Page 82 of The Story of Us
He blinked, the lights dancing in front of his eyes. “Yes.” His voice was hoarse like his throat was full of sandpaper.
“You’re a lucky man. Although, we don’t get a lot of grooms coming in for fittings.”
Nate shook his head too quickly, and the woman blanched.
“Oh, no. I’m not the groom. We’re not. She’s not even the bride. That’s a bridesmaid’s dress.”
“Ahh, of course, the Fletcher wedding. Such pretty dresses.”
Nate nodded. “Mmmhmm.”
“I can’t wait to see the pictures.”
Nate grimaced, remembering how Charlie and Sera had signed the exclusivity agreement withCelebritymagazine. Their wedding would feature in the same issue as his profile and the article on Kathleen’s Place.
His phone rang, and he recognised Garrett’s ringtone.
“Excuse me,” Nate said to the saleslady and strode towards the front door. He needed some fresh air anyway.
“You sly motherfucker,” Garrett said as soon as Nate answered.
“What?”
“Talk about a plot twist.”
Nate ducked into the alley between the shops. “Mate, I don’t understand.”
“Look at you. Picking your moment. Shooting your shot. Taking a swing at the big leagues like it ain’t no thang.”
His gaze searched the graffiti on the wall in front of him like it held the answers to whatever Garrett was going on about. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So, you didn’t mean to send Jemima Jenkins a copy of your new romance novel? Also, since when do you write romance?”
All the air rushed out of Nate’s body, and he thrust his hand forward, steadying himself against the wall. “No. I sent back your edits.”
Garrett’s laugh made Nate’s blood run cold. “No. You didn’t. You replied to the wrong email. The one about the contract negotiations with Jemima Jenkins and her team. And you sent us a copy of something called TSOU which stands for …”
It stood for Nate was a fucking idiot.
* * *
Something was wrong.Eloise was sure of it. Nate had been quiet—quieter than normal—ever since they’d left Julietta’s Bridal Boutique.
“Do you want to grab some lunch?” Eloise asked as they walked down one of Melbourne’s famous laneways. She’d have to steer clear of anything with carbs, though, and her daily slices of Nate’s sourdough would have to wait until after the wedding. Her bridesmaid’s dress, which was now lying flat in the back of Nate’s Pajero with all the seats flipped forward so it wouldn’t crease, was much tighter than she’d expected.
“Sure,” Nate said, his eyes firmly glued to the ground.
Eloise pointed at a small shopfront with several big tureens of soup steaming up the window. “This okay?”
She got the feeling Nate would agree to anything she suggested. His mind was clearly otherwise occupied. “I don’t mind.”
After they ordered—celery soup for both, no bread for her—they huddled at a small table near one of the large outdoor heaters. People hustled past, and Eloise could’ve sworn a few did a double take when they saw Nate. One guy even had a Mustangs beanie on. He stopped and asked for a picture, which Nate said yes to, the smile on his face never reaching his eyes. He listened attentively, cheeks flushing at the praise the fan heaped on him for both his football career and his books. After several handshakes and ‘good to meet you’s’, the fan left, and Nate settled back in his chair.
A waiter brought over their soups, and Eloise cupped her bowl, warming her hands.
“Where’s your bread?” Nate asked.
“My dress is tighter than I thought it would be.”
