chapter 8
Melody
The rest of Saturday passes in a blur of running errands—Ever After Catering is low on just about everything and a visit to the bulk store is no longer avoidable—and prepping five courses for the wedding we’re catering on Sunday.
In the past year, Ever After has seen an uptick in Sunday weddings, which is intensely annoying to Nana, who insists all three of her granddaughters should be in church on Sundays—or at the very least resting somewhere, peacefully contemplating the beauty of creation—not working.
We placate Nana, who claims she’s already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown because Lark and Mason are living together while they’re engaged, not bound in holy wedlock, by reminding her that a wedding is a holy event and attending the early service with her on days when we have to work later in the afternoon.
That means all the food prep has to be done by the end of the day on Saturday, since there won’t be time to do anything but load the van and drive to the venue after church.
By the time Lark, Aria, and I finish making ravioli, stuffing twice-baked potatoes, and icing everything that can be iced before the big day, it’s almost ten o’clock. After my sleepless night the night before, I have to fight to keep my eyes open on the way back to my apartment.
I tumble into bed and drift off almost immediately, not even my anxiety about seeing Nick tomorrow for the first time since our steamy make-out session enough to keep me awake.
The more I ponder what Aria said, the more sense it makes.
If Nick didn’t care about me, he wouldn’t have left the bar alone Friday night. He would have hit it and quit it. Right?
I hold tight to that little coal of a thought, letting it warm me as I sink into a deep, sexy-dream filled sleep, in which I do so many sinful things to Nick Geary it’s clear I probably need that early church service to help drag my brain out of the gutter.
Sunday dawns gray and drizzly, but by the time we get out of church—after absorbing a lovely sermon on the importance of loving each other that I take as a sign God doesn’t care if my mind is in the gutter, so long as I’m being loving about it—the sun is peeking through the clouds.
By the time we reach the botanical gardens just outside Atlanta, where the wedding and reception are being held, the day is nearly perfect. It’s a little muggy, but not nearly as bad as some of the humidity drenched events we worked earlier in the summer, and both of my sisters are in good spirits, laughing and teasing each other as we unload the van.
