Chapter 23
IF YOU’RE READING THIS
REMY
After a few more takes, since of course Fresh Face doesn’t want to show the kind of kiss that can decimate lipstick, we finally get one that shows off the lipstick’s staying power even after a ten-second, knee-weakening kiss.
Fallon dismisses us, then leaves, the videographer dutifully following.
I change back into my clothes, then bring the black dress to the front of the shop, where the owner’s working at the counter. “You did a great job taking it in. It fits perfectly.”
“I have a brilliant seamstress. I’ll let her know,” she says, then pauses, her silvery gaze wise and curious as she glances from me to Lake, who’s a few feet away from me. “You two are quite cute.”
Lake turns toward her, then steps closer to me. “She is,” he says, answering her as he looks at me, only at me. For a few breath-held seconds, it’s as if the world spins away.
I blink, trying to come out of the haze as I tear my attention from him. “He is pretty cute.”
Lake snarls. “I’m not cute.”
I tap my chin, considering. “Handsome? Hot? Smoking? Strapping? Studly?”
“All of the above,” Lake answers.
The shop owner laughs, then her laughter fades as she gestures to the two of us. “This is nice to see. He’s a much better choice than your ex.”
My cheeks burn for a few seconds, but for some reason I don’t feel so embarrassed anymore by the Jumbotron incident, and how far and wide it’s spread.
I’m not sure if it’s because of Lake or this woman, and the genuine sparkle in her eyes.
She seems to really mean it. Like she’s the kind of human who legitimately roots for redemption after a public heartbreak story.
Like mine.
Lake wraps an arm around my shoulders, then meets her eyes. “Couldn’t agree more. Been wanting to see this myself for a long time too.”
There he goes again. The man is seriously committed to this origin story of the long-standing crush. It gives me butterflies.
The shop owner arches a curious brow, then nods toward the back of the shop. “Give me a few minutes to hang it in a garment bag so you can take it home.”
“Sounds great.”
“I’m about to set out some lovely new sweaters and such. Clothes from an estate sale,” she says, then waves to the pink chair. A mountain of neatly folded items sits on the chair, with dresses strewn over the back and jackets across the arm. “Feel free to take a look while you wait.”
“Sure,” I say, wandering over to the chair as she strides to the back of the shop, leaving Lake and me alone.
The store is quiet now; there’s a lull in the traffic outside. The Ella Fitzgerald music from earlier has shifted to something newer, poppier. Ivy May, I think, a twenty-five-year-old pink-haired Brit who can dance and sing about heartbreak.
“Mind if I look? Maybe I can find that dream argyle sweater for your sister,” I say as Lake leans against the counter.
“As a good BF I’d never get in the way of you thrifting.”
I roll my eyes. “I see you’re committed to the role.”
“So committed,” he says.
“Like I said, you’re cute.”
He growls. “Not cute.”
“So cute.”
He growls more deeply. “Cute things don’t give good growl.”
I smile as he drops another mention of my podcast, then paw through the sweaters, but there’s nothing quite right for Clem or me. I riffle through the dresses on the back of the chair, when something rustles under my hand.
Feels like paper maybe, but it’s also lacy. It’s so different from the rest of the clothes.
I tug on the fabric, pulling more of the material, and something catches my eye and my hand. There’s a piece of paper pinned inside the bodice of the dress, and it’s—a wedding dress.
And it doesn’t look old. It looks new and stylish.
The air whooshes from my lungs—estate sale. Did the bride die? I stare at the bodice of the dress and the piece of paper folded up inside it, pinned, with the words “Five Things To Do Before I Say I Do” on it.
I swallow, my mind racing, my eyes darting around the shop. I peer toward the back, looking for the shopkeeper. She’s still busy.
I’m about to say Lake’s name when he’s moving toward my side, bending. “What did you find?”
Would this even interest him? But I remember his words when I put on makeup last weekend. He’s interested in what I’m interested in.
“Look,” I say quietly. “It’s like a letter pinned to the wedding dress.”
“Open it,” he says, quick, decisive.
“Okay,” I say, needing no more permission than that. I’m dying to know what this says.
I unpin the letter, then unfold it.
And gasp. The first words are in a different handwriting from the rest of the note. They say: If you’re reading this, please treat it like the adventure this bride never got to experience.
I glance at Lake. He nods urgently, then moves closer. My breath catches as I read the list with him by my side. As promised, it’s five things this bride presumably wanted to do before her wedding. It’s dated two months ago. I read it, and it says her wedding is this summer.
My stomach falls. Sadness grips my throat.
“She must have died,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. His fill with sadness, sympathy. “Before she could do these things.”
I bring my hand to my mouth, sealing in tears, or trying to.
“It’s okay, Remy,” he says, softly, reaching for my shoulder, squeezing it.
“It’s not,” I whisper, then choke out. “She wrote a list and didn’t get to do it. She wanted to do this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the waves of emotion for someone I don’t even know. There’s no name on the note.
I should say something to the store owner. I really should. Her shoes are clicking and as they grow louder, she calls out in her warm, grandmotherly tone, “Find anything?”
Panic grips me. Do I tell her?
I don’t know what to say, but Lake clears his throat. “We’ll take this dress.”
I flinch. He’s buying a wedding dress? For me? What is even happening?
The shopkeeper smiles, a knowing, almost matchmaker-like grin as she glances from him to me. “I had a feeling.”
But my stomach craters and it’s not from the assumptions she’s making. I can’t take this. What if someone’s looking for the note?
My gut churns, but I cut in. “There’s a letter inside.”
The woman smiles kindly. “I know. It starts with If you’re reading this…”
She’s read it. “Do you know the family? The bride? Did they give this to you?”
“They want to sell everything. Including…”
This is almost too much. But if they know, if they want this, this is meant to be. “Including the dress?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Including the dress,” she repeats, then shrugs.
“Then, it’s supposed to happen this way,” Lake says, decisive, firm. He turns to me. “Do you want this?”
Four words and they feel like they’re heavy, important. They hold the weight of this woman’s last wishes. Her unfilled wishes. I don’t know why exactly, but there’s no question in my mind. I want this.
“I do,” I whisper.
And that’s it. He takes out his phone to pay, like buying a wedding dress for his fake girlfriend is just part of a regular day.
As he pays, he says to the shopkeeper, “Good thing we were here today.”
“It’s a very good thing,” she says as she rings up the unused wedding dress. She gently folds the gown and the letter up, taking so much care with both as she slides them into a gift bag, and hands it to me along with the one containing my maid of honor dress.
It’s like finding a message in a bottle. And now I have to decide what to do with it.