A Timeless Romance Anthology: Summer Wedding Collection

by Melanie Jacobson

  “He tried to be all smooth, but he totally wasn’t. Said he had a lame date last night with a girl who had no sense of humor, unlike you. He wanted to know what you’re like so he’s better prepared to work with you in Hawaii next month, but he was fishing for details way beyond wedding planning.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Addison would tell him only good things about Bree, but the Facebook pictures of him with a parade of stunning women flashed through her mind. She frowned at her grubby sweats. They fit better than they had a couple of months ago, but in her current state, she was no prize.

  “I told him the truth. That you’re the funniest, sweetest, bestest friend ever.”

  “Aw, thanks,” Bree said, regretting all of the impatient thoughts she’d had when Addison texted, demanding a call.

  “Then he tried to be all sly asking what you look like.”

  Bree’s stomach dropped again, but Addison chattered on. “He goes, ‘I like watching movies more if they’re filmed somewhere I’ve been.’ And then he said something about how it seemed weird to have talked to you so much without knowing what you look like. He was trying to be all, ‘Just looking for a little context.’ Obviously fishing.”

  “What did you say?” Bree tried to keep the stress out of her voice, but when Addison didn’t say anything, Bree’s worry spiked. “Addison?”

  Addison cleared her throat. “I may have shown him a picture.”

  Bree groaned, knowing which one. “You suck so much.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Addison said, her voice light. “I love that shot.”

  Bree imagined it, the photo Addison had taken when she visited last summer. “I miss California,” she’d said. “You’re the poster girl for beach living.” She’d snapped a picture of Bree smiling into the distance with a palm tree and bright blue sky behind her.

  Bree hated it—‌and every picture taken of her since gaining weight. Addison promised not to post it anywhere, but she refused to delete it. “I can’t,” she’d said. “I’m going to pull this up every time we get a blizzard this winter. Plus, that’s your super happy smile, and I don’t get to see it anymore.”

  “Promise not to be mad,” Addison said, interrupting Bree’s memories. “Slade told him how cute you are.”

  “‘Cute,’” Bree repeated. Like a roly-poly puppy. To be fair, Slade met her once when he and Addison flew to LA to announce their engagement to her parents. Bree tugged on the loose waistband of her sweats. Not so roly anymore. And maybe less so by the time she hit the Maui beach in a month.

  She couldn’t explain the twin flames of hope and fear that the reality of meeting Dallen lit in her stomach. Or how the more she hoped, the brighter the fear burned. Addison’s way of being supportive during Bree’s weight loss had been to tell her she was crazy to think she needed it, but Bree knew better. Her efforts had become about so much more than dropping pounds. There was something deeply satisfying about getting up and doing good things for herself all day long—‌eating well and exercising. Her grandmother had died of a heart attack at sixty. Doing more to improve her fitness felt like the right way to pay tribute to her—‌by not going down that road.

  Moving from clothes that were too snug, to fitting right, to becoming loose—‌that was good too. Great, even. But she was no Addison, the classic California blonde guys pinned up in locker rooms. Bree wasn’t the tiniest bit jealous; Addison’s was also kind and smart and loyal. But Bree also knew from experience that guys expected Addison to run with equally hot friends. And Bree was nobody’s locker room fantasy.

  But not every guy was a Grayson. She’d believed otherwise for two years and hadn’t gone on a single date, not because of her size but everything to do with her head.

  She drew a deep breath and waded into deeper water. “I’ve decided to quit being stupid about my weight; it is what it is. I’m more worried about being healthy now.” And if that was true, she needed to let go of some other unhealthy habits—‌like body shame. “Show the picture to whoever. Plaster it all over Facebook if you want.”

  “Uh-huh,” Addison said. “I’ll believe you’re okay with yourself when you plaster it all over Facebook.”

  “Everyone is way more interested in pictures of my nieces and LA’s sunsets than they are in pictures of me.”

  “Uh-huh,” Addison repeated. “I know you think you’re fat—”

  “I don’t,” Bree interrupted. “Promise.” It was true. Or starting to be.

  “Good. Because you’re so pretty. And I think Dallen is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they hung up, Bree pulled her bridesmaid dress from the closet and slipped it on. She stood in front of her mirror and frowned, but only for a moment. It looked good on her. She looked good, better than she had since college. As she thought about the picture of Dallen on Addison’s Facebook, which she’d stalked way too regularly, a smile blossomed on her face. She liked him. She liked his jokes, she liked how quick his mind was, and she liked his patience with Addison.

  She liked so many things about him, like the dedication he showed to his architecture career. Several nights, they’d ended up IM-ing as they each worked, drawing up plans for different buildings, him for the outsides, and her for the insides. As long as that wasn’t a metaphor for the way they evaluated people, maybe Hawaii could be something more than an exercise in managing Addison’s craziness. Maybe there was room for a romance of her own.

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: Dal.Warner@email.com

  RE: The end is near

  T minus 10 days and counting.

  What does T minus mean?

  And how do we add days to that? Or maybe I want to subtract them all and already be in Hawaii at the moment the ceremony is over and NO MATTER WHAT, there is nothing Slade can make me do because it’s ALL DONE.

  I love Addison, but Slade dragged me to go watch her in court the other day instead of having lunch like he promised, and now I understand the full scope of the focus she has turned on wedding planning. She is crazy fierce. I bet she’ll be the DA for Chicago in five years.

  Watching her today made me sure that I never, ever want to get on her bad side. So what’s left to make sure that everything goes off without a hitch? Because I’m scared.

  To: Dal.Warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: The end is near

  You almost tricked me. I almost said we had it all covered, until I remembered that it’s practically an invitation to the universe to upset Addison’s wedding plans. I won’t be fooled. The last time I said it we were all set, the ukulele player for the ceremony had open-heart surgery. I refuse to tempt fate by saying it again.

  So I won’t.

  I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Addison has decided that she disagrees with the fundamental message of bachelor and bachelorette parties. The idea that they would want to spend time apart is no bueno for her. Bad symbolism, I think. So now I have to figure out a way to get my party’s path to cross with your party’s path before the night is through.

  Hitch: I accidentally believed her last time she swore she wouldn’t change her mind about her bachelorette party, so I booked something with a nonrefundable deposit. You’re going to have to work around that.

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: Dal.Warner@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  I will be taking an insane red-eye the day before the wedding; I land around nine. How about all the bridesmaids and groomsmen come pick me up at the airport, and we’ll count it as them seeing each other during the parties. I can’t think of anything else that will work, so say yes.

  To: Dal.Warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  No.

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: Dal.Warner@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill
me, aren’t you?

  You’re a hard woman. We’re going to do a luau for our bachelor thing. With hula dancers. If you ladies will be the hula dancers, that counts as a party intersection, right?

  To: Dal.Warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  Okay, NOW I’m going to kill you.

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: Dal.Warner@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  Fine, I admit it. I made up the hula dancers part. We’re really going to hike for a few hours (did I mention I’ll be coming in off a red-eye and will probably die?), and then we’re going to dinner. What are you guys doing?

  To: Dal.Warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  Um.

  I don’t really want to say. Because it might involve hula lessons. Something about Addison learning a dance that tells the story of her love for Slade?

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: Dal.Warner@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  It is FATE that all of you bridesmaids hula dance for our bachelor party!!!!! AND as a bonus, it was all Addison’s idea, so I can’t even get in trouble for it.

  But I’m not going to say that out loud, because it makes me sound like a creeper. So I propose we find a way to meet up at dinner somehow. Or at least cross paths. Will crossing paths be enough for Addison?

  Check one:

  _____Yes _____No

  To: Dal.Warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

  X Yes (I hope) _____No

  Dallen sat back in his desk chair and laughed. Her emails never disappointed him. He’d never had such an easy rapport with someone so fast. Maybe with Slade. But this was different. Slade had definitely never made his pulse jump because his name showed up on a computer screen.

  Dallen’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to tap out an idea for how to coordinate their party schedules, but he hesitated. The wedding was in less than two weeks, and suddenly it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Was he bold enough to ask what he really wanted to know? It was risky since he couldn’t read her face to do damage control if he was off base. Then again, when would he see her again after the wedding? It might mean a couple of awkward days in Hawaii... Or it could mean making Hawaii even better.

  What did he have to lose? Nothing, really. But he pictured the sweet face from the snapshot on Addison’s phone and decided that maybe he had a lot to gain.

  Bree stifled a squeal, but Sarah’s head popped over the cubicle wall anyway. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Bree tried for a neutral expression.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Not nothing. But I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad something.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “What’s up?”

  “An email from Dallen,” she finally said.

  “Yum,” Sarah answered.

  That stressed Bree out even more. Many times in college, she and Addison had sat out in the commons, watching mismatched couples walking past and joking, “Someone’s being nice.” She and Dallen were a classic mismatch.

  “Yeah. He...” Argh. How to explain the next part? “He’s wondering if I want to kick off Hawaii with an actual date. Like meeting for breakfast before he has to do his best-man stuff.”

  “Get it, girl!” Sarah said.

  “Shhh.” Bree looked around, but the chatter in the rest of the office hadn’t stopped at Sarah’s crowing. “I’m not sure it’s a great idea.”

  “Why not? You guys totally click on email. He’s hot. You’re hot. What’s the problem?”

  Bree frowned, and Sarah matched it. “Don’t say you’re not hot, Bree, or I swear, I will climb over this wall and smack some sense into you.”

  “It’d probably be faster if you walked around.”

  “You are hot, is my point, and it’s a correct point.”

  A smile escaped Bree. “I’m getting there.”

  “You were hot before you started your crazy diet.”

  Bree rolled her eyes. “Name one crazy thing I eat.”

  “Kale.”

  “It’s good.”

  “I’ve given up trying to explain the wrongness of that green blight, but I’m dead right about you.”

  Bree peered up at her. Sarah hadn’t worked here when she and Grayson split, hadn’t seen the way it broke her down inside. “I love that you always say good things to me, but...” She couldn’t bring herself to spew all of Grayson’s ugliness. It was too humiliating, so she chose a different story instead. “In college, Addison begged me to let her set me up with her boyfriend’s buddy. Like an idiot, I said yes. We all went out, and my date was as gorgeous as Addison had said, but we didn’t click. The conversation was okay, but nothing special. We went to a movie, and when I came out of the bathroom, I overheard my date complaining to his friend that I was nice, but he’d expected someone hot like Addison, not average like me.”

  Sarah scowled. “He was an idiot. There’s no way a quality guy like Dallen is going to be that shallow.”

  “It’s not his fault if he’s expecting someone like Addison and he gets—”

  “What? Someone as awesome as you? He should be so lucky. How do you know what he’s expecting? Has he seriously not seen a picture of you?”

  “He has.” Not a good one, but he still wanted to make Hawaii about something more than surviving the wedding. That had to count for something. Bree allowed hope to outshine fear for a moment.

  “Go for it. Even if you don’t like him, or he doesn’t like you—‌which will never happen if he has half a brain and two good eyes—‌then who cares? You’ll love Hawaii, and if he’s lame, you never have to see him again.”

  Bree thought about the few days she’d be spending in Hawaii post-wedding, a treat she was gifting herself after throwing herself into one high-profile work project after another. She’d imagined long, lazy days on the beach with fruity cocktails, but lately, Dallen had been appearing in the lounge chair beside hers, shirtless and tan and charming. Mainly shirtless.

  If those daydreams didn’t become reality, she’d be disappointed, whether it was because he rejected her, or because she never made a move to make it happen. Which meant...

  “Well?” Sarah demanded. “Are you going to email him back?”

  “Of course.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “Yes.” Bree stuck her fingers in her ears. Sarah’s squealing still hurt.

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: dal.warner@email.com

  RE: Yes.

  I’m glad you’re down with breakfast. Sorry I didn’t call you in person, but I was kind of worried about freaking you out.

  -Dallen

  To: dal.warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  RE: Yes.

  I don’t scare that easily. But thanks for thinking it through. That says good things about you. :-)

  ~Bree

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: dal.warner@email.com

  RE: Yes.

  Good. Now I have to convince Addison to say nothing but good things about me, and I’m all set.

  -Dallen

  To: dal.warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  Re: Yes.

  Then you’re all set. She kind of doesn’t shut up about how great you are. She talks about you at least one-tenth as much as she talks about Slade, so...

  To: bree.riley@email.com

  From: dal.warner@email.com

  RE: Yes.

  So I’m borderline nauseating through no fault of my own?

  -Dallen

  To: dal.warner@email.com

  From: bree.riley@email.com

  Re:
Yes.

  Refer to subject line.

  ~Bree

  Chapter Five

  “Your fiancée is infecting your brain,” Dallen said into the phone. He leaned back against his sofa and stared at the ceiling. Choreography? Is Slade kidding?

  “She is not,” Slade said, voice calm. “Say something like that again, and I’ll punch you. In the throat, because it hurts worse.”

  “When did you become the guy who started planning ridiculous romantic gestures?”

  “When I met Addison. She deserves a big moment she didn’t plan. Are you in or not?”

  “Big moments are for chick flicks. Has she been making you watch those?”

  “Bro, shut up and wrap your head around how we’re going to do this. I have to come up with a plan in three days.”

  “Fine. But I’m adding this to the long list of things you owe me for.” After they hung up, Dallen stared at the phone. Slade’s scrambled brains or not, Dallen had never seen his friend happier, but he’d be glad when there was no way for either of them to have one more “great idea” for the wedding. Slade’s latest one was complicated, and Dallen had no problem admitting that he wasn’t man enough for the job on his own.

  He checked the time. It wasn’t that late, and more importantly, this was something that couldn’t wait if they had a prayer of making it happen—‌a prayer offered to a hundred tiki gods for a whisper of a chance. He should call her. That would be more efficient.