Page 47 of Jilted

“That sounds exciting. I’ve never left the United States.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “The next wedding is in London. I can’t wait.”

“I’m going to be busy for the next few weeks. But why don’t you come in a few days early so I can show you around?”

“That’s sweet of you to offer. Can I… think about it?”

Wilder’s eyes dropped to my lips. “Full disclosure. I’m not being sweet. I want to spend time with you.”

I felt my face grow warm, so I cooled myself with a sip of wine. “Did you see the photos from the wedding last weekend?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been busy.”

I smiled. “There’s one of you that’s hysterical. Let me grab my laptop. It’s in my bedroom. Be right back.”

“You sure you don’t want help carrying it? I could join you?”

I chuckled. “Make yourself comfortable. Actually, nottoocomfortable.”

I went down the hall to my bedroom. When I came back, Wilder was seated on one of the stools that was usually tucked under the island counter. He pointed his eyes to a business card sitting on top. “You work on Saturdays, too?”

I peered over to see what he was talking about. It was an appointment card for Fifth Avenue Bridal at 9 a.m. tomorrow. “Oh, that.” I shook my head. “No. That’s personal, not magazine-related. I made an appointment to sell my wedding dress.”

“Huh. Guess I never thought about what you do with the stuff if the wedding doesn’t happen.”

“I should have gotten rid of it by now. I’m never going to wear it. But I’m pretty attached to it. I bought it almost a decade ago.”

“I thought you were only dating the guy a few years?”

I smiled. “I was. I bought it before we met. I saw it in a magazine.Bridemagazine, oddly enough. It was long before I even worked there. I’d had this picture in my head of what my wedding would look like since I was a little kid, dress and all. One day I was flipping through a magazine at the doctor’s office, and there it was—my dream dress. So I figured out who had it in stock and went to see it in person. I was only seventeen. I hadn’t even planned on trying it on. But I wound up cashing in the savings bonds I’d had since I was born and buying it.”

Wilder looked a little scared, which made me laugh. I pointed to his face. “I really wish we’d gone on a date, so I could’ve told you that story at dinner. You look terrified. I bet you would have bolted before dessert.” I shrugged. “Anyway, as long as I’m letting my crazy out, I might as well let it all hang out. The appointment tomorrow is my third one. I’ve tried to sell it twice before.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the first time I made it to the front door, but I couldn’tbring myself to go in. The second time, I went in and spoke to one of the women who worked there. She took the dress out of the bag to look at it and a woman who was shopping walked over and asked if it was available for sale—she wanted to try it on. I pretended to get a call and rushed out. I couldn’t part with it.”

“What’s the attachment? The dress, the dream, or the douchebag?”

That made me smile. “You’re asking a really good question. I’m over the douchebag, but I’m not sure if it’s giving up the dress or my dreams that upsets me more. Maybe it’s a little bit of both?”

“You can dream new dreams. Ones that are bigger and better.”

I sighed and nodded. “Or maybe it’s time I live in the land of reality. But let’s not talk about my issues. I want to hear more about your team.”

Wilder’s eyes lit up as he spoke about all of his plans and ideas. He rambled for a solid twenty minutes before coming to a lull. “Sorry.” He smiled. “I was babbling. You’re probably dying to eat just so I’ll shut up for a few minutes.”

“Not at all. I find you inspiring. It’s a reminder that I used to have goals of my own that didn’t link my happiness with my love life.”

“Like what?”

“I wanted to be an author, write books. I used to love my job, but I went to school for journalism and creative writing.”

“What kind of books would you write?”

“Honestly, probably romance. It’s all I read. Well, that and…” I looked over at a stack of books on the kitchen shelf. “Self-help books.”

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