by Fiona Lowe
Melissa thrust a box of tissues into her hands and patted her back.
“What if we pulled up the organza and used a material rose to cover the stain?” the bride’s mother suggested, not sounding very hopeful.
“Mom, it’s gone right through to the silk.”
Amy had long stopped looking at coats, having totally tuned in to the fraught conversation. She studied the slim bride who was wearing a gown with a stunningly beaded and ruched bodice. A full skirt of Thai silk fell from her hips and the top layer was gathered up on the right and held in place with organza flowers.
She ran an out-of-practice eye over the options. “I might be able to help.”
The bride swung around to her, surprise and hope clear on her face. “Really? Are you a dressmaker?”
“Actually, I’m a lawyer but I used to make a lot of my own clothes. Granted, it’s been a while but—” she fingered the silk, “—this skirt’s so full, if I gathered it here and relocated one of those organza flowers no one is going to notice.” She turned the bride around. “A padded bra will fill the bodice and—” she flicked the shoulder straps off Brianna’s shoulders so that they rested against the tops of her arms. The crystal beads glinted under the lights as if saying, look at all this beautiful smooth and tanned skin. “—if you wear the straps like this, I can hide a tuck with beads and it’s going to fit. I think the dress says, gorgeous and sexy. What do you think?”
Brianna’s expression was half hope and half despair. “I don’t know but at this point I’m willing to try anything.”
“Do you have a sewing machine here?” Amy asked the sales associate.
“Yes, in the back room. Annette often works from here doing alterations for me. I’ve also got bridal lingerie so while you’re working on the dress, I can get Brianna fitted with the bra.” Pure relief skated across her face. “I’m Melissa, by the way, and I own the shop. Thank you so much for helping.”
“No problem. I’m Amy.”
As Amy concentrated on pinning a gather, another woman wearing a similar black suit to Amy’s rushed in holding what looked like a toolbox in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
“I came as soon as I got your message, Brianna. I have every stain-removal product under the sun and, oh—” She stopped short.
“This is Nicole,” Melissa said by way of introduction. “She’s our wedding planner, our hair and makeup expert, and general troubleshooter.” She turned to Nicole. “Amy just happened to be in the store and she thinks she can adjust this gown to fit which is just as well because the other dress is ruined.”
Nicole visibly relaxed. “That’s wonderful. What can I do to help?”
Amy took the pins out of her mouth. “I’m fine but I think Brianna needs some TLC, a glass of champagne and a makeup do-over.”
“I’m on it.” Nicole hurried over as Amy unzipped the dress. “We’ll have you looking glowing and gorgeous again in no time.”
“But what if Amy can’t make it work?” Brianna worried her engagement ring. “No offense but...”
Amy understood. “None taken. I have a bit of a perfectionist streak so I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I could do it.”
Brianna stepped out of the dress and quickly slid her arms into the robe Nicole held up. “My wedding day wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Nicole patted her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. When I married Tony, he and every guy under seventy arrived late to the church. All of them were dirty and grimy, having rushed straight from battling a big fire out at the mill. We got married and Tony was too scared to touch me in case he made my dress dirty.”
She got a dreamy expression on her face. “I didn’t care. The photos are of the most unusual wedding party ever and I love them. It’s kinda cool having a wedding no one will forget.” She poured two glasses of champagne and handed them to the bride and her mother. “Even if Dylan has to wait a little while longer than he expected, he’ll be in awe of how beautiful you are.”
“And at how I’ve gone up two bra sizes.” Brianna gave a brittle laugh as she looked at the padded and lift bra that Melissa held up.
“Honey, he’s going to love the cleavage this bra gives you,” Melissa said with a wide smile. “Not to mention the added benefit of all that see-through lace.”
Brianna’s mother nodded with a smile as she sipped her champagne. “And there’s your silver lining.”
“Mom!” Brianna flushed bright pink.
Amy hid her smile behind the acres of silk and followed Melissa into the back room and the sewing machine. She wanted to kiss the absent Annette when she saw the vast array of threads. Pulling out the chair, she got to work.
* * *
“Oh. My. God.” Brianna stared at herself in the mirror while Amy quickly hand-stitched an organza flower in place. “You’re a miracle worker.”
Amy couldn’t help the wide smile that split her face as she smoothed down the gown. Brianna looked amazing. Nicole had redone her makeup and the super-lift bra had done its job and then some. Combined with the come-hither off-the-shoulder look, Brianna looked both demure and sexy. “You look amazing. Your groom’s going to think the wait was worth it.”
“We really need to leave now,” Brianna’s mother said, hurrying her daughter. “Your dad’s waiting in the carriage.”
Everyone walked outside and a man Nicole called Al, who was dressed in a coachman’s uniform and wearing a top hat, handed Brianna up into the carriage next to her father.
Amy gathered up the full skirt, tucking it safely inside the carriage away from the large wheels. “Good luck,” she said, feeling both exhilarated and slightly sad that the drama was over. She’d enjoyed using her hands again to create something tangible rather than using them to type up contracts.
“Thank you so much,” Brianna said, waving goodbye as Al instructed the horses to move on.
“Amy,” Melissa said, opening the door of the store. “Come in and have a thank-you glass of champagne.”
Amy automatically looked at her watch, slightly askance. “But it’s only eleven.”
Melissa laughed. “I could give you coffee but you just saved Whitetail’s Weddings That Wow’s reputation that we give the bride and groom everything they need. You deserve to celebrate. I have waffles so we can call it brunch if that’s less horrifying, but I have to say, champagne is good at any time of the day or night.”
For the past few years, Amy had spent Saturdays working and the idea of champagne before noon seemed decadent.
Try it. It’s not like you have anything to lose seeing you’ve lost everything anyway.
“Sure. Why not?” She stepped into the store.
After eating waffles and an indecent amount of divine Wisconsin cream, Amy tried on the coat and purchased it. As Melissa wrapped it in tissue paper, she picked up Brianna’s ruined dress, running the acres of fine organza through her fingers. “This is the most beautiful gown.”
“It is. She had it made in Minneapolis, but as it turned out she would have been better organizing the dress through me. I keep them safe and far away from two-year-olds with permanent markers,” Melissa said with a slight grimace.
“I’m trying to build the wedding gown part of my business but many brides believe they can get a cheaper dress from China.” She sighed. “When the dress arrives half-finished or not fitting properly, then they jump on the phone and beg me for help in getting it fixed or they end up buying a gown from me. I’ve taken to advertising that I have a dressmaker on hand for any last-minute hiccups as an added incentive for brides to buy through me. Thank goodness you were in town today to save the day.”
Amy smiled remembering how much fun she’d had despite the stress. “I was happy to help.”
“Would you be able to help out again if I needed it?”
“Please?” Melissa begged. “Just as a backup while Annette’s away.”
It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do with your time.
Excuse me, but you have a new job to find.
The idea of finding a new job terrified her because it would beg the question from future employers: Why did you leave M.M. Enterprises?
“Sure, why not.” Seriously? You really should—
Amy pulled the wedding gown up against her to shut out the argument in her head and she gazed at it in the full-length mirror. The thought of being a bride hadn’t really crossed her radar. She’d been far too busy climbing the career ladder with the intention of shattering the glass ceiling. Now that ceiling had fallen in on her.
And don’t forget that one small point that men don’t find you attractive.
The glimmer of reality pierced and deflated the delicious champagne buzz she had going on.
“You okay?” Melissa asked with a frown of concern. Amy’s throat started working against a massive lump as her alcohol high took a rapid plummet toward maudlin, reminding her of her utter folly that had resulted in yesterday’s flight to Whitetail. The backs of her eyes burned. I will not cry. I cannot cry.
“I’m fine,” she finally managed to say.
Melissa didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look fine. You look like your dog just died but I know what will cheer you up,” she said with a smile. “Try on the dress.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Amy said, hastily setting the gown over the back of the couch.
“Why not?” Melissa set down her drink. “I try on every wedding gown that comes into the store.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.” She looked a bit self-conscious and then she jumped up, selected a gown and unzipped the protective bag. “This is your size. Try it on and you’ll either understand what I mean or you won’t. Either way it doesn’t matter.”
“I’d feel silly. I’m not even in a relationship let alone thinking about getting married.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
A spectacular soft-white chiffon gown hung on a padded satin coat hanger, dangling from Melissa’s French-manicured nails. It called to her like the sirens called to the sailors and she couldn’t understand why. But then again, she’d been flung out of her normal life and nothing in the past twenty-four hours was remotely familiar. She’d lost her job, attacked and dislocated a motorcyclist’s shoulder, undressed the handsomest and most exasperating man she’d ever met and now she was buzzed on champagne in the middle of the day. Why not add in trying on a wedding gown?
“Okay,” she said, kicking off her shoes.
Melissa told her to keep her eyes closed as she zipped her into the gown and the next moment she was staring at herself in the mirror. The gown only had one shoulder strap, which was embroidered with a thousand tiny seed pearls that wound down in a floral pattern over her bust to finish at her waist. The A-line cut of the gown and the soft drape of the chiffon hugged and accentuated her curves, highlighting them in a way none of her work clothes ever did.
She hardly recognized herself. She looked...attractive. Pretty almost. Like the fairy princess in the stories her sisters had always loved to have read to them when they were kids. Stories she’d hated. “Oh, my God.”
Melissa nodded, understanding perfectly. “It’s magic, right? Best pick-me-up ever.”
Amy laughed. “And it’s not even addictive.”
An odd look crossed Melissa’s face. “It’s safer than cocaine for sure.”
Amy picked up the church train and twirled a few times, imagining dancing in the dress across a parquet floor. The image of Ben, his broad shoulders filling a black tuxedo jacket, pinged into her mind and the next moment it was like she was looking into his supercilious gaze. She stopped dead. Ben.
She’d totally forgotten he was waiting for her to drive him back to the house.
Chapter Five
Ben stared at the pile of white towels, his neatly folded clean jeans and T-shirt, and a fresh bar of soap, all of which Amy had laid out in the bathroom as if he was a guest at a hotel. The moment he’d put off for most of the day could be put off no longer. It was time for a shower.
He was finally back at the lake house after spending a large part of the day at Al’s workshop. When he’d arrived at the auto repair’s, the sign on the door had read, Driving Bride and Groom around Town. For the next three hours, no one had wandered in. Either the townsfolk knew Al was busy on a wedding day or everyone else was too.
Not that he’d minded the time. He loved the smell of grease and he’d been happy to have the place to himself. He’d checked out Al’s eclectic collection of old cars and bikes and texted his father some photos of the T-model Ford and the Mustang. Then he’d pulled a well-thumbed novel out of Red’s saddlebag and read. Spending time alone wasn’t an issue—it was the whole reason for this year away. But as the hours had ticked past, he’d realized that Amy was probably paying him back for his refusal to shop with her and do everything her way. If this was her idea of punishing him, he had no complaints at all.
The phone had only rung once and it had been a supplier in Madison telling him that Red’s top-end oiler kit, which he needed to fix the bike’s mechanical problem, would be dispatched on Monday. Yesterday that would have annoyed the hell out of him. Today, it made scant difference to his life when the thing was shipped. Hell, he couldn’t even fit it with one arm out of action.
He’d been using his left hand and scrawling a probably unreadable note to Al when Amy had arrived at the garage all breathless and pink cheeked with her gray eyes sparkling and her tight curls dancing around her face. She’d looked as if someone had just shown her the moon and the stars for the very first time.
She’d looked like a woman who’d just been laid and his gut had rolled and his blood had pounded just that bit harder with the same ridiculous pull of attraction that he’d got last night. It made no sense. He didn’t want to be attracted to any woman—he didn’t want a woman in his life, period. But he couldn’t deny his body was reacting to her and that confused the hell out of him. Surely, if his dormant sex drive was going to wake up, he’d be attracted to the same physical type that had always caught his eye.
He thought of Lexie with her short-cropped hair and athletic build, which she toned daily with a punishing workout regime, and he instantly wondered if this unwanted and unexpected attraction to Amy was because she was the total physical opposite of Lexie. The thought instantly reassured him and he relaxed. This odd pull couldn’t be attraction after all. It was what his sister-in-law, the therapist, would call something like overcompensation. He’d call it bullshit at the very least or his body getting sick of the longest sexual dry spell it had experienced in a decade. Either way, he was in the clear and, most important, he wasn’t going crazy.
When Amy had rushed into the garage, she’d also looked happy for the first time since he’d met her, but now as she lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, she didn’t look happy at all.
“So how do you want to do this?” she asked, chewing on her knuckle.
Her usual take-charge attitude seemed to have slipped slightly and she wore an air of vulnerability he didn’t want to acknowledge. Remembering her reaction earlier in the day when she’d found out that he’d told the doctor how he’d hurt his arm, he knew exactly how to get her back to her irritating, outraged self. That Amy he could cope with.
He raised his brows. “I figured you’d strip me naked and I’d take a shower.”
Her eyes widened and her face instantly flamed as red as her hair. “I’ll do no such thing,” she snapped in her best martinet voice.
He grinned, loving
how irate she was. “Why not? You did it last night.”
“We’ve been through this. I did not strip you.”
He raised his brows.
Her bee-stung lips pursed. “If you recall, your shirt stayed on. The only reason I took off your leather pants was because you were so drunk you couldn’t do it yourself.”
“Semantics.”
“No, facts. Today, I’m prepared to remove your shirt and your boots.” She flung her arm out, her ringless fingers pointing in the direction of a chair. “I brought that in so you can sit while you take off your pants.”
He could see that working and he appreciated her forethought, not that he was going to tell her that, given she’d put him in this position. Even so, as good a suggestion as it was, it still didn’t make him totally independent and he resented that. “As much as neither of us want this, I’m going to need your help getting dressed.”
She tugged at her suit jacket as if she was preparing to face the Spanish Inquisition. “When you’ve showered, use that bath sheet to cover yourself and then call me when you need help.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute with his good arm.
“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t certain if her tone was censuring or wistful. He thought about his past year, which was as far removed from a joke as possible, but she didn’t need to know that. “Pretty much.”
She stepped in and started to undo his sling, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. “Is that an Aussie thing?”
Trickles of warmth stole through him. “What?”
“Being laid-back?”
If she thought she knew him after less than twenty-four hours, he wasn’t going to disabuse her of the notion. “Yep. It’s part of our DNA.”
“Hold your arm,” she instructed a moment before she slid the sling away. Then her fingers were on the hem of his shirt, the soft pads caressing his chest as she raised the material up.
