Page 39 of The Love Wager

“What the heck happened? You just had a fitting!” I shout, getting angry on her behalf.

Her mom ushers her sit down, and I yank the offensive fabric out of her eyesight. Throwing it across the room.

“I don’t know! Mom dropped it off this morning, and I went to take a look just to make sure everything was okay.” She cries and flops black on the mattress. “And it’s not. It’s ruined. My wedding day is ruined. We might as well just cancel the whole thing now. Send everyone home. There won’t be a wedding.”

I suck my lips between my teeth, trying to keep the anxious laughter from escaping at the theatrics I’m beyond used to dealing with.

“Would you mind giving us a minute?” I ask her mom and aunt, who are hovering around but not offering any assistance in fixing the problem.

They nod their heads, gratitude brimming in their eyes as they shuffle out the bedroom door, closing it behind them.

I look at my watch. The wedding rehearsal doesn’t start until four. I can get to town, search high and low for a replacement wedding dress, and return in plenty of time to get ready myself.

“Okay, listen to me.” I stop in front of Taylor’s prone form. “You are not calling off this wedding because of a dress.”

She jolts up, staring me down as if I’ve just said the most asinine thing ever. Her mouth moves to protest, but I cut her off and continue.

“You love Spencer. You’re not getting married tomorrow because you get to wear some specific dress. You’re gettingmarried tomorrow because you found your person. You could walk down that aisle in a paper sack, and he would still think you were the most ravishing creature to walk this earth. So, here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to take a deep breath, get a snack, then do your hair and make-up for the rehearsal later.”

“Now is not the time to be eating, Indie,” she whines, then throws me a withering stare.

Too bad for her, she’s always looks like she fell straight from a fairy tale storybook and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Her stare is hardly intimidating, but it tells me she’s on the verge of a resuming her breakdown.

“I wasn’t done. Be quiet. While you do that, I’m going to run into town to the bridal salon. I remember what your dress looked like and the other ones you were on the fence about. I have your measurements and will find you something just as beautiful to wear tomorrow. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Your maid of honor is on it.”

“Okay.” She sniffles and nods along with the plan. “Lace and rhinestones and, for the love of god, no ruffles.”

“I got you through the toga fiasco of ’09. This is a piece of cake, babe.”

She pops off the bed and flings her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a tight hug. “Have I told you how grateful I am for you being here? Let me grab you my card. If you find a couple of options, just get them all. I can return anything I don’t use, or maybe you can take them off my hands when you marry Brooks,” she says with a sly smile.

She’s completely perked back up as if nothing was ever wrong. Crisis adverted.

FOURTEEN

Brooks

“Idon’t know how a week is going to help, Brooks.” Walt sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looks at me over the brim of them. “If you don’t have the money now, you’re not going to.”

“Listen,” I shift to the edge of my seat, steepling my hands on the front of the desk, “I have something going that’s going to pay out in a few days. I just need time, Walt.”

Walt Fitz, the manager of the local bank, scoffs at me, thinking me full of shit.

“Something going,” he repeats, looking at me with suspicion lining the edges of his face.

I nod. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. Just give me another week.”

He looks over at his computer, moving his mouse with a wavering look crossing his eyes. I’ve almost got him.

“If I do this, Brooks, this is yourlastextension. I can’t keep doing this.”

“I completely understand,” I add enthusiastically.

Walt closes his eyes and sighs. “Fuck.”

I smack the top of his desk, and his nameplate bounces up and then slams back down. “Thank you.” I hit him with a finger gun. “You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not!”

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