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I started to stand, but then something pulled at my dress and I plopped back into the chair. “Shoot.”
“You okay?” he asked.
Judging by the tug on my skirt when I’d moved my leg, it seemed that the sheer fabric had gotten snagged on the buckle of my shoe. The A-line dress came just below my knees, so I knew I’d tear it more if I tried to move my foot.
Reaching down, I tried to untangle it, but I couldn’t see without extending my leg a little. And all of my frantic tugging was definitely making it worse.
“My shoe,” I said. “My dress is caught.”
Thatcher knelt next to me. “Here, let me.”
I let go and leaned back, bringing me face-to-face with him. Wow, his eyes were even more captivating up close. They weren’t quite green, as I’d first thought, but they weren’t brown or blue, either.
Ah, hazel. It was a beautiful swirling pattern of all three colors, with flecks of gold sprinkled throughout.
“Your eyes are so pretty,” I said in a low voice, surprising even myself.
Thatcher blinked rapidly and leaned back, and I could have sworn I’d seen a blush color his cheeks before he mumbled a quick, “Thanks,” and then ducked his head to help me with my shoe.
Remembering what he was doing down there in the first place, I held perfectly still as he got to work.
Had I painted my toenails recently? I must have. I would have noticed when I’d put these sandals on if they looked bad.
And I’d shaved my legs right? Please tell me I hadn’t missed any spots around my ankles.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, his fingers brushing my skin as he worked, “it’s caught on the seam. I’ll try not to rip it. Well, I’ll try not to make it worse, anyway.”
I put my head back, sliding my eyes closed with a sigh. “Well, I’m sure turning out to be a fun date, aren’t I?”
“I’m sure there are worse wardrobe malfunctions,” he teased, freeing my dress and then leaning back. “All set. I tried, but it’s a little mangled.”
Holding the thin fabric between my fingers, I smoothed out the wrinkled mess with its tiny tears from where I’d pulled on it. I wrinkled my nose. “I just bought this.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, today. I didn’t have anything to wear and I—” My words cut off as I looked up at him.
Great job, Hattie. Tell the guy you went shopping to find a dress for tonight, making you look like a total freak for being the one girl in the world who didn’t own even one cocktail dress.
Humor touched his lips. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone will notice. And you still look great.”
“Thank you.”
He held out his hand and I gingerly took it, standing with him. “Ready to hit the bar?”
“Yes, please.”
We left the ceremony area and moved to where they were hosting the reception. When we got our drinks—beer for him, white wine for me—we stood off to the side.
I angled my body so the rips in my dress weren’t facing the crowd, just in case. Thatcher was probably right. It was at the seam, so it likely wasn’t that noticeable. But still.
“The flowers look great,” he commented, looking around the event space. “Did you do all of this yourself?”
“I did. I was up all night getting everything ready.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“Thanks.”
