Page 46 of Holiday Friend Zones
Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but I suppose not completely uncalled for.
“What?Baby pink doesn’t work?”I hold up the dress against my front, flopping some of my curls over my shoulder so that the color contrast displays correctly.
That’s the thing about red hair; it doesn’t go with everything.Not like Lindee’s pretty blonde.She can wear just about every color.Actually, so can our oldest sister, Mikayla, as well, her dark brown giving her a freedom and flexibility a carrot top doesn’t have.
Except orange.None of us can pull off orange all that well.Something that is tough growing up in the state of Tennessee.But we do it anyway come Saturdays in the fall.
Mom has always joked that the three of us are the perfect setup for a bad joke—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a bar.But for as different as our hair color is, we all have the same matching hazel eyes with strands of gold and green woven through.
Our brother, Rylan—who not only had the pleasure of growing up with only sisters with three very distinct personalities, while also being sandwiched between the oldest and the middle sister—is this dishwater blond-ish combination of the three of us.That said, he keeps it cropped close enough that you can’t tell what color it is most of the time anyway.Even if you could, it wouldn’t matter, because he also has the same matching irises.
They’re the Murray eyes, the same ones our great-great-grandfather had.The same ones that every generation of Murray has had since.The ones that no matter where we were, no matter what we did, let everyone in Trouble, Tennessee, and the surrounding areas know that we were Murrays.
To the point where even if we had wanted to be anonymous, anytime we were out and about, good luck.Our eyes gave us away.
“Wedding dress?”Lindee repeats, her voice cracking, this time loud enough that it attracts the attention of a few other shoppers.“Did you say wedding dress?”
“I did.”
“Kyra.”She pushes her glasses up her nose with her middle finger, and I can tell she already regrets not having put in her contacts.Guess that’s what I get for taking her away from a distilling day.“Who are you marrying?”
“Davis.”
Lindee stares back at me, blinking rapidly.I know this look.This is her thinking look.As the nerdy one in the family, Lindee has this look a lot.Every time she’s trying to work out one of her equations or other weird problems around the distillery.Of which, as the Master Distiller—and now one-quarter owner—of Tennessee Trouble, she has many.Overseeing the production of classic whiskey and moonshine products, plus helping create the new moonshine, keeps her brain working overtime.
“Have you two been secretly dating behind everyone’s backs?”
“No.”I shake my head, keeping my answer simple.
Although, I like that her mind automatically went there.That her first thought must be that this whole time my best friend was actually my boyfriend, and we simply weren’t telling anyone that is what we were.
“But you’re getting married?Like,marriedmarried?Actually married?You’ll be hiswifemarried?”
“Is there another kind?”
“I mean, like, proper, all the things that come with marriage.”Lindee looks around, her cheeks flushing slightly as she notices the little old lady giving us the side-eye on the other side of the rack.Lowering her voice, she continues, “Or is this one of those lavender marriages that you see on social media?”
“Davis isn’t gay,” I hiss.
Not that we talked about sleeping arrangements.Or extracurriculars.
Conveniently, or maybe not so, neither of us broached the topic of sex or dating and what us being married to each other meant in regard to that part of our lives.Maybe that was because I was too busy trying not to get caught up in how dinner at Final Cask, the more upscale restaurant in town, with its dim lighting and soft music, actually felt somewhat romantic last night as we talked about our wedding—even if all we’re doing is eloping.Or that as we shared the cheesecake—wishing it was whiskey cherry cheesecake, a dessert long since retired from the menu, but not our hearts—I couldn’t help but wonder if that was what Lady felt like when sharing that plate of spaghetti and meatballs with Tramp.
All giddy and like a little kid on Christmas morning, never wanting it to end.
“Let’s try this one, see how it fits.”
I step around my sister, hoping the subject change will make her forget her question altogether, and head toward the fitting room.It takes her a second, but she’s hot on my heels, like a puppy scurrying after its owner.
“Kyra, explain yourself,” Lindee demands, pulling the curtain closed.
I huff out a breath, pulling my sweater over my head.I’ve been dreading this part.It’s only fair though.I did drop a major bomb on her in the middle of a department store.Plus, I’m about to ask an even bigger favor of her here in a second.
I launch into an explanation, at least the best I can given my little understanding of the stock market.It’s more than enough for Lindee though, who like me, is good at her area.Actually, that’s not true.Lindee is super smart, period.But when it comes to chemistry, she’s scary smart.Either way though, when it comes to the stock market, we know enough of the basics to get by, and then hire Davis to handle the rest.
“And you getting married will fix this?”
“Yup.So we’re headed to the courthouse tomorrow.”
