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Specifically, pictures of Brynne in the various outfits Gretchen picked out for her. I am torn between Gretchen wrecking the surprise - I don’t want to see the reveal before tomorrow night - and yet, I can’t tear myself away from the photo array.
The pictures are not lurid or show Brynne undressed. They are candid shots like you’d see in a fashion magazine. Her physique is perfect for fashion.
“Does she know you’re taking these?” I ask, viewing the same set of shots over and over again.
“Price is no object,” I type.
“To her, it is,” Gretchen replies. “She refuses to choose anything without knowing how much it costs first. She’s stubborn.”
Tell me about it.But that is one of the many things I find admirable about Brynne.
“Tell her we’ll auction it off to charity. The more expensive, the better.”
I wait. I wish I had gone with them. Suddenly, I have zero interest in the work I am doing.
“That did it,” Gretchen reports.
“How is Todd making out?” I ask. “And what about you? Don’t forget to buy something for yourself.”
“Oh, no need to worry. I already have my stuff picked out,” she replies.
“That’s my girl,” I say. “Hey, you never said whether Brynne knows you are taking these pictures.”
“Of course, she does,” Gretchen writes. “And she knows you’re seeing them. I’m not some creepy perv.”
The next photo I received was of the two mugging like they were in a boardwalk photo booth. I trace Brynne’s face with a light finger. It is contorted with a silliness that suits her quirkiness. I cannot wait for tomorrow night.
Chapter 12
Brynne
Gretchen and Todd drive me back to the Calypso. I assume they will drop me off so that I can call it a night and crash. I’m just not a Rodeo Drive kind of girl – although I will admit it was a fun experience.
My skin still stings from all the scratchy, beaded, and bangled dresses I pulled over my head. It hit me on the fourth or fifth garment I tried on: I was doing this for Jack. I was searching for the perfect dress to please him. I love the look in his eyes when he is looking at me. I want to up my game, and if I am honest with myself, I want to please him.
Even though Jack was paying for the dress, I couldn’t shake my natural frugalness. The prices made me extremely uncomfortable. No one needs to spend that kind of money on a dress – not while people were starving for food to eat. When Gretchen said not to worry about the prices because whatever clothing I chose would be donated to charity, I thought that was the most ridiculous idea in the world.
“How would that work?” I push the issue. “I don’t mind being Jack’s good sport here, but don’t pull the wool over my eye. Or, in this case, the Lycra.”
“Excuse me?” Gretchen questions me, trying to understand my question.
I continue, “Because on what planet would a person in need use a buck’s worth of sparkling material with a thousand-dollar price tag?”
She blinked at me like I short-circuited her.
“We auction it, and rich people bid,” she says, still puzzled at my reaction.
“Oh,” I say, walking back my condescension.
“And we donate proceeds,” she continues calmly and quietly. “Jeez, Louise.”
“Why don’t you just go with it?” Todd offers in his usual short-and-sweet language.
So, I went with it. I let Gretchen and Todd decide which pieces looked the best on me. And we all agreed that we would save the reveal till Saturday night. No picture for Jack.
But now that the day is done and my outfit nestles in a very posh store bag, exhaustion hits me. All I want is a hot shower, to crawl into my comfy bed, and over-indulge in fantasies involving Jack. I have much to sort out about him and my life.
To my dismay, Todd is parking the car and leading Gretchen by the hand, clearly ready to launch into a tour of the inn.
