8. Blair
8
Blair
“ O kay, wow!” I exclaim, completely taken aback as my mouth falls open in awe. My best friend is drop-dead gorgeous. There’s no denying that, but there’s a certain significance that comes along with seeing your best friend in her wedding dress for the first time—it’s a moment I know I’ll never forget.
“So you like it then?” Ronnie asks, her hands in the pockets of the dress as she swishes the skirt back and forth.
“Of course I like it,” I promise, tilting my head to the side as I do my best to capture every detail. Would this be the dress I’d pick out for her or assume she’d pick? No. Although it doesn’t give off Ronnie vibes, I can still appreciate the dress for its elegant beauty.
When I think about Ronnie, her style has always stood out as completely distinct and one-of-a-kind. While this particular gown embodies the ideal wedding dress with its A-line shape and elegant off-the-shoulder design, it lacks any additional flair. There are no unique features, or frills or thrills that differentiate it from any other wedding dress.
“But you feel like it’s missing that certain je ne sais quoi, don’t you?” she asks, practically reading my mind. Then again, I’ve never been all that good at hiding my thoughts.
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” I shrug, biting my lower lip as my eyes drift down the dress. “I mean, there isn’t much going on, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. It makes you, as the bride, the main attraction. Seriously, you’re truly the most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my life.” Wanting to reassure her, I step forward and reach out for her hands as she takes them out of her pockets and places them in my own.
“Thanks, Blair. I appreciate that,” she says, her face relaxing into a smile as I give her hands a small squeeze.
“Holy shit!” Ford’s voice rings out only moments after the bell above the front door rings. “You look amazing,” he adds, his face lighting up in pure adoration.
“That’s what I was just telling her,” I say, releasing her hands as Ronnie once again turns around to take in her appearance through the large mirror.
“Now it’s your turn,” Ronnie says as our eyes meet through the reflection. “We just need to pray that the measurements you sent me were correct, because we don’t have enough time to order a new one,” she says, voicing her nerves. I understand her anxiety. I’m sure I’d be a hot mess too if I was less than two weeks away from my wedding.
Plus, if this is her version of being a bridezilla, I’d say I’ve gotten off pretty easy.
“Don’t worry. I not only double-checked the measurements, but I triple-checked them. I get how important this is,” I promise her. Not only did I not want to be the person responsible for messing up an important part of her wedding, but I also didn’t want to have to witness Ronnie lose it. Despite her typically easygoing nature, there have been a couple of instances where I’ve seen her lose her temper, and I definitely don’t want to be the one responsible for reawakening that sleeping monster.
“It’s just back here, dear,” Karen, the elderly dress shop owner tells me as she places a hand on the back of my shoulder and leads me toward one of the two dressing rooms.
Since this is the only formal dress shop in all of Evergreen Grove, it’s, of course, not my first time here. It’s where everyone from town comes for any fancy occasion, and where I got every homecoming and prom dress.
I’d already seen pictures online of the dress that Ronnie had chosen for her bridesmaids and had specifically ordered for this event. While the dresses here in the store aren’t necessarily bad, the selection can, at times, be small and dated.
While there’s that running joke of brides picking the ugliest dresses for their wedding party, if only to make themselves stand out more, the second I see the dress on the hanger, a soft gasp leaves my lips. It’s gorgeous, and it’s hard not to reach out as my hand moves over the soft dusty-blue silk. It’s perfect. At least something from this wedding shows that Ronnie’s put her mark on it.
“Just let me know if you need any help. I’ll be right out here,” Karen assures before closing the fabric curtain to give me some privacy.
Eager, yet filled with a slight hint of anxiety that I had somehow taken my measurements wrong, I quickly undress and step into the silky fabric. Like Ronnie’s, it also has an A-line shape with sleeves that fall perfectly off the shoulder, but instead of leaving them completely bare, there are thin straps for added support. Even more stunning is the boning in the corset, which cinches in my waist in the most flattering and perfect way. There’s also a fun slit in the skirt. Thankfully, I shaved this morning, so no mishaps there—not that I have anyone to truly impress. Other than Ronnie, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, not even Ford.
“Okay, Karen. I think I could use a zip-up,” I holler. While it seems to fit just right, the true test is whether it will zip or not.
“Oh, wow. Ronnie has some great taste, doesn’t she?” Karen coos as she opens the curtain just enough to let herself slip inside. “You look so beautiful, dear,” she further compliments as she tugs at the zipper. Thank God, it zips.
“Thanks, Karen.”
I smile, taking in the view as I move from side to side, admiring the way the dress hugs my body and fits like a glove. There is also no denying that it shows off the ladies perfectly. At this point, the only thing that needs to be adjusted is the length, but given my height, and pretty much every dress I’ve ever tried on, that checks out.
“You guys need to see this,” Karen insists, her excitement evident as she slips out first, and I follow.
I’m not sure why I’m so nervous, especially around these two of all people, but the awkwardness persists as I scrunch my nose and bite my bottom lip. I’ve honestly never been one to love a ton of attention. “What do you think?” I ask, my gaze finding Ronnie first, seeking her approval above all others.
“Wow!” she squeals with uncontainable excitement and clasps her hands together underneath her chin, “it’s perfect.”
Wanting Ford’s opinion next, I swivel my head in his direction, finding him comfortably seated on the small couch positioned in front of the grand mirror and modeling stand. I don’t want to read too much into things, but his body language tells me he approves as he goes from leaning back to sitting up straight, his mouth slightly ajar.
I don’t want to overthink this, but I can’t ignore the way his eyes meticulously examine every inch of the dress, lingering on the slit that shows off my leg before finally locking his gaze with mine once more.
“Well?” I prod, not sure why I need to hear it, but I do.
“It’s…wow. That’s all I can say. Wow,” he stammers, his mouth still open, before shaking his head as we finally break eye contact and both turn toward Ronnie.
A sly grin crosses her features, accompanied by a knowing nod—I swear, if she says anything.
Luckily, before anyone can say another word, Karen quickly ushers me onto the small stand, wasting no time in starting her task as she skillfully sticks pins into the bottom of the dress.
Unfortunately, it’s hard not to hyper-fixate on things, as the image of the way Ford looked at me consumes my thoughts. I know that I’m likely blowing this out of proportion, especially since he’s going through a fucking divorce. Of course, he’s not sitting here pining after me, especially not after the way I ghosted him these past few years.
It’s time to face reality and realize that any chance of us happening is over and done with. Plus, I refuse to repeat the same mistake I made in high school and focus all my attention on one person, and the wrong person at that. Sure, Jenny may be leaving the picture, but I’m confident he has no interest in picking up something that never really even had time to begin in the first place.
Sure, after he and Jenny broke up the night of our high school graduation, Ford and I may have shared a fleeting kiss. But when Jenny showed up the next day as we set off for our big graduation trip, instead of choosing to spend his time with me, he and Jenny were practically inseparable, and by the end, like always, the two of them were back together.
The last thing I need to get mixed up in again is him and his drama. He is free to say that everything is over and done with in that relationship, but I know better. He’ll never likely fully be over Jenny, and I’m not looking to be some consolation prize until he can get back with her. I refuse to play that role a second time.
As Karen finishes the final touches, Ronnie excuses herself to get undressed, with Karen following shortly after to help her.
As I look up in the mirror and catch Ford’s eyes through the reflection, there’s an inexplicable energy in the air. Then again, maybe it’s just the dress making it hard to breathe. It certainly isn’t helping, though, that his eyes remain fixated on mine, almost as if he’s refusing to look away first.
“You’re free to undress now too, dear,” Karen calls from behind the curtain, causing me to jump in surprise.
“Okay, thanks,” I reply, trying not to look back at Ford, especially since I’m sure my cheeks are now flushed with color.
Needing distance, I waste no time moving down from the small pedestal before disappearing behind the curtain. I exhale a long, overdue breath, allowing my head to drop forward as it leans against the mirror’s cool surface. Pull yourself together, woman!
As I try to reach behind me, it doesn’t take long to realize that before I can start undressing, I need someone to unzip the back. “Shit,” I softly curse. I open the curtain and glance back and forth, only to realize that Ford is the only one around, as Karen still seems to be assisting Ronnie.
Ford’s eyebrows furrow. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, uh yeah. I just need some help getting out of this thing,” I say, pointing toward the back of my dress with my thumb.
It’s now his turn to look around nervously before his gaze lands back on me as he seems to come to the same conclusion. “I guess I could help.”
It shouldn’t be a big deal, just a simple act of unzipping, since it’s not like I’m asking him to completely undress me. Yet, there’s an unexplained feeling of intimacy that accompanies this action. Is this really the best idea? I can pretend all I want I’m over him, but deep down, I know that I’ve only ever been lying to myself.
“Really?” I ask, my voice betraying my outward demeanor as it falters and goes up an octave. “Okay, yeah. Sure.” I give in with a casual shrug trying to play it cool, even if the shaking in my voice says otherwise. This doesn’t have to be a big deal, especially if I don’t make it one.
Standing back, I hold up the curtain for him as he stands and makes his way over. While these rooms are large enough for two people, I can’t help but notice our closeness as he shuts the curtain and positions himself behind me, and the air around us charges with electricity all over again.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be fazed as he wordlessly unzips my dress, but my body begins to ripple and pulse with desire as his hand slows down. Instead of rushing and getting over with it, he takes his sweet time undoing the top, creating a painfully unhurried and intimate atmosphere as my eyes meet his darkening, hungry gaze in the mirror.
What is it with us and a mirror that seems to be so damn intense?
The dress starts to fall, causing the nice push-up effect that it’d had with my cleavage to lessen as I lift one hand to keep it up and prevent him from getting an indecent view. With our eyes still fixed on one another, his gaze alone practically undoes me; a shiver runs down my spine, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms as a blend of anticipation and longing take hold, and my body hums with need.
The desire to prolong this experience overwhelms me, causing my body to react involuntarily as my backside falls flush against him. He somehow manages to move in even closer, as something hard presses into my back.
He holds my stare, his hand moving even more achingly slow as the zipper finally descends to the very bottom, only inches above my ass. Given that I’ve never been one to fully think things through, I hadn’t thought about the fact that I’d need to wear a strapless bra, so instead, I’d decided it best to just go without for the day’s fitting and had tossed it into the small pile of clothing near our feet.
I’m left with no regrets as my back is now completely bare to him, and I can’t help but savor the sensation as his hand moves upward, his fingers tracing a soft line along my spine, sending tingles and warmth throughout my entire body. I finally break eye contact and close my eyes, embracing this perfect moment as I rest my head against his chest.
Once his fingers reach my shoulder, his other hand joins in as my eyes slowly flutter open. I need to watch as his large palms trace a scorching line of heat in their path, brushing the thin straps down my shoulders, bringing my top dangerously close to exposing my breasts to him; I’ve never craved anything more.
Not only do I want him to see me in a state of undress, I ache for him to touch me there, and so many other places that I’ve craved for so long. He seems to be thinking the same thing as his hands move forward and over my collarbones.
“Everything okay in there?” Karen interrupts.
Startled, Ford jerks his hands away from my body as if he’s been singed by a hot stove.
“ Shit, ” I inwardly curse, exhaling the breath that I’ve been holding. “Yes, I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute,” I assure her, meeting Ford’s eyes once more, but instead of holding my gaze, he immediately looks away and down at his shoes.
“I’m uh, going to… uh, I’ll just be out there,” he rambles, pointing toward the lobby before excusing himself.
What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?
A part of me has always fantasized about and yearned for a moment like this, but I never actually believed it could happen. Even worse, it’s not like I can tell Ronnie about this.
This week and the next are about her; not me and my silly drama. While it may have felt so right in the moment, and while a huge part of me is disappointed that it hadn’t gone any further when it was just getting good, the overwhelming emotion I feel now is relief.
I can’t allow myself to go there, and as I slip out of the dress and into my plain black T-shirt and boyfriend jeans, I make myself a firm promise to never let a moment like that happen again, especially not with Ford Hastings.