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Standing, Fleur bustled over to one of the bags while Jessamyn moved closer to Lark, finally sitting beside her on the cushioned bench of the window seat.
“I know you aren’t crazy about all the wedding stuff,” Jessamyn began, her dark curls growing slightly frizzy from the rain. “And that you aren’t even necessarily crazy about me.”
Jessamyn’s eyes, the same green as her own, darted around a little. Was she nervous?
Lark couldn’t remember the last time she’d witnessed Jessamyn unsure of herself. Yes, she’d seen her cry her eyes out before she’d gotten engaged to Ryder, when they’d briefly broken up. But this was different.
“I like you fine,” Lark retorted, unwilling to break the accord they’d been working on for the past week in their grandmother’s house. “We’re working on this sibling thing, remember?”
She even slid an arm across her sister’s shoulders, remembering Jessamyn was pregnant and that carrying babies surely required extra emotional reserves. The pang in her chest reminded her that she’d been pregnant once too, however briefly.
The miscarriage she’d never told Gibson about. Lark swallowed the hurt she’d thought she’d put behind her, needing to focus on this moment with her family.
“I hope so.” Jessamyn blinked fast. “I know we don’t have it all worked out yet, but I do appreciate you trying. And I want you to be a bigger part of my life. You know that, right?”
While she spoke, Fleur carried over a dress bag, holding it up in front of them with the black plastic protective cover still in place.
Lark glanced between the two of them before answering Jessamyn. “Um, yes?”
“I do.” Jessamyn rose to her feet and dragged the dress bag up to reveal a striking navy blue gown—silk satin with a plunging neckline, skinny straps and clean lines. “That’s why I hope you’ll be my co–maid of honor with Fleur.”
Gaze shooting from the dress to the bride, Lark tried to follow her sister’s words. “You’re asking me to be an attendant?”
“Yes. Just you and Fleur. I can’t choose one sister to stand up there with me when I need both of you in my life.”
Surprised and yes, touched, Lark met the eyes so like her own as she stood.
“I’ll be there.” Wrapping Jessamyn in a quick, hard hug, she realized her voice wasn’t quite steady. “You didn’t even need to bribe me with the dress.”
Fleur squealed, joining them by tipping her head onto Lark’s shoulder while wrapping one arm around Jessamyn. She was careful not to crush the gown she held. “But the dress helped, don’t deny it.”
Grateful for laughter after the unexpected swell of emotion, Lark stepped away from them. Outside the rain-spattered window, a swirl of headlights flashed in the driveway below. She seized on the sight as a way to reclaim a little space.
“Looks like one of your suitors is here.” Nodding toward the diffused beams of light showing through the pane, Lark lifted the hanger from Fleur’s hand. “While you figure out which Romeo is calling, I’ll try on this gorgeous piece to see how it fits.”
Fleur and Jessamyn agreed quickly enough to the plan, disappearing out of her room to greet whoever had come calling. And despite the warmth in her heart from the moment of healing her siblings had just given her, Lark couldn’t deny a small twist of yearning for the happiness of their new relationships.
Voices sounded downstairs in the kitchen as she peeled off her shirt and bra to shimmy into the low-backed gown. Ignoring the thrum of a male voice too deep to distinguish through her open door, Lark told herself that tiny bit of envy was a symptom of the wedding planning. She’d hit her personal quota of romance for the day, thank you very much.
Lark had her jeans off, her hair down and the dress in place by the time Fleur’s voice called up the stairs.
“Gibson is here to see you, Lark. I’m sending him up, okay?”
No!
Unfortunately, she thought the word instead of shouting it. So a moment later, she had no one to blame but herself when she stood facing her sexy-as-sin ex with nothing but a whisper of silk to shield a body suddenly very, very aware of him.
Seven
Gibson knew he had a perfectly good reason to be here, visiting the Barclay house this evening.
But for a minute, hovering at the threshold of Lark’s bedroom door in the Crooked Elm main house, he couldn’t recall what it might be for the life of him. Not when Lark stood in the middle of the room looking like his every fantasy brought to life. Backlit by two small sconces that bracketed an old-fashioned window seat, the woman he’d once vowed to love forever wore a navy-colored silk dress. The thin gown skimmed her curves, outlining her body in a way he hadn’t been privileged to see for over two long years. Thin spaghetti straps left her shoulders exposed while the neckline dipped deeper than anything she normally wore.
Best of all? Her dark hair was loose, the way she only wore it in the evenings after her workday was done. Glossy strands framed her shoulders like a cape, catching the light as she moved to cross her arms over her chest.
A too-late effort to hide the telltale peaks of her nipples that he hadn’t been able to enjoy for nearly long enough.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice scratched along a dry note.
