Page 80 of Threads of Kindness
“We’ve already had over five hundred views,” Sunday cried. “Hashtag Dress Cam istrending!”
“I’m astounded,” Anita said.
“I think people love the entire story,” Gordon said. “It’s not just about stitching a wedding dress—it’s about the disappointment of Sunday getting the wrong dress, the kind bridal shop owner saving the day, the short deadline, the vintage sewing machine, and the beautiful library where it all takes place. It’s romantic, generous—human. You’re a modern-day fairy godmother.”
Anita burst out laughing. “I never dreamed this would be so successful,” she said. Her smile suddenly vanished. “What if Josh sees the dress?” She turned to Sunday. “Do you believe that old wives’ tale—that it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding?”
“I sure do,” Sunday said. “He promised me he won’t go snooping online. Maggie said she’ll watch on her phone from her office but will keep him away from the screen.”
“Whew.” Anita exhaled. “Let’s store what we’ve finished in the closet. I need to get back to the shop to prepare tomorrow’s pieces.”
“I’m going to ask our custodian to make more space for viewers,” Lyla said. “We’re already up to 800 online viewers. We’ll have more in person the next time.”
“See you tomorrow, fairy godmother,” Sunday said to Anita after they’d stashed the completed pieces.
Anita chuckled. “Goodnight, Cinderella.”
CHAPTER 40
Josh was the final one to climb into John’s Suburban. “I can’t believe you got six tickets to the playoff game,” he said, scanning the group of men in the car as he maneuvered into the third-row seat and buckled in next to Frank.
“We’ve got Glenn to thank for that,” Frank said. “He used his connections.”
“It helps to have been a season ticket holder for more than fifty years,” Glenn replied with a grin. “It’s been at least a decade since I’ve been to a playoff game. I’m excited about going with a group of guy friends. Makes me feel young again.”
“You’re the youngest-thinking person I know,” Tim said from the second row, smiling at Glenn beside him.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Josh said sincerely. “I’ve never been to a college basketball playoff game.”
“We wanted to do something special for you,” John called from behind the wheel. “You’re getting married in ten days. We figured this would be our version of a bachelor party.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Josh said. “Sunday and I both feel like bachelor and bachelorette parties—especially thosewhole destination weekends—have gotten out of hand. We’re not doing any of that stuff.”
Everyone in the car—except John, who kept his eyes on the road—turned to smile at him.
“What?” Josh asked, his brow furrowing.
“About that …” Gordon said, glancing at him from the passenger seat. “What do you think Sunday is doing tonight?”
“She’s going to Archer’s Bridal for the last fitting on her gown. They finished it two days ago and moved it from the library to the shop so they could make any last-minute alterations.”
The car fell silent for a beat.
“That’snotthe only thing she’s doing tonight, is it?” Josh asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
“I think a certain group of women may have other plans for her,” Gordon said lightly.
“We promised our wives we wouldn’t say anything,” John added. “So you’ll hear about it when you get home.” He signaled and merged onto the highway. “Now,” he said, his tone shifting, “we’ve got a 60-minute drive ahead of us. I want to hear everyone’s analysis of the remaining teams and your predictions for who’s taking home the national title.”
Sunday stoodon the pedestal in the dressing room, examining herself in the three-way mirror.
Anita squatted behind her, arranging the fabric of the train. She glanced at Sunday’s reflection and quickly stood.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.
Sunday wiped a tear with one hand and flung out the other. “Tissue,” she said in a choked voice.
Anita grabbed the box from the corner and handed it to her. Sunday snatched one from the top and dabbed at her cheeks, catching her tears before they fell onto the dress.
