Page 41 of Honor

I’ve lost count of how many different outfits I’ve seen Lottie wearing since we met. Tonight, I’m recycling a look that she’s already seen. I’ve never been to a private champagne tasting before, so I swapped out the red dress I wore to work today for one of the little black dresses I packed for our trip to Paris. Paired with four inch high heels, I looksmashingaccording to Lottie.

I plop down on one of the sofas and immediately notice the assortment of bridal magazines littering the large coffee table in front of me.

Before my sister got married, she’d drag me to the Emmel’s near our parents’ home so she could leaf through the bridal magazines that were part of the display set up near one of the checkout lanes in the store.

She never bothered to buy any of the magazines. Instead, she’d flip them around to show me the images of the dresses and ask what I thought of each. I was too young at the time to realize how important that decision was to her.

Even though I saw her eyes water with tears at the sight of a sleek, strapless fitted gown in a center spread in a magazine, she ended up wearing the same dress my mom wore when she married my dad.

It held a lot of sentimental value, but the smile on Tracey’s face during the wedding ceremony would have shone brighter if she had worn the dress she had dreamed of.

A noise behind me sends my gaze over my shoulder. I immediately spot Lottie wearing a cute denim jumpsuit. She has a glass of water in one hand and what looks like a picture frame in the other.

“I thought you might want to see what my fiancé looks like.”

I’ve wondered about the mysterious Randall since she told me she was getting married.

“I’d love to see.”

She hands me the polished silver frame before taking a seat beside me. “He’s the definition of cute.”

I stare at the image of Lottie and the man she’s set to marry in just a few short weeks. She told me he was five years older than her, but that’s not evident in the image. His hair is the same shade as hers, and his warm blue eyes are exactly as she described, right down to the faint lines that feather out from the corners of them when he smiles. A beard covers his jaw.

The picture must have been taken at a studio since the background appears to be a light shade of gray. They’re both dressed in white button-down shirts open at the collar.

“You’re a beautiful couple,” I say sincerely.

She nods. “I think so, too.”

I glance at her to find a single tear streaming down her cheek. “Are you okay, Lottie?”

“Emotional,” she spits that one word out.

I move closer to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “That’s to be expected. Your wedding day will be one of the most important days of your life.”

Her eyes widen as she stares at my face. “It will be the most important day of my life. I think that’s really hitting me now.”

I can’t imagine planning my wedding without the help of my mom and sister. From what I’ve seen, I’m the only person Lottie has to help her, and I don’t think I’ve done the best job of being a good maid of honor.

I didn’t weigh in on the decision about her wedding dress in Paris because I was in awe of every dress she tried on. Tonight, I could only nod and smile when she asked if I liked each sample of champagne.

I need to step up, so I’ll speak my mind when we go to the cake tasting. I’ll do the same when we meet with the florist and choose the food for the reception. Lottie needs help, and since Randall is too busy to toss his opinion into the mix, I want her to feel less alone.

“I’m here for whatever you need.” I squeeze her shoulder. “You name it, and I’ll be there.”

“Cake tasting on Saturday afternoon and then we’ll hit up Nova for dinner if you’re up to it. They’re on my short list of caterers for the wedding.”

I tug her closer. “Me and my stomach can’t wait.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Reid

I’m ignoringthe fact that I dragged Randall to Tin Anchor because I thought there was a chance I’d see Miss Starling here.

It is Friday night, after all, and I did spot her holding hands with a bartender the last time I was here.

That’s not the case tonight, though. My assistant is nowhere in sight. Neither is the tattooed bartender. I don’t take comfort in that, even though none of it is my goddamn business.

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