Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Pulling my own dress on with Mrs. Hinsley’s help, I hide a giggle. I know the wedding planner isn’t all too keen on having a groomswoman, despite her constantly saying that she wants Avery’s wedding to be “unique” and a “one-of-a-kind statement” for the memory books—a.k.a. Cara’s work portfolio.
Still, for a wedding pulled together in a matter of a few months, Avery has been more than pleased with the things the planner has come up with. Then again, Avery would’ve been happy with just her and Winston and an officiant and zero muss or fuss.
She doesn’t need all the bells and whistles, but that doesn’t mean she’s not enjoying them. She’s getting to be a princess for a day, and to be honest, I want her to enjoy the hell out of it. Besides, she looks amazing in her luxe dress and fancy heels.
Wren’s still being Wren, though, and while she’s definitely on board with Avery being a princess, she’s not going to make it easy for Cara. “Yes, I brought the necklace with me as instructed,” Wren bites out, “but I was thinking a bow tie would be better.”
A bow tie. Fucking . . . awesome. Seriously, when I met her, I thought Wren was going to be a full-fledged, spoiled-rotten diva princess. I mean, we went to school together, and she was basically the queen of every dance, sweetheart of the football quarterback, and able to get away with murder with a flutter of her lashes.
Instead, in the times we’ve spent together, she’s been bold and blunt, and though I never would’ve guessed it, I think we’d be great friends . . . if her last name were anything else.
Avery seems to like her, too, and Wren has been fully supportive of my best friend’s “pulling my brother’s head out of his ass,” as Wren described Winston. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe it’s only the Ford men who are the way they are . . . like it has something to do with their testicles.
Completely ignoring Wren’s suggestion, Cara and Mrs. Hinsley go about pinning here and discussing there, making me feel like a piece of meat in my dress. Though it is pretty, I’m not used to wearing fancy shifts or frocks or whatever they call this style. But for Avery, my bestest bestie in the whole wide world? I’d dress up as the Cold Springs High School Falcon, complete with floppy-beaked feathered head if she asked me to, and smile politely in the pictures. Thankfully, she didn’t ask for that. Though the idea of “flying” down the aisle, yelling “caw caw,” would be quite the memory.
“Wren, tell me more about Wyatt,” Rachel says when she can breathe and Mrs. Hinsley isn’t fussing over her. “Other than how cute and sexy he is. I could see that for myself.”
I hold back a groan, but luckily Wren delivers one loud enough for the both of us. “Cute? I suppose. But he’s an asshole too,” she warns. “My biggest brother’s nobody’s prize.”
I snort and mumble under my breath, “Shocker.”
Too late, I realize Avery is looking from Rachel to me curiously. “What’d you think of him?” Avery asks. “You know, the other night, since you’d already met him first.”
The second bit is deliberately emphasized, like she’s reminding Rachel of girl code. Funny, considering I was just telling myself the same thing last night when it came to Charlene. “Not calling dibs like we’re kids, Avery.”
Rachel cackles gleefully, rubbing her hands together like a Disney villain. “Good, because I am!” she announces. “No shame in my game! That man looks good enough to sop up with a biscuit.”
“You’re welcome to him. He’s a Ford, after all, and you know what that means,” I declare automatically, sounding eerily like Aunt Etta, and it’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize what I just said . . . and who’s in the room with me. I flick apologetic eyes to Wren, who shrugs, unoffended, and then to Avery. “I didn’t mean Winston . . . sorry.”
Avery waves it off, and it seems I’ve ducked a bullet for now. “It’s okay. I know Winston, and know his heart. He’s mine—heart, soul, mind, and body. He might work for his uncle, but he’s nothing like him.”
I hope, for Avery’s sake, she’s right. And for myself, too, because if Winston hurts her, I’m going to kill him, slowly and painfully, and the life in prison will be worth it in honor of my BFF’s heart.
After the fittings are done, I tag along as Avery and Cara go to the bakery to check on the cake. The bakery is right on Main Street in downtown, with a well-cared-for kelly-green canvas awning over the front door and a pink-and-white sign overhead that shows years of weathered age. I remember when Mom showed it to me the first time, though . . .