Like a Winter Snow

by Lindsay Harrel

  “Makes sense. What do you want me to do?”

  “Actually, William offered to cover the store for me, sweet man. So I was thinking you and I could start packing up a bit around here?” After the wedding, Sophia was going to move into William’s house since it was bigger. She hoped to rent her cottage in the new year when they returned from their honeymoon. “There’s more last-minute stuff to do but the majority of shops will be closed around here.”

  “That sounds great to me.”

  “I’ll help too until I need to leave for lunch.” Ginny took a final swig of her coffee and hopped off the stool. “Besides, I’ve been dying to see your wedding dress, and it sounds like now is the perfect time for you to model it for us.”

  “Ooo, yes.” Joy clapped her hands. “Great idea.”

  “It’s a bit of a monstrosity to get into. I’ll need some help.”

  “We can practice for the real deal.”

  Sophia bit her lip then squealed. “Six days until I’m Mrs. William Rose. Can you guys believe it?” She stood. “All right, let’s go see it.”

  They followed Sophia down the hallway to her bedroom, decorated in delicate whites, pinks, and greens. A floral quilt lay across the top of the king-sized bed, and a vase of silk pink roses adorned the white shabby chic side table. On Sophia’s closet door hung a large white garment bag that nearly reached the floor.

  Sophia lifted the hanger from the top of the door then placed the bag on the bed. A hot pink tag at the top declared the bag the property of S. Barrett.

  Her friend glanced at Joy and Ginny, eyes sparkling. “Ready?”

  “Girl, yes.” Ginny wrung her hands in anticipation.

  Sophia unzipped the bag . . . and gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” Joy stepped forward, certain she’d see some sort of stain marring the dress’s fabric. But the white beaded bodice—rather low-cut considering Sophia’s modest nature—and flowing Georgette maxi skirt appeared in perfect condition.

  Yet Sophia shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

  “Soph?” Joy pinched her friend’s elbow.

  Sophia jolted then pointed at the bag and its contents. “That is not my dress.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dress has cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, gorgeous embroidery, and tulle lace. This”—she pointed again—“is not that.” Her breathing grew ragged.

  “Here, sit down.” Joy helped Sophia lower herself onto the edge of the bed. “Just call the dress shop, tell them there’s been a mix-up, and demand you get your dress ASAP.”

  “It’s in London.”

  “So it’s their mistake, right?” At Sophia’s nod, Joy continued. “They can figure out a way to get it to you same day. And like you said, we still have six days to figure this out. It’s going to be fine.”

  Sophia blew out a breath and unclenched the fists she’d started making. “You’re right. Can you find my phone?”

  Ginny located it on the dresser and handed it to Sophia. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Sophia found the shop’s phone number and called, standing to pace while she waited. After a minute, she hung up. “It just kept ringing and ringing. No way to leave a message.”

  “Maybe we can tweet them or contact them via email,” Joy offered.

  “It’s this little hole-in-the-wall shop, so I honestly don’t know if they have a website. I was in London dress shopping when I happened across it.” Sophia rubbed her forehead. “Should I just keep calling and hope that eventually the owner will answer?”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Let’s start packing and you can call every ten minutes and pray you get through.” Joy zipped the bag and waltzed to the closet door, eyeing it then turning on her heel. “Sorry, but unless you have a chair in here, one of you will have to hang this.”

  Ginny snatched it from her and replaced the dress where it belonged.

  For the next several hours, the three of them packed Sophia’s bedroom. Eventually, Ginny left and lunchtime faded into afternoon. Sophia’s attempts to contact the dress shop proved futile, with Sophia growing more and more discouraged every time her calls remained unanswered.

  Argh. Her friend did not need this—did not deserve this—especially after all she’d been through.

  Joy’s head spun with details of a forming plan as she dug into the back of Sophia’s closet. She crammed a pair of black flats into a moving box. Reaching for sandals decorated with red jewels, she tossed them in as well and snagged some white wedges in the next breath.

  “Something on your mind?” Sophia’s voice piped up from her spot across the room.

  Did her friend know Joy well or what? “I could drive to London and exchange the dress in person. Then we’d be guaranteed to at least know what’s going on and get the deed done.”

  Sophia, who had been tossing piles of lounge shirts and sweats into a box, froze. “That’s actually a great idea. But you can’t go. You don’t know how to get there.”

  “It’s called GPS, silly. I’ll be fine.”

  “But you’d have to drive on the opposite side of the road. It took me a few months to feel okay with that. And London is a five-hour drive from here.”

  “I’ve taken plenty of road trips.” The thought of driving on the left was a bit nerve-wracking but nothing Joy couldn’t handle. “I’d have to borrow your car, though.”

  Sophia bit her lip and turned once more to stare at the dress. “I should be the one to go.”

  Joy set down a pair of white ankle boots and walked toward her friend, placing a hand on Sophia’s arm. “You have a bookstore to run and last-minute details that only you can accomplish. I really don’t mind. I’m here to help. Let me.”

  “I’ll call William and see what he thinks.” Sophia got on the phone and dialed her fiancé.

  While she did that, Joy stepped out of the room and snagged a few water bottles from the fridge. Uncapping one, she allowed the cool liquid to flow down her parched throat. Who knew one could sweat in the middle of a British winter?

  Sophia emerged from her room a few minutes later and found Joy in the kitchen. She placed her phone on the counter. “William said there’s snow in the forecast for London and its surrounding areas. It may be a bad storm. The forecasters aren’t certain but road conditions could be sketchy. Neither of us think it’s a good idea for you to go.”

  “But—”

  “Alone, that is.” Sophia tilted her head, worry evident in her eyes. “You can say no to this, Joy, but Oliver was there with William and offered to take you. He said his aunt was feeling a bit perkier and could handle the store for a day if you leave at first light tomorrow.”

  A whole day with Oliver? Alone?

  She chided herself for the tiny thrill racing up her spine. A. Friend. He was just a friend.

  A handsome, amazingly insightful friend who . . .

  Stop it, Joy. Just . . . stop.

  Joy must have waited too long to respond because Sophia shook her head. “That settles it. I’ll just keep calling the shop and hope that someone answers tomorrow. It’s probably closed for Sunday or something to that effect.”

  “Didn’t you initially go there on a Sunday?” That was the only day Sophia ever closed the bookstore for part of the day.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m going, Soph. You have to have your wedding dress. That’s a nonnegotiable. And I for one am not willing to trust that the shop will get it here for you.” She paused, mulling. “That’s really nice of Oliver to offer to come with me. I guess, to be safe and ease your mind, I’ll let him.”

  Chapter 9

  Twenty hours later, Joy stood triumphant at the front of the wedding dress shop. In her hand she held Sophia’s dress along with a two-hundred-pound refund.

  Oliver followed her out to the car and whistled. “I can’t believe the verbal thrashing you gave that woman—and all without yelling or saying one rude thing.” He opened the back door to his silver SUV, took the dress from her,
and set it inside with care. “That takes talent.”

  She rounded the vehicle and opened the other back door. “All I did was remind her she had a duty to her patrons to ensure they looked beautiful on their wedding day, and that it’s a bit difficult for the bride to do when she doesn’t have the right dress.” Leaning in, she pulled the top of the garment bag toward her so it lay flat across the seat. “I still can’t believe she didn’t label the dresses more clearly. We’re just lucky that Samantha Barrett hadn’t picked up Sophia’s dress and taken it to who-knows-where.”

  “Indeed.”

  She laughed at the simplicity of his reply. Last night, Sophia had said something about Oliver being on the introverted side, but with Joy, he’d never really seemed that way unless in the presence of other people. In fact, he’d been downright chatty this morning on the drive—during which she’d learned that he loved sushi but salmon (her favorite) revolted him, that he played a mean game of Yahtzee and dabbled in guitar strumming when he had a few spare moments, and that his ideal day consisted of walking and playing fetch with Rascal at Hyde Park.

  When he’d asked about her, she hadn’t known what to say. Even though she liked herself, she just didn’t feel that interesting, not when most of her time was spent hanging out with her parents. So she’d gushed about her love of everything movie-related and confessed her secret addiction to the British royals—even that she’d stayed up all night when she’d lived alone in Arizona to watch William and Harry’s weddings and all the preceding festivities live on television.

  She’d never even told Sophia that particular fact, afraid her friend would have teased her mercilessly for her romantic sentiments. But, really, it was more than that. One of her first memories was watching Princess Diana’s wedding while snuggled up with her mom in the early hours of the morning.

  Either way, the time passed with Oliver in the car on the way to London had been entirely too pleasant for Joy’s good.

  They closed their doors and climbed into the car. Oliver started the ignition and glanced over at her. “Where to now?”

  “What do you mean? We need to get this back to Soph.” Heat poured from the SUV’s vents, and Joy lifted her hands to warm them.

  “You can’t tell me you came all the way to London and aren’t going to see a few sites. That just isn’t right.”

  “Believe me, I’d love to. Do you know how many movies set in England I’ve seen? How often I’ve wanted to visit?” She still couldn’t believe she was here. The skies were drearier than in her favorite films, and evidence of previous snowfall decorated the gutters. Even so, icy streets and storefronts strung with lights added a certain holiday spirit, enough to bring the magic of being here to life. “But we’ve got to get back. Sophia needs my help with a ton of stuff.”

  “I refuse to allow you to come to my city and not take in at least one place of notoriety.”

  The man was stubborn but so was she. “What about the snow headed this way? Sophia said there was a good chance of it.”

  Oliver whipped out his phone and messed with it for a moment. “Ah. Looks to be several hours out. We’ll be gone before then.” Replacing it on his center console, he looked her square in the eyes. “So, what’s it to be?”

  Joy huffed, smiling to show him he’d won—and that she didn’t hold a grudge. “Why don’t you pick?

  “I know just the place.”

  Half an hour later, he’d parked and walked them into Westminster Abbey. Joy took in the Gothic style of the centuries-old church where British coronations and some royal weddings were held. “This is a dream.” She glanced at Oliver, who’d shoved his hands inside the pockets of his gray trench coat.

  “You said you loved the monarchy and that you watched the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s wedding, so . . .” He shrugged.

  “It’s perfect.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  They ventured inside and purchased tickets to a guided tour. Their verger—a caretaker of sorts who acted as a tour guide through the church—was an older man with a thinning pad of hair up top and a long black robe. He led them throughout the abbey, from Poets’ Corner to the royal tombs and every other notable location within. Joy’s fingers itched to take photos, but the abbey’s policy didn’t allow it. Part of her was glad because it meant she could simply observe, pray, and enjoy her surroundings.

  At the far eastern end of the church, the verger walked through large brass gates into what he called the Lady Chapel, or Henry VII’s chapel. His spectacles caught the light flickering through the gorgeous high stained-glass windows as he described the late medieval architecture, evident in the fan-vaulted ceiling, where curving wood was carved equidistantly, creating the effect of ladies’ fans spreading across the ornate ceiling.

  Joy’s neck hurt from straining to make out the designs on the dozens of banners hanging from above. According to the verger, these banners represented the Knights of the Order of Bath, and the nearly one hundred statues of saints interspersed between them displayed the largest surviving figure sculpture collection from Tudor England. Beneath the banners on either side of the main aisle, rows of mahogany stalls contrasted with the light-colored walls and ceiling.

  “This is the resting place of fifteen monarchs, including Mary the First, Elizabeth the First, and Mary, Queen of Scots.” The verger walked around the cavernous chapel with his hands behind his back.

  Now that he mentioned it, she saw tombs scattered about the room. On the east side of the space rose two large gilt bronze effigies of Henry VII and his wife. The marble effigy of Elizabeth the First depicted a somber woman lying in her regal finery across the top of the tomb.

  The soaring ceiling, the elegant details, the way the light swooped through the entire chapel—it all brought a beauty she couldn’t describe, embedding it down deeply in her soul. This place that memorialized the dead was so gorgeous in its rendering, and it made Joy feel . . . alive.

  How ironic.

  Oliver leaned toward her. “Amazing, isn’t it?” His whispered words brushed against the top of her ears.

  “Hmm . . .”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  Her eyes found his, but although she saw teasing glinting beneath his lashes, she couldn’t joke in this moment—not when, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so burdened. So frightened of what was to come. This monument to the Creator, meant to honor life even in death, gave her something physical yet other-worldly to cling to.

  So yes, words wouldn’t come. Joy could only express her gratitude to him for bringing her here by reaching out her hand and lacing her fingers between his.

  Surprise lit his face but he didn’t pull away. In fact, his hand grasped hers with a firmness that said he wasn’t going to let go.

  And something about this place and whatever was happening inside of her . . . well, she was okay with that.

  Her gaze left his and traveled upward, finding the light once more. And when she closed her eyes in reverence, it continued to shine even then.

  The trip to Westminster had taken much longer than she’d expected, and she wasn’t the only one who had lost track of time.

  As they made their way to the front of the abbey, Oliver checked his Orient dress watch. “Oh, wow. It’s already half past three. How did that happen?”

  “It was just so mesmerizing.” And she didn’t just mean the church, though it was deserving of that adjective. After their tour had ended, they’d wandered hand in hand, room to room, taking in the sights. Despite her usual affinity for talking, she found herself bound in a spell that she feared would break if they spoke, a spell she didn’t want to emerge from until absolutely necessary.

  Necessary had finally arrived.

  Joy dropped Oliver’s hand and dug in her purse for her phone. “How’s the weather?” Her weather app should tell them, though it was never too reliable. She powered up her phone as they rounded the last corner toward the massive
entrance. Other visitors exited and a blast of icy air hit Joy when she got close.

  She dropped her phone into her bag. No weather app needed.

  Snow fell from the gray sky at an alarming rate.

  Joy turned to Oliver, whose brow furrowed. “You okay to drive in this?”

  “I’m fine driving in snow, though this looks a mite heavy.” Oliver buttoned his jacket and reached for her hand once more. “Come on. Let’s get to the car, and I’ll check the weather reports just to be sure.”

  She nestled her hand in his and ducked against the wind. By the time they reached his car, her head was wet from the falling flakes of white, her fingers stiff from the cold.

  Oliver cranked the car heater and defroster, using his wipers to rid the windshield of the precipitation already gathering on the glass. “Wait just a moment while I take a look.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, and his thumb danced across the screen.

  Joy took the opportunity to text Sophia and let her know they’d been waylaid a bit but that she’d report in when they left.

  A text came back immediately.

  I’ve been trying to call you. It’s only snowing a little here, but between Port Willis and London, the storm looks pretty fierce. It’s way more intense than they thought. You should stay there until it clears.

  Joy’s fingers flew as she typed a reply.

  But we have your dress. And you need my help.

  Moments later, her phone dinged in response.

  Your safety is way more important than any dress. Stay put for tonight. You can come tomorrow once the roads are plowed and it’s safe.

  A groan escaped Joy’s throat. “Sophia said she’s seen bad reports—”

  “I think we should stay in town tonight,” Oliver said at the same time.

  This was not the plan. But some things couldn’t be helped. “I just can’t believe the weather stations didn’t warn us how bad it would be.”

  Through the windshield, Oliver peeked at the sky. “I’m not sure how great American forecasters are, but here they get it wrong all the time.”