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“Because I don’t want to pick up some man’s underwear... or his dry cleaning. Because I haven’t found anyone I want to wake up with every single morning of every single day. Because I like being who I am.” Even as she uttered those words, her mind flipped to an image of her rolling over in bed smiling at Reed as the patter of little feet sounded on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
What the... ?
No.
That was not who she was. She was an East Coast girl now. She had a MetroCard for her trips to New York City and could snow blow her own driveway... as long as Mr. Gunter would let her borrow his new blower. She didn’t even like kids. Okay, she liked them fine, but they’d never been part of her plan.
And neither was Reed McCormick.
“And getting married changes who you are?”
Georgia crossed her arms. “Getting married changes everything.”
Chapter Seven
Georgia couldn’t have predicted how true her words to Reed had been when she’d left him in front of the Imperial. She’d given him an awkward handshake instead of the kiss she’d planned. Against her better judgment, she’d also promised to let him escort her to the Double H’s annual barbeque after the town Christmas parade.
But she’d been right about marriage ’cause Mary Catherine, now known to Georgia as Bridezilla, had lost her ever-lovin’ mind.
“You have to put your hair up, Georgia. All the bridesmaids are wearing their hair up.”
Georgia tried not to give her BFF the same death stare she’d given her opponents on the other side of the net. Was Mary Catherine blind? Did she not get there was no hair to curl and pin up?
“Don’t look at me that way,” Mary Catherine said, wading through the boxes of wedding gifts covering the floor of her childhood bedroom. “Marilyn has so decreed.”
“Isn’t this your wedding?”
“Of course, but she’s technically the wedding coordinator. She has a Pinterest board and everything. I can’t stop her. It’s easier just to do what she says. We’ll get some gel to slick it back or something.”
“Who are you?” Georgia complained, shifting her eyes to Claire for help, but Claire lounged on a purple polka-dotted chair, lost in la-la land—a place she seemed to stay these days.
Mary Catherine spun, her flaxen hair losing a hot roller as she turned pleading eyes to Georgia. “George, please. I really, really need you to just go with the flow for this wedding.”
“Why are you putting rollers in your hair? You can’t hold curl.” It was the best Georgia could do. Change the subject so she didn’t try to talk her friend into packing for Mexico and ditching this whole crazy wedding thing. “It’s Jax, isn’t it? You haven’t used hot rollers since high school.”
“Jax?” she said it like a dirty word... a dirty word she relished. “Are you crazy? Jax is my yesterday.”
Claire perked up. “What about Jax? Have you seen him?”
Guilt flashed across Mary Catherine’s face before she spun from them and started stacking boxes. “I don’t want to talk about him. Brad’s coming to pick me up for the parade in an hour. Then I have to get back here early to help Daddy with the bonfire. I don’t have time to think about Jax and any residual feelings I have. I’m too busy.”
Claire’s eyes widened, and she mouthed “uh-oh” to Georgia.
“MC?” George called, watching her friend rifle through the open suitcase sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed.
“What?”
“Are you sure?”
“About putting your hair up? Yes. Marilyn will freak, and I can’t deal with her right now.”
“No. About getting married.”
Mary Catherine dropped the hideous Christmas sweater her nana likely knitted her. “What do you think? Of course I’m sure. Brad is perfect for me. We’re in love.”
“Love?” Claire repeated like she tasted the word. “How do you know it’s love?”
Mary Catherine twisted her perfectly lined, pink glossed lips and clasped the gold heart pendant she always wore. “I just do, and I don’t want to talk about this again. I’m marrying Brad because it makes sense. It’s what I want.”
