Page 4 of Bridesmaid to Bride

I exhale. “You’re amazing,” I say, because he is.

As West and I walk to baggage carousel number three, I chow down a few bites of my bagel before I say, “So, how have things been? You look great.” It’s been two months since we’ve seen each other. A fan favorite, West traveled a lot after Bridesmaid to Bride aired, doing press tours and PR events. But deep down, I know that was only part of the reason. We needed time away from each other after he went on my sister’s show, kissed her, then left, which embarrassed Paige no matter how much she tells me it didn’t.

He flashes me a smile. “Things are really good. Actually, I have some possible great news.”

My stomach does an icky turn, and I’m not sure why. I paint on a smile and say, “And what is it?”

“They’re considering making me the next Groomsman to Groom.”

“No way!” I feign excitement. Groomsman to Groom is the male star version of Bridesmaid to Bride, and I should be happy for him. I mean, now he’ll get to date thirty women and find his person on TV, just like Paige did. This is great news, right? Yes, it absolutely is! “That’s amazing.”

“It is. But this wedding is a test to see how I do with ratings. If I pass, then I’m on.”

“Well, then. Bring in those ratings.”

“Right? Plus, the sponsorship money can help save my parents’ store.”

“That’s right. That’d be amazing if you could help them.” With brick-and-mortar shops struggling, West’s parents’ sex toy store is going under. They’re wonderful people, their store is awesome, and I love how West looks after them. He and I definitely share that in common, among countless other things.

I look around baggage claim, and hits me that besides the people on my flight, the place is virtually empty. “Where’s everybody?” I peer around wide-eyed.

West looks at his phone. “Uh, oh. It’s almost nine. I bet everyone’s grabbing breakfast.”

“Huh?” I ask, his words not computing.

He side-eyes me. “That means we’re going to have to wait for our bags until the staff comes back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Eva.” West begins, speaking to me like I’m drunk. FYI, I’m not. “You can’t get your bags when there are no workers to put them on the conveyor belt. We have to wait for them to return.”

“How can they leave? We’re on a schedule.”

He gives me the stink eye. “Were you lobotomized during that landing?”

“I know people have to eat, West.” I mirror his expression. “It’s just that usually, at airports, workers who go to eat get replaced with other workers who are not eating.”

“Oh, yeah. It doesn’t work like that here. Especially not on a Tuesday morning.”

I give him a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.” Things really do move slower in small towns.

As we wait, we dive into catching up, joking and laughing—and I’m thrilled to have the old West and me back. When the airport staff returns, I pick up my suitcase, and West offers to drag it to the parking lot.

He says, “Just a warning: Skye’s waiting outside in the car. She wanted to do some welcome chant, or was it a prayer?”

I shrug. “Who knows? But I’m sure there’ll be a whole shrine of candles set up on the hood when we get there.”

Sure enough, Skye stands by the car, her turquoise muumuu flapping as she frantically waves us over. My smile spreads ear to ear. She looks exactly the same as always: a heartier, fifty-seven-year-old version of Meryl Streep. I was a teenager when Skye married my dad, which only lasted a month, but from minute one, she treated me like her own. In the first half hour we talked, I’d already told her more things about myself than I’d told people I’d known my whole life. Since then, Skye’s taken me in, West too, since his parents live a few hours away from Atlanta, so the three of us are definitely like family. We’re that way with Skye’s daughter, Sophie, and West’s cousin, Riley, too, but Sophie and Riley aren’t close with Paige, so they’re not coming to the wedding this week.

When West and I get to the car, I go in for a hug. But before I make it, Skye slaps my arms away, and my forehead wrinkles.

“Back, back, back,” she orders. “I’ve heard the passengers talk as they’ve gotten into their cars—you guys were a hair away from being runway grease. I have to cleanse you with dragon blood’s resin and purge all that wild plane out of your system before you smear it all over everyone else.” She pulls a bundle of dried red leaves out of her purse, lights it on fire, and waves it around me. “I would’ve done this on the tarmac, but I’d never get my flame clicker through airport security.”

Smoke and flames dart to the sky. Wearing a bored and unfazed expression, West checks his phone for the fifth time. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Shhh,” Skye puts a finger over her mouth. “No talking. More purging.” While Skye performs her ceremonial smokefest, West groans and I start hacking from the fumes.

When she finishes, West loads my bags into the trunk. “Let’s roll.”

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