Page 53 of Always a Bridesmaid
“Don’t tell Nonna Lucia. She’ll ask her if she’s a lesbian, same way she asked me last year in front of Tucker.”
“Sounds like your grandma, always leaping to play matchmaker.” Ford exhaled and ran his palms down his jeans. “It’s not a good time for me to get serious with someone, anyway. I’ve got puppies to train, and fire season is coming.” Come fall, there was usually a wildfire or two, and he always headed to help.
“That’s a cop-out and you know it. No time is ever ideal for a relationship or to fall in love and lose your mind a bit. You think Doris would accept that excuse?”
A band formed around his chest, so tight it hurt to breathe. Why did Addie insist on pushing? “Starting to regret telling you that story.”
“If you really never want me to mention it again, I won’t, but—”
“Then don’t,” he snapped. It’d come out harsher than he meant it to, but he wouldn’t take it back.
“But,” Addie said, her dogged nature showing its head, “it’s not doing you any favors, sitting at home every night, waiting for an emergency call to come in. You’ll drive yourself mad. Then I bet you feel guilty when one does, because you’ve been hoping for one, and it means someone’s in trouble.”
When did his best friend go and become a mind reader? He grunted in response, not wanting to admit she was right.
“I say this out of love, McGuire. Life’s too short. The longer you take to start living it, the more regrets you’ll end up with. You’ve never done anything half-assed before. Don’t choose now, with Violet, to start.”
…
Arms loaded with dresses, Violet paused next to one of the fitting rooms, observing the big dude on the couch and the bride-to-be. Both a skosh out of place, but she loved how open they were to this whole adventure.
Admittedly, wedding-dress shopping was akin to pouring lemon juice on an unhealed cut, but helping Addie narrow her options acted as a balm that minimized the sting.
While happy to help, Violet worried that every time she brought out her binder, she was shooting herself in the foot with Ford.
It should provide a sense of comfort and reinforce her willpower. After all, what guy—especially one like Ford—would willingly jump into a relationship with a woman obsessed with getting married?
Not that she was obsessed.
Not anymore, anyway.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t mourn the loss of the aforementioned dream. In an attempt to avoid letting sorrow take hold, she would concentrate on Addie, try not to concentrate too much on Ford, and no matter what, she would. Not. Cry.
“Time to try on the gowns,” the cheery bridal shop consultant said with a clap of her hands.
She, Lexi, and Violet hung the dresses inside the nearest fitting room.
Lexi posted herself next to the curtain in case Addie needed an assist, and with the bridal consultant there as well, Violet decided three was a crowd.
She plunked herself next to Ford to prepare for the montage. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch and settled his palm on the nape of her neck. “You okay?”
The brush of his callused fingertips bulldozed her raw emotions over the subject of matrimony, along with every thought in her head, and how did one go about breathing again? “Just peachy.”
“Thanks for your help.” He toyed with her hair, and goose bumps prickled her skin. “Told you I was unqualified.”
“You grounded her when she was beginning to panic. And honestly, I’d wonder about you if you were an expert on wedding dresses.”
As soon as she said the words, she wanted to pluck them out of the air. Maybe it was her paranoia that made her translate his tight smile intoI’m concerned about how much youdoknow.
Her gut wrenched, her emotional scars nearing the surface once again.
“I’m coming out,” Addie called. “And if anyone laughs, they’ll get a black eye.”
“No one is going to laugh,” Lexi said, but she bit at her thumbnail.
The curtains opened with awhoosh, and then the swishing of fabric became the soundtrack as Addie exited the fitting room. Her tense shoulders and the stiff way she walked screamed discomfort.
Violet wasn’t sure if Addie’s unease came from not being used to dresses, disliking this particular gown, or if a stray pin was jabbing her through the yards upon yards of fabric.
