“My office isn’t far from there. I keep wanting to go to one of the open studio nights you put on, but I’m always afraid I’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” he says, gesturing down at his impeccable suit.
“You should come with Gracie!” Sofia exclaims, before turning to give me a frozen smile and unblinking stare that clearly saysI THOUGHT YOU SAID HE WAS AN ASSHOLE.
“Or you could just grow an ironic mullet,” I suggest, trying to divert attention away from myself. “Then you’d fit in perfectly.”
“Hey now, there are only two—fine,three—mullets in the building,” she says. “But hopefully when a space opens up, you’ll join us and improve the ratio.”
“You want Gracie to rent a studio?” Jude asks, looking from me to Sofia. “For her bridal wear designs?”
“Desperately. But only if that’s what she wants to do, of course. Right now she’s still holding on to the hope thatyou’llchange your mind about selling.” She gives him a harassed look. “Please. Just put my friend out of her misery and tell her you’re not keeping Larkwood, so she can move on.”
Jude looks at me with a faint smile of exasperation. “I’ve tried,but if you think she’ll listen to me, then you’re giving me way too much credit.”
Emotion clogs my throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Then you’re saying thereisn’ta chance of saving Larkwood?”
He stares at me, his expression unreadable as my stomach pulls taut. “I thought there wasn’t a chance of keeping it. But now…” He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know. I’m considering every side of the coin like Samara suggested. Even its edges.”
If hope has been a tightly furled bud in my chest all this time, it explodes into full bloom now, petals crushed against my rib cage in their expansiveness. I nod, unable to break eye contact with this beautiful man who has his own wounds but is slowly unfurling for me, too.
“Wellll, I hate to rain on this lovely little pheromone swap,” Sofia says, reminding us that she’s had a front-row seat to this exchange, “but as romantic as a vague maybe is, we should finish up this photo run-through, Gracie.”
Flustered, I look at Sofia, who is staring at me so pointedly, she may as well be holding a harpoon.
Jude nods and checks his watch. “I’m sorry for keeping you. I need to get back to Providence anyway.”
“But you’re coming back, right?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s Friday—the night he and Taco usually arrive for their stay, and it would be pointless to deny that I haven’t been secretly hoping for a repeat of last weekend.
The regret in his gaze tells me his answer before he says it. “I have to stay in the city this weekend. But if you need anything—”
“No,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. No matter how unruly my feelings have become, I told him I’d keep this casual. “I don’t need anything.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes before he schools his expression into something impassive. “You have my number just in case. Sofia, I’m so glad I met you at last.”
She gives him a long, assessing look. “Ditto.”
When he leaves, my friend turns to me slowly, and there’s nothing that can prepare me for what she says next.
“Gracie, when were you going to tell me he’s inlovewith you?”
29GRACIE
Two Weeks Before the Wedding
I may not have much experience with one-night stands or casual flings, but I can already tell I suck at them. Ever since yesterday, when Sofia lobbed theL-word like a grenade into my plans to stay emotionally distant from Jude, I’ve felt like a little kid who just heard theF-word whispered on the playground for the first time. I can’t stop silently repeating it, even though Iknowit’s forbidden.
I sigh and tie a Patriots ribbon around yet another favor bag for my mom’s birthday. Obviously, I know Jude doesn’t love me. We’ve only spent one night together, and even though we’ve gotten closer than I ever expected to, there’s still so much he keeps from me.
The morning I woke up in his arms, I was an open, highly distressed book for him. But when I tried gettinghimto open up, not only did his walls go up, but he also installed some piranha-infested moats, just for good measure. Sighing, I try to refocus on my boring taskwithoutspiraling.
I’m filling another cellophane bag with Patriots shot glasses, daydreaming about dumping a tray of frozen shrimp down the back of my stepsister’s shirt, when my phone rings. With alarm, I see that it’s my old college friend Maya, who is also the pole-dancing instructor I booked when Brooke begged me to help her flaky maid of honor “throw something together” for her bachelorette party. Which is tonight.Shit.
“Hello?” I answer, but immediately pull the phone away from myear at the blaring sound of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.” “Maya, is everything okay?” I ask, raising my voice.
“Gracie! Oh, thank God,” she shouts. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but this group you booked me is completely out of control, and I need help getting them out of here. I don’t want to call the cops, but they’ve already damaged property, and my bartenders are too slammed to help me.”
What?All at once, a vision of Brooke swinging around a stripper pole in a perfectly pressed pencil skirt has me standing up from my chair so fast, I nearly knock it over.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I sputter, already rushing to grab my coat. “I’m heading out now, but I’m about forty-five minutes away.”If I speed and run every red light.
