Page 92 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“We’ve missed you too.” Sophie is holding me so tight she’s almost choking me.

I pull away, looking back and forth between them. “Why are you two here?”

“Let’s have a seat.” Sophie’s voice is Charmin soft.

“I’ll get you wine,” Riley adds.

I shake my head. “You shouldn’t, Riley—”

“Enough with the pregnant-woman charade. I can fetch a damn glass of wine.” She waddles off.

“This isn’t some sort of intervention, is it?” I shoot Skye a glare.

“We love you,” Skye says. “This is a good thing. We just want to see you happy.”

“So it’s true. I’m being handled.” I groan as I flop down on the couch.

In a flash, Riley gives me a heaping glass of crisp wine, and Sophie sits on the couch right smack next to me.

As soon as we’re settled, Skye sits on the floor in front of me and takes my hand. “I have an idea.”

“Nope.” My left eye twitches. One of Skye’s killer ideas involved driving a Winnebago into a ditch, and another was her crashing a business meeting in a dominatrix outfit.

She ignores me, of course. “I have a space for you. For your store.”

“Nope. No money for a commercial space. Not doing that again. Are you on glue?”

“I got such a deal you wouldn’t have to pay rent for six months. It’s a great spot.” Skye puts a hand on my shoulder. “And I know you’ve been securing contracts this time. You’re putting in the legwork, and I believe in you.”

“We believe in you,” Riley adds.

My lip twitches with the words I’m trying to say. “I don’t know. I’m scared. I totally bombed before.”

“Right. This is why it’s step one,” Sophie says. “Just because you failed doesn’t mean you give up.”

“It means you brush yourself off and go for round two, then three. As many as it takes.” Riley tucks a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “You got this.”

“That’s what you both did.” I smile. “Thank you for being such amazing examples. And amazing friends.”

“Enough fluff,” Skye cuts in. “It’s time for you to stop being a spectator in your own life.”

“I’m not a spectator,” I bite back, not believing my own words. These past few weeks have been brutal, and I know Skye’s right. “Or I don’t want to be,” I add.

“Prove it,” Skye says.

She has a point there.

Okay, what do I really have to lose? If I don’t have to pay rent for six months, I won’t have to put up that much cash. I’ll have to decorate the store, buy inventory, and pay utilities, but those things I can cover out of pocket. Isn’t that minor expense worth another shot at my dream?

I think it is.

I may be out of my mind, but suddenly, I’m sure this is the right thing to do, and I don’t want to overthink it, like always. My mouth says, “Okay. I’ll open Eva’s Edibles in your space!”

A conspiratorial smile spreads across Skye’s face. “I knew it!”

But as the idea swirls in my head, I feel a surge of emotions as my heart pounds and my face flushes. This is the most alive I’ve felt in a really long time—at least, as it relates to my career.

It’s a rush of adrenaline, and I clench my fists, the urge to fight coursing through my body.

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