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Half an hour later, Avery was standing in front of a mirror with a gorgeous ivory-colored tea-length dress with a distinctive 1940s vintage vibe that, despite just meeting the woman a few days ago, felt like it captured her style. The woman was glowing as she stared at herself in the mirror while Poppy and Meg couldn’t hide their tears as they watched.
“You look stunning, Avery,” Meg said. “What do you think?”
“I think…” Avery said, turning to the side for another angle. “I think this is the one.”
The women erupted into squeals of excitement as Poppy jumped up and went to hug her friend. “I agree. Conner is going to cry like a baby when he sees you.”
That earned everyone’s laughter since the thought of that big, muscular guy crying over anything seemed insane, and they talked and chatted more about things like veils and accessories, shoes, and the like, but with no resentment or bullying, just trying to give Avery her best day.
Nina, the owner of the boutique and their personal attendant for the afternoon, stood off to the side, watching it all with a smile on her lips. “Now how about you, ladies? Did you find some possibilities for bridesmaid dresses?”
As Meg and Poppy went back with Nina to help Avery take off her dress and look over the selections, Waverley picked up her complementary glass of champagne and wandered through the store.
So this is what getting married should feel like. Excited to share the moment with your friends and family and hopeful for the wonderful life you’re going to share with someone you’re totally in love with, as Avery obviously is.
Waverley stopped to admire a beautiful white top with a scoop neckline.
“That one is stunning, isn’t it?” Nina asked, coming up from behind her. “It’s from a new designer I found in Venice Beach who does all the work herself.”
Waverley nodded. “It really is. Even better, it’s not priced through the roof like so many designer pieces can be.”
“Exactly. Actually”—the woman stood back to study Waverley, and for a second she felt a rising sense of panic that the woman had recognized her and was about to shame her publicly—“the skirt you’re wearing is stunning. Do you mind my asking where you found it?”
Waverley glanced down to the white muslin pencil-skirt with embroidered peonies in soft blush, cherry red, and sunny yellow sewn onto an overlay of chiffon. “Um, actually, I made it.”
“You’re kidding.” The woman leaned down to get a better look. “That’s hand-stitched and I’m fairly certain you didn’t use a premade pattern.”
“No, I designed it myself.”
Nina nodded. “Impressive. Did you attend design school?”
“Just the school of life,” she said and forced a laugh, keeping things light.
She’d wanted to go to a design school for college, but her father had quickly overruled that notion. No, he’d wanted her to major in something more substantive and important, like accounting, political science, law, or economics. They’d settled on a communications major instead.
But Waverley had never lost her passion for design, a passion that had started back in Idaho, when her mom had shown her how the odd-shaped pieces of fabric that she’d cut out from a store-bought pattern, would come together to create a beautiful new dress. Or how a few darts could give an over-sized shirt a better fit. Or how to cinch in or let out a waist on an ill-fitting skirt.
After that humiliating day at the mall, she’d decided dust off her mom’s old sewing machine and put that passion and skill to good use by creating her own clothes.
“Well, you have a real talent,” Nina continued. “You know, I’m always looking for new designs for the store. Do you have a portfolio of some of the designs you’ve created? I’d love to see it if you do.”
Portfolio? That sounded more organized and professional than what Waverley saw for her homemade stuff.
“Okay, I’m coming out,” Poppy called from the dressing room.
“I probably should…” Waverley said, just as Avery took a seat.
“Of course,” Nina said. “Here’s my card.”
Feeling somewhat bewildered, Waverley took it and joined Avery just as Poppy strutted out wearing a red dress that fit her body like a dream—which wouldn’t have been difficult considering the woman was slim and toned with a butt that anyone would envy.
“What do you think?” she asked and twirled around.
“That looks great on you, Poppy,” Avery said.
“Beautiful,” Waverley added. “Is red one of the wedding colors?”
Avery waved her hand. “I’m not worried about color schemes and all that. I just want the bridesmaids to be happy with whatever we choose.”
