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Gretchen and Natalie started bickering about the intricacies of their corporate leave policy. Bree tuned out, opening up a digital sticky note and making a list of things she needed to do today. By the time she was done, they’d stopped arguing and the attention shifted to business at last.
They finished up the details about an hour later and Bree was the first to dismiss herself. She needed to get the pictures from the weekend downloaded and start going through them. At the reception alone, she often took five hundred photos, not to mention everything else the day of the ceremony and the rehearsal and dinner the night before.
She was about halfway through the photographs when she heard a gentle knock at her door.
“Come in.”
She turned in time to see Amelia with the mail. Bree expected her to just leave anything on her desk, but instead, she shut the door and sat down in her guest chair.
Bree groaned inwardly and spun in her chair to face her. “What do you need? When I get done with these pictures I can help with some sugar flowers if that’s it.”
Amelia shook her head. “I’m not here because of sugar flowers, Bree, and you know it.”
She had avoided any kind of serious discussions with her friends and coworkers since the show. They knew that Ian had finally shown up and they’d broken up, but that was it. She’d been hoping she would make it to her Tuesday-Wednesday weekend without talking about it, but that wasn’t going to happen. “So what, then?”
Amelia focused her dark eyes on Bree and started twirling her auburn hair around her index finger. “I don’t know the details of what happened last week, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding me.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Bree said, but they both knew she was lying. “I’ve been avoiding...talking about it. Not you.”
“Well, let’s cut to the chase, then. Why didn’t you tell me you’re in love with Ian?”
“What?” Bree shot up in her chair, nearly spilling the half-consumed latte in her hand.
Amelia put the mail in her lap and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve had that lovesick look in your eye since you got home from the moun
tains. And after your show—the tremor from your heart breaking probably registered on the Richter scale.”
Bree winced at her words. She thought she’d hidden her pain pretty well and kept up an appropriate level of professionalism at the office, but apparently not. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not necessarily. I just know you well enough to see the turmoil you’re trying to hide.”
“I’ll be fine. Just give me a few days. By the Campbell rehearsal on Friday, I should be right as rain.”
“You’re not going to get over a broken heart in three days. You’re in love. Even if you’re hurt, it’s going to take time. Tell me what happened.”
Bree didn’t want to recount the scene, but she did it. It had played over and over in her mind during the past week, so it was easy to retell. “When it’s all said and done, I trusted him and gave him my heart and I shouldn’t have. I was a fool because he did exactly what I knew he would. It’s my own fault. I marched myself up the steps to the gallows and put the noose around my neck. I can’t get mad at the hangman for doing his job.”
Amelia nodded sadly. She sat quietly for a moment. “So where does that leave you two?”
“We’re finished. Over. There’s obviously no room for anything in his life but his work, and that must be the way he likes it despite his protests and promises. If that’s his choice, then that’s just the way it is. I’m not going to waste energy fighting to be a priority in his life.”
“But you still love him,” Amelia stated.
Her words made tears threaten in Bree’s eyes. She took a deep, cleansing breath, looking up at the ceiling and blinking frantically to keep them from spilling down her cheeks.
“I don’t know that I ever stopped. And that’s what scares me the most. If I was in love with him for nine years while we were apart, how long will I be in love with him going forward? I can’t afford to lose another nine years pining for him. I want to be able to find a healthy romance with someone who thinks I’m important. I want to have a family. I don’t want to wake up and be forty with nothing to show for my life but pictures of other people’s relationships.”
There was a sadness in Amelia’s eyes as Bree spoke, convincing her that her friend understood how she felt. For a bridal company, they were four women completely miserable at relationships. Bree had apparently been in love with Ian all these years, so her attempts at dating were failures. Amelia was always searching for the big sweeping romance that might not even exist. Gretchen was more comfortable with her art than with men. And Natalie...she didn’t even believe in love. They were a sad group.
“Well, I’m sorry everything went down that way. I promise we won’t end up forty and alone. What do you say you and I go out on Wednesday night? We might even be able to talk Gretchen into coming. It might cheer you up to get your mind off things.”
Bree’s eyes widened. Natalie, Gretchen and Amelia had been her friends long before they were business partners, but over the years, the work had taken over their free time. They hadn’t gone out for anything more than a working lunch or vendor meeting for a very long time. To go out for drinks in the evening, just for fun, was almost unheard of anymore. Amelia must really be worried about her.
She sighed. Maybe Amelia was right to be worried. “Okay. That sounds fun,” she agreed, although her tone was flat and unconvinced. She would make sure it was fun, whether it took too much wine or the dreaded tequila to loosen her up.
“Great,” Amelia said with a bright smile. “I’ll let you get back to work. Here’s your mail.” She dropped a couple items onto her desk and slipped back into the hallway.
After all that, Bree wasn’t quite ready to return to shot after shot of someone else’s happy, romantic day. Instead, she picked up her mail and sorted through it. There was a thank-you note from a recently married couple who adored their wedding photos, a catalog for a photography supply website where she liked to shop and some junk mail.
