Текст книги "Doing It for Love"

Автор книги: Cassie Mae

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 12

I’m pretty sure my future mother-in-law hates me, my future sister-in-law thinks I’m an idiot, and my future father-in-law thinks I’m pregnant, but I survived! And even with the awkward parting, the wedding is still on and according to Elle’s text to Landon, they’re planning on attending.

One parental meet and greet down, one to go. I’ve added to my Hurdle List: Find a dress, so when Mom flies in on November fifth, I can show it to her. It works great because Landon’s last day of shooting is Halloween.

He’s shooting at the school’s studio today, and even though the car is running off fumes instead of actual gas, I drive the forty-minute trip and ask the gate guy to direct me to Landon’s shoot.

I get out of the car and a cute girl with an iPod bud in one ear while the other dangles down her front escorts me through a giant set of metal doors. Fog spills out over my heels, and she puts a finger to her lips. I nod and slip inside.

Not even three steps in, I adjust my baby blue sweater on my shoulders, wondering if I should have grabbed my coat. I thought the set would be hot and muggy considering there’s a ton of smoke from the fog machine and Landon always comes home smelling of sweat. But it’s like the a/c is cranked to frost and it’s already below sixty outside.

My shoes aren’t exactly quiet, and I don’t want a click clack to pick up on anything, so I slide them off and tiptoe across a cold tile floor. I can hear Jace yelling, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. When I get past the main hallway to the open set, my mouth pops open a little.

I don’t know why, but I expected something a little…low-funded? But as I look at the cameras, the fog, the props, the actors, the lighting, the microphones, all of it…it’s like I walked in on a legitimate Hollywood movie set. Goose bumps prickle up and down my arms that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Can we cut for a second?” Landon says from behind the camera. A giant smile sets on my face as I watch his furrowed brow as he looks at the playback, his light scruff when he scratches his chin, his tongue poke out slightly like it always does when he’s concentrating real hard.

That man is mine.

“Jace, can you do that line again, but instead of looking at Chantal, look slightly to her right.”

Jace twirls his prop rifle, letting it come to rest on his shoulder. “You got it.”

“And Chantal, try to figure out what he’s looking at. Exaggerate it.”

“Do you want me to improv any dialogue?” Chantal asks while Landon waves the makeup person to fix the blood on Chantal’s neck.

“No. I want to make it comedic without any mention of it.”

She nods and then stretches her neck up to get her zombie bite refreshed. Landon adjusts his cap and leans in to Jace, and they laugh at whatever he says. I tiptoe behind the camera, far enough so I’m not in the way and close enough to see what it looks like on screen.

“All right, marker.” Landon moves back behind the camera. A guy with a headset announces it’s take twenty-two and then the set quiets.

“We can’t,” Jace says, looking over Chantal’s shoulder. She looks behind her and looks back.

“But I’m not a zombie.”

“Yet.” He’s still looking at something behind her. “But when that bite spreads, you’re going to want to eat me.”

“I want to eat you now. Like a stuffed turkey.” She makes this squeezing motion with her hands, and I choke back a laugh.

Jace keeps looking over her shoulder. Chantal steps into his line of vision and he turns his head. They do it through their entire scene, and it’s so ridiculous that holding in my laughter causes me to lightly snort. Landon turns around, nods to some guy who gives him a thumbs-up, then Landon’s gaze drifts to me.

He squints like he’s not sure who I am, but after I wave an apology for disturbing the shoot, his smile widens and he yells, “Cut!” right in the middle of Jace’s line.

“Dude, I was killing that!” Jace says with a toss of his hands.

“Break for ten.”

Chantal lets out a giant sigh of relief and then rushes to the ladies’ room behind me. Jace takes off his ripped wardrobe jacket and chats to a couple of the extras. Landon takes off his headphones, hops over a chair, and meets me at the back of the room.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to micromanage, of course.”

He laughs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Stop making me laugh, because I’ll ruin every take.”

“Laughing is good.”

“I thought you were shooting a zombie movie.”

“Zombie parody. It’s called The Walking Stiff.”

“Sounds like a porn.” I flick my gaze over his shoulder to Jace. He’s using a spoon as a mirror while he fixes his hair. “Though I think you’ve cast it well.”

“Comedy is Jace’s forte.”

“And yours.”

His smile gets even bigger, and he pulls me into his arms. “So really, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you work. Is that okay?”

“Hell yeah. You want a quick tour?”

“Yes, please.”

“You can put your shoes back on.”

I make a face at him and use his shoulder for balance while I slip on my heels. Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward all the equipment. Most of it has been abandoned with the break Landon announced, so he leads me right up behind “camera 4,” which is the one shooting Chantal’s mark.

“It goes to my laptop over there.” He points behind us. “Chantal has great action/reaction, so I end up using more of her perspective than I probably should. She also has the better face for kissing.”

“Say what now?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. Landon chuckles, takes my chin in his hand, and leans in.

“If I shoot from this camera during the kissing scenes, it captures Chantal’s face more while we get most of Jace’s profile. It’s a more direct facial.” His fingers tiptoe across my cheek. “When we kiss, you always turn right. If we were to kiss in front of this camera, we’d see mostly you, less of me.”

“Don’t you see both kissers equally?”

He grins and taps a peck to my lips before pulling back. “There’s always a ‘lead’ kisser. In this case, it’s Chantal because Jace constantly grins like a dumbass.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

He lightly tickles my belly button, and then tugs me to the set itself. It’s a replica of a department store that’s in shambles. There’s a prop zombie across a conveyor belt, looking grossly realistic. I see the food in our house has been put to good use for the bloody guts. I’m really trying not to freak out.

Landon pulls me to Jace and Chantal’s marks and gently rotates my shoulders. “This is where we shot the sex scene.”

“Eww.”

“Where else are you gonna get busy during a zombie apocalypse?”

“You don’t. You run like hell or just let yourself get bitten.”

“Which one are you?”

“Oh, I’ll be the very first zombie. You?”

“I’ll be the number-one zombie killer.”

“Looks like it’ll really be ‘till death do us part.’ ”

He chuckles and takes a step closer. My stomach whirls because he hasn’t stopped smiling since he spotted me. If I’d known he’d react like this, I would’ve visited the set way before now.

“It’s an off-screen sex scene for the most part,” he says, “and it’s not really sexy. More awkward.”

“So…it’s realistic,” I tease.

“You must be losing your memory. I’m a badass in the sack.”

“Maybe you should remind me.”

It’s out before I can tell my mouth to shut up. But it’s been a while since we flirted. We’ve been together for four years. Sleeping together for about the same. Our peas and carrots sex routine usually starts with “do you wanna?” and then we jump into bed. My lady parts have never been so excited just standing here, fully clothed, in the middle of something pretty public (and freaky-looking).

Landon’s eyebrows waggle, and it makes me snort because I’m hot like that, and he pulls me from the set, leads me down a cold and foggy hallway, down another, then into a room packed full of props. Rows upon rows of wardrobe choices line the left half of the room while the right half holds chairs, trees, fake weapons, and dismembered mannequins. There’s a barrel full of zombie-fied arms and legs. I walk up to it and poke at one of the fingers. “Gross.” I laugh under my breath.

The click of the lock makes me turn, and Landon tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks toward me.

“Why’d you lock the door?” I ask with a seductive lilt.

“Habit, I guess.”

“Then go unlock it.”

“It’s all the way over there.” He waves a hand behind him, and I roll my eyes back to the barrel of body parts. I notice a director’s chair and plop into it with a grin.

“I’ve always wanted to sit in one of these.” I wiggle my butt and cross my legs. “They need cup holders, though.”

“Built-in refrigerators.”

“Ooh, yes. Request that for your next movie.”

“If I get one.”

“You will.”

“I lucked out with the last grant.”

“I’m not talking about getting another grant. Some big-time studio is going to hire your ass and make you super famous.”

Half his mouth quirks up. “I hope my ass is up for it.”

I almost reach out and grab his sweet rear end, but I keep my hands firm on the chair. “Your ass is capable of many great things.”

His voice lowers. “You haven’t even seen any footage.”

“I don’t have to.” I swivel in the chair and point to the back fabric. “It’ll say Wangford right here someday.”

Landon doesn’t say anything, and that surprises me, so I flick my eyes back to him. His jaw is clenched, breathing labored, and he takes a confident step forward.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says. My eyebrows lift and I drop my gaze south. An uncontrollable smile forms on my lips. Well, hello there, Lord Landon.

“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms. “But it’s not against the rules.”

“I know.” He takes another step forward. “I’m still not going to kiss you.”

I take my lip between my teeth and play with it. He watches the movement, and I watch him watching, and it’s fun. We haven’t done this since we first started dating. And it hits me…I could win this thing right here and now. I can get him to cave. I just have to remember how to be seductive…

“Will you sit in the chair?” I ask him playfully, sliding from the seat.

“Why?”

“I want to see you in it.”

He gives me a suspicious look but obliges anyway. He has to adjust himself as he sits, and that makes my lower abdomen giddy. Calm down, girl. We’ve only just begun.

I stand back and obviously check him out. Playing with my lips again, I let my eyes drift over his body, and I don’t even have to pretend to enjoy the view. He jokingly poses for me in different commanding positions, like he’s yelling at the cameraman or calling action or cut, and then he does a frustrated growl that makes me laugh and inch forward. His smile somewhat fades when he notices my wicked grin.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says again.

My heart pounds a few extra beats. I keep my eyes locked with his and slowly straddle him. My inner thighs rub tight against his hips, my butt settles on his knees. There’s a fair amount of distance between our upper bodies still, but I have to yell at myself to stop. Keep away from the bulge! I will not let this backfire on me.

I rest my hands on the back of the chair, balancing on his legs. “Why not?”

He gulps. “Huh?”

“Why won’t you kiss me?” I bat “innocent” eyes at him and his jaw clenches.

“You…you have bad breath.”

“The worst, huh?” I wet my lips. “I’m pretty sure it’s spearmint gum.”

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

“I won’t kiss you either.”

His hands twitch. He’s white-knuckling the armrests. He shuts his eyes, blows out a breath, and I let my heart dance in my chest. Why don’t I try to seduce him anymore? Why don’t I flirt as much? It’s amazing. The challenge of making yourself completely irresistible—and the victory lap in Chocolateville afterward, it’s enough to make me grab Lord Landon and throw in the towel.

But winning is more fun.

I lean in, making sure to keep my lips from pressing any part of him, and rake my tongue across his ear. He shivers underneath me, muttering, “SundanceSundanceSundance” under his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” I roughly whisper. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“No.”

I slowly take his lobe between my teeth, still careful about not touching my lips to his skin, and nibble till I hear him groaning. It doesn’t take long.

“How about now?” I ask. He shakes his head, but his hands have moved from the chair to my thighs. His grip is tight. Like painfully, pleasurably tight. I don’t have to exaggerate the whimper that rises from my throat.

I lean back and wait for his eyes to open. When they do, he grits his teeth and says a strong and firm “No.”

His determination is adorable, and I lose seductive for a second and run my hand over the bill of his cap. I pull it backward, watch his gaze drop to my lips, to my throat, down the front of my shirt, and my breathing speeds up. I want him to want me. I want him to want me so bad he can’t help himself. I want him to want me like he used to want me—like he can’t have me, but he’s taking me anyway.

I want strawberries and whipped cream sex. And I want it now.

My tongue tentatively slides out, and I lean forward and drag the tip across Landon’s chin, up his lips, over the tip of his nose, and pull it back into my mouth after I feel his hot breath on the hollow of my throat.

I’m about two seconds away from losing the Bahamas. But then Landon curses under his breath, and he wraps his hand around the back of my head and crashes his lips into mine—tongue first.

He’s so commanding and aggressive, it’s setting my entire body on fire. I’m at the gates of Chocolateville already and we’re only kissing. But there they are, glowing and taunting me. Stupid gates…I’m supposed to be in control here.

“I can’t,” I mumble around his lips. I can’t lose. He needs to lose. He starts grunting something too, but I have no idea what. We’re both talking, and his mouth moves to my collarbone, which he has never loved as much as he loves it right now.

My nipples tingle.

They need to stop that.

His hands run up my ribs.

My nipples buzz.

They zap.

They scream.

And his thumbs taunt back, right underneath my breasts, running lines across the lower wire of my bra. So close but not touching, so close but not touching, so close but not touching, and my nipples are getting so mad they’re yelling at my hands now. Grab his damn thumbs!

“You shut the hell up,” I tell them, then press hard against Landon’s chest to try to get them some relief, but it doesn’t work. It just makes it worse. I’m about to grab them myself, but Landon’s mumblings finally compute in my head.

“I want you,” he growls, setting my loins ablaze. Hell yes, just take me right here in this director’s chair. His teeth press into my bottom lip, pulling and pulling, and I bury my nails in the back fabric of the chair, panting and moaning and yelling at myself to hold out for a few more seconds. Just a few more!

“I want you,” he says again. He grabs hold of my shoulders, nuzzles into the crook of my neck, hot breath washing over my flushed chest, and my nipples perk up like the key to Chocolateville is dangling over them. I almost say, “Just do it, damn it,” but he may count that as me losing, so I grind my teeth together, slam my eyes shut, and force my sweaty body to stay perfectly still on his lap.

He shifts underneath me, and I’m about to admit defeat. I can vacation in Utah, and even though I won’t see him in board shorts, warm and tan on the beach, I’ll see him looking pretty damn fine while in his movie element.

But then a heavy hand presses against my left breast.

My eyes fly open, and I can’t help but throw my fists in the air and shout, “I win!”

Sweet mother, I won. I’ve been stressed out from my Hurdles—the in-laws, getting extra hours, setting up meetings with my mom, and booking venues, and that doesn’t even cover half of what I have to do for this wedding.

And it’s all about to be unleashed on him.

Except…he’s laughing.

Laughing so hard I’m nearly knocked off his lap.

I drop my arms and my gaze. Landon lifts his head, laughter breathy and gray eyes wet with amusement.

The hand on my boob is not Landon’s. It’s a zombie mannequin.

“Agh!” I scream, and I topple to the floor. He’s still laughing, and when I get ahold of myself I start swatting at his legs. “Damn you!” I’d take that handsy mannequin and flip him off if it wasn’t missing that finger.

Landon recoils from my flimsy hits, and his hat falls to the floor behind the chair. “That’s what you get, Tumbles.”

“I almost had you, admit it.” I fall back and toss the fake arm to the side. Landon lies down next to me and we both catch our breath. After a few minutes and a few hundred calls on his cell for being so late from the “ten-minute break,” Landon leans up on his arm, his smile lines looking extra adorable.

“You did.”

I shove his face away. Damn him.

Chapter 13

OCTOBER

“I’m going to lose.”

I slam my head down on the table at The Cheesecake Factory. It’s been two weeks since the handsy zombie, and that’s the only action I’ve had since. Landon still squeezes my hand, but he won’t kiss me beyond a peck hello and goodbye and the occasional thank-you. My lady parts are parched.

Theresa leans across the booth and bats at my ponytail.

“Stop moping.”

“It’s been a month and a half.”

“Some people go years, you know.”

“Not you.”

“I said some people.”

“What do you recommend?”

“A long shower.”

“Theresa…”

“I’m ordering you a slice of orgasm cheesecake.”

The dessert menu sticks to my forehead as I sit up. Theresa snatches it from my face and sets it at the edge of the table.

“It’s awful. I can’t even kiss him without wanting to set him free from his jeans and ride him like a bull.”

Ugh, even the visual makes me want to scurry out of here and into Landon’s call center and have him drive me up against a wall. Shit…

“When was the last time you just made out? Like without any wandering hands?”

The waiter chooses that moment to walk to our table. “Hello, welcome to The Cheesecake Factory, I’m Greg. Can I start you out with anything to drink?”

I slam my hands on the table, making the silverware jump. “I need cheesecake!”

Greg the waiter does really well at holding back his laughter as he looks to Theresa, who orders the orgasmic slices for both of us…and then starts flirting—I’m pretty sure just to torture me. I clench my teeth and breathe in deeply through my nose. I don’t get it. I went eighteen years without sex, I went over a year with longtime-relationship quickies, and yet I’ve never been this pissy.

Greg leans a little on the table, completely shutting me out while Theresa tries to get free food and a weekend date. I let my head fall to the back of the booth and try to remember the last time Landon and I just made out.

Second date, I think. He kissed me on our first, and it was pretty awful. I don’t know if he was nervous or what, but it was awkward and rushed, and after such a fun date it was a little surprising I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But despite that, he took me out the following night and shocked me by kissing me hello. Like really kissing me hello. It left sparks from my crown to my toes.

“Oh!” I said, surprised. I’d been contemplating how kiss number two would go—worrying about it all day, actually.

Landon pulled away with a shy smile and a slight blush. “Sorry. My lips wanted to make up for last night. They were pretty embarrassed after their performance.”

“They weren’t that bad…”

“They also missed you. They’ve been tingling since they said goodbye.”

No one had ever said something so sweet to me. I’m pretty sure I said an audible “Aww.” See, I remember first kisses. I think that’s something everyone remembers, but the second kisses with previous second kissers somehow fade into the background. I can’t say where I was or how it felt or where their hands were or what time of day it was. But Landon’s was different. I don’t just remember kiss one, I remember kiss two, almost more clearly.

I reached up and turned his cap around. It was his Beetlejuice one, and it wasn’t faded then. It was just past six, the sun was set, and most of the light was from the snow reflecting the streetlamps. Landon’s car was running, smoke spilling from the tailpipe, quiet music filtering out of the open car door. His hands found my coat pockets, my lips found his lips, our butts found the backseat.

“Ouch, hang on,” he said when I landed on top of him. He wiggled out of his coat and helped me out of mine. It was chilly at first, but heated back up again as we really explored the way we kiss for the first time. If his lips had an awkward opening act, they killed it for the encore. I remember thinking I’d never been kissed like this before, and never ever had I wanted lips to perform against every inch of my body so badly.

Landon’s hands gripped my hips, and mine tangled in his hair. He started asking me questions between kisses.

“What’s your favorite color?”

I went with it, way too buzzed to care why he was asking anything.

“Red. What’s yours?”

“Red too. Do you have a job?”

“Yes, but I want a different one.”

“Me too. Beer or wine?”

“I don’t drink. I’m eighteen.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t drink regularly.”

“Okay, Coke or Pepsi?”

“Coke. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I don’t act like it, either.”

“Why the questions?” I finally asked. The windows were so fogged I couldn’t even see the car parked next to his.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to get in your pants. I want in your brain, too.”

“You are getting closer to the keys that unlock both of those.”

We started testing boundaries then. His hands moved up. Mine moved down. Pretty soon we didn’t need our shirts to keep warm. I had my very first orgasm not by my own hand that night. Oh, so I guess that make-out doesn’t count…

Theresa laughs, taking me out of my thoughts and back into our dessert. Greg finally decides to go place our order, and I lean in and say through my teeth, “Never.”

“Huh?”

“Landon and I have never just kissed.”

She blinks, then her brain catches up with mine. “Not even the first time?”

“Well, that time we were only lip to lip, but after that, I mean, Landon and I are handsy, I guess.”

That and when we started hard-core making out, hell, why not go all the way? Even if it is a quickie during a commercial break.

“Then figure out where to put up your stop signs.”

“That’s it. I can’t. I just want him to keep going, and I think he wants to keep going, but he won’t because he doesn’t want to lose, and I won’t because I don’t want to lose, then he pulls away and he’s…and I’m…and then we’re both…”

“Unbearable.”

I chuck my straw wrapper at her. “I was going to say on edge.”

She pulls her dark curls back, snapping an elastic band around them. “Just give in. Go to Utah.”

My eyes narrow. “I will not.”

She laughs and sits back as Greg brings us water and our cheesecake. I’m into it so fast I nearly stab him with my fork.

Oh, sweet loving monkeys. It’s like a natural shot of endorphins straight to my hypothalamus.

Theresa kicks her feet up next to me on the seat, taking the daintiest bites possible, while I’m seconds away from nose-diving into the raspberry sauce.

“You should propose, like, a once-a-month deal.”

“I can’t do that,” I say around the soft cream-cheese goodness. Do they make this stuff with hormone drugs? “He’ll totally rub it in. And seriously, this was your idea. Why are you not backing me up?”

“Oh come on. I have flimsy ideas all the time. Like you.”

She’s got to be kidding me.

I. Am. Not. Flimsy!

Sure, I went into theater classes and quit that.

And I spent exactly two days learning piano.

And maybe I try diets for about twenty seconds before I see a burger I must devour.

But that’s normal. I can stick to my guns when I want to.

“Well, I’m fine,” I say, wiping my finger across my now-empty plate. “I can stand another three and a half months. It’s not even that bad, really. And I can commit, damn it. I’m getting married. Do flimsy girls get married? Hell no! So if I want to wait to hump my crazy sexy fiancé into oblivion, I will do it! I’ll show you guys Elizabeth Fanning is not a flake!”

Theresa’s mouth is wide open, slight smile in the corners, and her palms are up.

“Okay, Liz. Step away from the fork.”

I breathe heavy, looking down at my hand clutching my utensil like I’m about to gouge the next person who walks by. Several patrons are looking at me—a pair of old ladies are giggling and winking. A couple of freshmen from NYU stare blatantly at my boobs. And a mother covers her ten-year-old’s ears.

“Oh, balls,” I say, dropping the fork and resting my forehead in my hands. “What is happening to me?”

“Eat more chocolate.” Theresa shoves her plate toward me.

“You can’t have sex with chocolate.”

“You can, but it gets messy.”

An image of Landon covered in Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup plants itself in every thought recess, and suddenly I’m adding whipped cream, raspberries, and my legs clench together under the table.

“Damn it. You’re supposed to be helping me.”

“Oh!” She slaps her hands on the table, jolting me in my seat. “Let’s find your dress!”

“It’s depressing enough with my lady bits on lockdown. Now you want me to go look at gorgeous dresses I can’t afford.”

“Don’t think about it. Let’s just browse.”

Even though it’s probably the last thing that’ll help my terrible sex-deprived, penny-pinching body, I let her drag me from the booth and out to the car. She taps on her Google Maps app, and I sit in the front seat, contemplating the many ways I could cheat and relieve some of the pressure.

But I’ve never been a good liar. Landon would see right through my satisfied face…and the fact that I’m not snapping at him every time he says…well, anything.

“There’s a place about twenty minutes away.”

“Whatever.”

“Geez, I’m buying you more chocolate.”

She pulls into a gas station and gets me a huge Symphony Bar, and I jam it into my purse. I’ll save it for after I look at every dress that is so out of my budget.

We pull up to a shop with sleek black and white paneling, and I give Theresa a look that I know I should feel bad about, but I’m too “unbearable” to care. There is no way I’ll be able to afford anything inside those doors.

“Make sure your left hand is front and center,” she says as we hop out of the car. I twist my ring, liking the extra weight, and for two seconds I feel like my normal self. Until we walk in and see one—and only one—rack that says, ON SALE! DRESSES UNDER $999.99.

I’m going to need a bigger candy bar.

–

Theresa covers her huge grin, eyes lingering up and down the bodice of this unbelievably beautiful dress I told her she’s not allowed to like because the tag says, “$First Born Child.”

“It’s hideous,” she lies.

“I knew I shouldn’t have tried it on.” I’m never going to take it off. My fingers tumble down my stomach, over the satin, the lace, the red flowery seams. “Maybe they’ll take a Starbucks card.”

“You’ll just have to save up for it.”

“That and everything else.”

Theresa fixes the veil atop my head, gently admiring the tiny red flowers jeweled along the hem. I flick my gaze back and forth between my best friend and this gown I’ve only seen in my wildest dreams. It makes me look like I’ve been dropped from the heavens. I could be plastered on magazines titled “Goddesses Do Exist!” I don’t want to take off this magical material that has transformed the unbearable shrew into the fairest of them all.

And my ass! It’s never looked so awesome.

“Oh, wow,” I hear behind me, and I look over my shoulder to a dimply woman with wild brown hair gazing admiringly at me on my tiny pedestal. “That dress is gorgeous on you.”

And if I hadn’t gone bat crazy before, I do now, slamming my face into my hands and shouting through muffled sobs, “I know!”

Theresa holds on to my shoulders, and I see through my fingers her making a lack-of-money gesture at this poor woman who is now witness to my mental breakdown.

“Goodness, I’m sorry,” she fumbles, adjusting the bright green bridesmaid dress over her arm. “I understand, though. When I got married I had to wear the cheapest gown I could find. It wasn’t the one I wanted, but if it’s any consolation, out of all the things that happened that day, the second-best dress was the least of my problems.”

Oh, that’s just fabulous. My shoulders heave as another wave of crazy sobs cascade through my body. The lady starts waving her hands as if she didn’t mean to make things worse, but sweet mother of pearl, what else am I to expect on what is supposed to be the most epic day of my life?

Theresa continues to rub my arms, trying to calm me down, but there is no way in hell that it’s going to happen. I need Landon. I need cuddles. I need touchy-touchy kissy-kissy.

The woman takes a step toward me, bends down, and fixes the long train. “Did you get this in the winter department?”

Theresa nods for me, grabbing a conveniently placed box of tissues on a table near the mirrors.

“When’s your date?”

I clear my throat, take a Kleenex, and dab at my nose. “January fifteenth.”

Her face brightens. “Well, if you’re not in a hurry…this store always does a winter sale. Every winter bride gets a discount, and all winter dresses are marked down. So knock a couple zeroes off the tag. If the dress is still here, that’s probably what it’ll cost.”

I blink a few times, stare at her as if she’s gone crazy with me. But she just gives me an awkward smile.

“Seriously?” I croak.

She nods. “It’s a way for them to clean out their winter stuff so the spring line can come in. My sister-in-law wanted a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress, waited a couple weeks for the sale, and got it for five hundred.”

I grasp onto Theresa to keep from falling off the pedestal.

“It’s a long shot…the dress may not be here, but it may be worth the wait if it is.”

My eyes narrow, because this all sounds too easy, too convenient, too much like she’s spouting bull to make up for making me cry.

“You’re not just trying to get this dress for yerself, are ya?” Suddenly the Georgia accent I’ve sort of lost over the past few years comes back, and I’m pointing an accusing finger at her. “Tell me this so I don’t buy it, then ya’ll come in and swipe it from under my nose.”

Her big eyes widen with equal amusement and confusion. She looks to Theresa, who’s laughing her ass off and I don’t know why.