Fall For You: A Reverse Grump Romantic Comedy (A Season's Detour, Book 2)

by Hayleigh Sol

  I had to laugh at Lisette, who’d never had much interest in fashion and even less in wedding dress styles. “You do know princess and mermaid are basically opposites, right?”

  She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. Probably accurate.

  “We tried having me take the lead at the first store‌—‌and the third‌—‌but the salespeople weren’t really listening to either of us. And, they’re so damn‌…‌peppy, you can’t get mad at them. It’d be like getting mad at a puppy for being excited to see you. They’re like these twenty‌–‌year‌–‌old pod people and they’re all obsessed with strapless ball gowns.”

  The bride had boobs and booty and we both knew she’d be yanking up on the top of a strapless dress every five seconds if we put her in one. Not only that but, like ninety‌–‌nine percent of women‌—‌my own estimate after years of working with different body types‌—‌she had side boob when her arms were in any position that wasn’t overhead or akimbo, and she didn’t want to spend her entire wedding worrying about such a cruel trick of nature.

  A wider skirt might’ve been a possibility but Tracie claimed she felt like a dewy‌–‌eyed debutante rather than the more experienced woman of thirty‌–‌five she was. I told her she had the kind of curves that were made to be shown off in a more form‌–‌fitting skirt.

  She’d blushed, adorably, when she confessed Noah felt the same way.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t shove the pod‌–‌chicks out of the way and take over the dress selection yourself.” Maya knew me well, as did everyone else on the call.

  “I did.” Collective snorts of laughter. “We found a couple of potentials but I still feel like something’s missing.”

  Holly chuckled, shaking her head. “You mean you haven’t found the one? Even after all those stores?”

  The notion of finding the one wedding dress was as ridiculous as finding the one man to complete you. Which I reminded them of.

  “Oh, come now, women are always talking about knowing they found their dress as soon as they put it on. Their friends know it, their mothers know it, everyone gets misty‌–‌eyed‌—‌”

  “Yeah, maybe on “reality” shows.” I’d interrupted Simone’s misinformed musings and thrown up air quotes since everyone knew reality tv was every bit as scripted and contrived as any show. “The truth is, there is no magic dress. You want a dress you feel good in, one you can move and breathe in. That’s it. End of magic.”

  “Hey now, don’t burst Mony’s bubble,” Holly said. She and Simone had always had this oddly reciprocal protective relationship, even though Lisette was Simone’s older sister.

  Well, maybe not always. One Christmas had changed everything for Holly.

  “Sorry, Simone. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if you’re ever in a similar situation.”

  I caught Maya’s scrutinizing look just before she spoke. “How’s all this wedding talk been for you, Bay?”

  “Fine.” It was my turn to shrug as if I couldn’t care less.

  Maya’s crossed arms, coupled with her half‌–‌frown, telegraphed her skepticism. “Helping someone plan a wedding isn’t bothering you at all?”

  Perceptive little pain in my ass. I missed the days when she’d been so occupied by work chaos that she didn’t pick up on undercurrents.

  But I was a pro at strong‌–‌arming my half‌–‌truths into reality. “Look, weddings may not be my bag, but Tracie has another friend doing the heavy lifting. I’m mostly there to help with the style stuff and be supportive; it’s not really all that different from what I do for my clients on a daily basis. I just like this one more than most.”

  “You know that’s not what Maya’s asking.” This was the problem with being best friends with a bunch of intelligent women who’d known you forever. Lisette wasn’t always the most tuned‌–‌in to icky emotional crap‌—‌her words‌—‌but she was no dummy.

  I sighed and forced myself to be honest with them. Well, in the particular way we did it. “Okay, here are my two truths and a lie.” Another big breath to ensure I had all three phrases ready and that none of them would give away more than I was willing to admit. Even to my best friends.

  “When we went to the first store, I saw a dress that was nearly identical to mine and broke out in hives. At the second store, the saleslady mistook me for the bride‌–‌to‌–‌be and it threw me to the point that all I could manage was pointing at Tracie awkwardly. By store number five, I was so sick of tulle and lace and beading that I suggested Tracie buck tradition and get married in her favorite cocktail dress.”

  Maya smiled a little at that. “The last one is almost definitely the truth. Although, I’m sure your professionalism kicked in and you told her you were kidding.”

  “Hmm, I’ve never known you to have urticaria, so I call bullshit on the hives.” Of course Lisette knew the correct terminology. Nerd.

  Simone’s sad eyes‌—‌that had better not be pity I was seeing‌—‌nearly did make me break out in hives. Take that, Dr. Lisette. “Was the whole thing completely awful, sweetie?”

  I waved her worry away like an annoying fly. “It wasn’t a big deal. I did see a dress like mine, though. Mostly, I was surprised they were still making such a similar style all these years later. Really. It was the dress that affected me. You all know how I get about clothes.”

  None of them looked like they were buying it.

  With another sigh, I explained that shopping for the big white dress may not have been the best place to jump into this commitment I’d made to being Tracie’s maid of honor. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a choice with the wedding date so close. While being in bridal boutiques again was bound to bring up memories for me, they weren’t all bad. I’d simply focus on my friend’s happiness to get through the less pleasant ones. Easy peasy.

  That seemed to placate the group. Tired of wedding talk‌—‌not a great sign this early in the process, but there it was‌—‌I considered telling the girls about my suspicions regarding the groom.

  I still hadn’t met him yet and, the more I thought about their relationship, the more I recalled from when he and Tracie had started dating. At the time, he’d played it so casual, I’d been reminded of myself. Thinking that Tracie felt the same about romantic entanglements, I’d figured he was the right kind of guy for my friend to fling with; at least they could geek out over tech stuff together between rounds in bed.

  But I’d been wrong. I could still see her sad eyes when she’d told me the gossip about him. The many photos of gorgeous women wrapped around him had been damning. Not that she’d let me see them during that drunken venting session so long ago. She’d forcefully changed the subject.

  “Alright now, may we please talk about Holly’s latest adventure? Did you really lose your guide on that whitewater trip?” I was relieved when Simone shifted the attention away from me, even if Maya looked like she didn’t want to let me off that easily.

  Holly had been rafting Class V rapids in the Grand Canyon a few weeks back and she’d texted the group at the end of the day‌—‌Simone’s request for every extreme adventure our friend tackled‌—‌but hadn’t offered up many details.

  “Yeah, Ken hit the Ledge Hole at the bottom of Lava Falls. It was so cool, I glanced back just in time to see him pop off the raft like a cork.”

  Simone strenuously objected to Holly’s characterization of the event as “cool”.

  “Oh, he made it back to the raft in one piece and gave both of us a good story to tell. Naturally, I rewarded his heroic swimming by making out with him back at camp that night.”

  Naturally.

  Being awake this early did have its benefits. When our video chat ended, I had time before meeting Tracie for lunch and more shopping‌—‌yippee‌—‌so I reviewed some notes from the designer of the new website I was having built. I still wasn’t thrilled with the overall look and feel of the site and was starting to worry we’d never get it right.

&n
bsp; Time evaporated as I typed up my change requests and I had to leave the email unfinished for the time being. Remembering there was a park near the second bridal boutique we had an appointment at this afternoon, I tossed running gear in my gym bag and headed out for another fun‌–‌filled afternoon.

  “Okay, so I’m pretty sure we’re moving in the right direction.”

  Tracie was standing on a platform in front of a tri‌–‌fold mirror, hands resting just below her waist, which looked fantastic in the gown she was currently wearing. Once the attendant had cinched it in the back with oversized clothespin‌–‌looking clips.

  I hadn’t voiced my thoughts, but this dress felt like we’d gone so far in the right direction we might’ve reached our destination. To me, the only thing missing was a big blue pushpin and a You are here sign. My job was to make sure Tracie agreed, though, and without forcing it.

  “How do you feel in it?” The question was sincere but had also become something of a joke between us. Every attendant had asked it, in exactly that way, everywhere we’d been. They were probably hoping she’d say something like, “Beautiful” or, “Like a princess”.

  Gag me.

  “It’s certainly one of the more comfortable dresses I’ve had on‌…‌and I like that the hem flares out so I can walk. Maybe even dance a little. There’s a lot more movement than that other dress from last week. Wherever that was.”

  I didn’t blame her for not remembering. We’d seen hundreds of dresses in the past two weeks. I’d been keeping track, though, of any that were potentials.

  She smoothed her palms over her hips. “I know you’re always telling me to embrace my curves and I’m pretty sure Noah will like it‌…‌ What about this top, though?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, I’m glad you talked me out of that bateau neck with my wide shoulders, but did I go too far the other way? Am I showing too much cleavage?”

  Hmm. I stood back and looked at her again. “Only you can decide how much you’re comfortable revealing, but I would definitely tell you if I thought you were leaning more toward flaunting than flattering.” My head tilted as I followed the lines of the décolletage once more. “You know, the seamstress might be able to insert a lace panel if you decide this is too much.”

  Tracie and I debated the dress’s points and I pulled up photos I’d taken of her in others for comparison. I didn’t want to rush or put pressure on her, but the clock was ticking if we hoped to have a prayer of getting alterations done before her first anniversary.

  With a furrowed brow, Tracie met my eyes and huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Bailey, this is exhausting. Can’t you just pick one for me?”

  So tempting.

  “C’mon, champ. We’re making progress; every time you put on a dress, whether it’s right for you or not, we get a little bit closer.”

  “I guess.” Another gusty exhale. “We’d better get going if we’re going to make our next appointment in time. I think I’ll grab a coffee next door. You want anything?”

  If I was still hoping to go for a run after this, I’d do best to stick with water. I told Tracie I’d head to the next place and check in, start working with the attendant to pull dresses, while the bride was peeled out of her current getup and stopped for a hit of caffeine.

  When I opened the door of the next boutique, a twenty‌–‌something who looked more like a teen‌–‌something hustled over and hit me with her megawatt smile. “Hi! I’m Chastity. Do you have an appointment with us today?”

  I managed to keep the grimace off my face at her chirpy enthusiasm. Surrounded by white, I briefly wondered if Chastity was her real name.

  “Hi, we have an appointment for Tracie Newberg and‌—‌”

  “Ohmygosh! Are you so excited about your big day?!”

  Lord, help me. I’d found the place cheerleaders went when they retired.

  “Actually, Chastity”‌—‌I was proud of my steady voice‌—‌“I’m Bailey, Tracie’s friend and stylist, and we’re both pretty tired of the search, to be honest. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I think we’ll do much better if you dial it down a notch. For the bride’s sake.”

  The attendant made a sympathetic pouty face over our shopping fatigue and I started describing the style of dress we were looking for. Tracie joined us soon after and, once she’d introduced herself, Chastity gasped.

  “Ohmygosh! Are you so excited about your big day?!”

  My friend cut what‌–‌the‌–‌fuck eyes to me and I didn’t remotely attempt to contain my grin.

  Chapter 3

  The career path I’d been sure I would follow before I’d found my actual destination was that of a personal trainer. Or a nutritionist. Or a psychologist.

  So I’d had a few majors in college. Who hadn’t?

  While studying kinesiology, I’d been inspired to take online classes and become certified as a personal trainer. I’d worked nights and weekends at a gym that was part of a national chain to get my foot in the door and to help pay tuition. After being in a gym for so many hours, I’d discovered a side effect other trainers had warned me about: I had no desire to arrive early or stick around after clients to do my own workouts.

  As a chubby kid, who’d become a chunky adolescent‌—‌now a curvy gal with a few stubborn squishy bits that refused to tighten up‌—‌my mother had drilled the necessity of regular exercise into my head since before puberty.

  “Boys don’t make passes at girls with fat asses.” One of her many precious pearls of wisdom.

  Thanks, Mom.

  For better or worse, her voice was often in my head and, if being a personal trainer meant sacrificing my own health and fitness, that was never going to be a viable option for me. I’d switched to teaching group exercise classes, which was a little better because I got to sweat with the rest of the class. When I got so busy starting my fashion consulting business, I tried one of the asscrack‌–‌of‌–‌dawn boot camps that had become all the rage in the early aughts.

  I fell in love. And the affair, unlike any I’d ever had with a man, was still going strong.

  Sunday mornings, I still dragged myself out of bed for a six a.m. boot camp‌—‌now, as the instructor‌—‌in the park, rain or shine. The devil in me almost liked it better when it rained. I’d have my considerably smaller‌–‌than‌–‌normal class down in the mud for burpees and army crawls.

  Hey, a real boot camp drill sergeant would’ve done the same. And gleefully. I just wanted my soldiers to have an authentic experience.

  That’s what I barked at the whiners before giving ‘em another ten reps.

  It wasn’t raining this morning, though. Instead, it was promising to be a scorcher, the morning heavy with humidity that clung to your skin and stifled your breathing. Perfect for high‌–‌intensity intervals.

  So maybe I was a dick, but the majority of my class had been coming back for my torture for years. And I always did the workouts with them.

  Jack was determined to beat me with the pushups today and, while I loved a little competition, I was more pleased to see how far he’d come in the last six months.

  “Nice, Jack. That’s five more than you had last month‌—‌oh, I stand corrected, ladies and gents. Looks like Jack here’s got more gas in the tank. C’mon, bud, you got it. One more, push!” He grunted out a final rep before his elbows collapsed and he hit the ground with a thud.

  “Alright, everybody. On your feet, let’s see those high knees for a solid minute. You too, Jack. No extra rest time just because you busted out more pushups today. What am I, your mother? There aren’t any ribbons for participation here, people.”

  Lydia groan‌–‌laughed when I held my hand up to the height I wanted her knees. “There aren’t any ribbons, period.”

  “Aw, but you get to live longer and healthier lives. You’re welcome.”

  A few of the students laughed at my sarcasm as I jogged‌—‌my own knees driving up to the height of my
hips‌—‌around the group.

  We finished the hour with plank pistons until, one by one, my brave soldiers dropped. The exercise was one of my own least favorites and I had to take a break before jumping back in to keep Sol company for his final few reps. For fifteen seconds, we all lay sprawled on the grass in various stages of panting, moaning pain.

  I made everyone get up for cool down and stretching before those muscles could cramp. Before we all slow‌–‌walked to our cars, a few of the folks who were running a 10K with me in a couple of weeks checked in on the race‌–‌day plan. We said our farewells and I headed home for a shower, debating whether or not I should be a “good daughter” and call my mom.

  Uggh. Maybe I’d be a good sister and call my big bro instead.

  Dustin and I talked every couple of weeks, usually about work, though he did still ask about guys I was dating with that protective older brother air. He didn’t seem to believe me when I told him I was taking a break from dating.

  As someone who would never consider another serious relationship, even I could admit that casual dating and the occasional hookup got old. The kinds of guys who were looking for the same temporary situation weren’t exactly gentlemen. Most didn’t even bother faking it.

  A couple of months back, I’d met a guy on one of the dating apps and we’d gone out for drinks, had some laughs and flirtatious chemistry that was promising. When he’d walked me to my car, he’d given me a kiss with just the right amount of heat. The kind that makes your skin tingle but stops just before the guy shoves his tongue down your throat. Again, promising. Plans were made to “hang out” the next day, maybe do something outside since the weather would be nice. He would text me in the morning.

  Or so he’d said.

  I’d hung around my apartment all morning, done some work, even cleaned the place a bit. The day had turned out to be perfect ‌–‌ sunny and warm under a blue sky with cotton‌–‌ball clouds. Waiting around for Calvin to contact me was a real challenge on such an inviting spring day.