by Erika Kelly
“Oh, wait, let me get my phone.” Delilah dashed to the couch and dug it out of her bag. “Amelia wants me to get some pictures. Can you lean in a little? Knox, point like you were doing before. Perfect.” She took a couple shots. “I’ll send these to her right now.”
Callie took over the mouse and contemplated the bodices. “I think I like the simpler, more elegant ones.”
Knox figured that. She sketched out a top she thought Callie would like, then turned the book toward her. “Something like this?”
“That’s really pretty.”
Knox found a similar style in her portfolio and then turned the screen back to Callie. “The dress will look something like this.”
Callie gasped. “Yes. Oh…” She blew out a breath. “Yes. Just like that.”
“As for bling,” Knox said. “We can embed tiny Swarovski crystals in the bodice to make it sparkle.”
“How lame am I to want the crystals?” Callie asked.
“All I can say is, if you’re drawn to ball gowns, then for one day out of your life, go all-out Cinderella. If that’s not your thing, you can wear a pantsuit. Delilah, you could rock the hell out of one. That’s the fun in what we’re doing. You can create anything you want. Whatever feels right for you.”
“I want Cinderella.” Callie said it quietly, almost shyly.
“Then, that’s what you’ll be,” Knox said.
“I just feel like…Fin makes me feel like a princess every day. I know that sounds sappy, but it’s true. And I guess I want to look like one when I walk down the aisle to meet him.”
“Why am I tearing up?” Delilah said. “Are there onions in here? Because I know I’m not crying over the idea of you marrying the love of your life.”
“Gray says you’ve been sketching fancy wedding gowns since you were a kid,” Callie said. “How did you even know about couture back then? Not to make fun of Calamity or anything, but it’s not exactly on the cutting edge of fashion.”
“Oh, I didn’t. Not when I first started.” Was she really going to open the vault for these women, when she’d only known them a few days? Looks like I am. “When I was a kid, I’d tell these stories in my head. I called them dream sets.” She watched to see if they’d think she was a freak but, really, they just seemed interested. “Each one would play out over a couple of weeks, before some character from a movie or a book or a TV show would trigger a new one.”
“Oh, my God, I had dream sets, too,” Callie said. “I didn’t call them that, but that’s a great name for them. Sadly, mine were about Fin. I’m not kidding. I’m that much of a cliché. I actually couldn’t wait to go to bed at night, because it meant I could slip back into my”—she cut a mischievous look to Knox—“dream set and continue the movie playing in my head about our love story.”
“I want to fit in here so bad,” Delilah said. “But I daydreamed about recipes. Not the same?” She looked between them. “No, I didn’t think so.”
All three laughed, until Callie nudged Knox. “Go on. I want to hear about your dream sets.”
“Well, not to sound too pathetic, but mine were about imaginary friends. It would be a group of us doing totally normal things—hanging out, sleepovers, getting ready for prom together—but it always led to one of the girls getting married. I kept a notebook with me everywhere—on my nightstand, in my backpack—so I could sketch the wedding gowns.”
“I love that,” Delilah said. “I’m not that excited about going into a store and buying a wedding gown, but the idea of my friend, who knows me, making one just for me—that fits not just my body but my personality…I like that.”
“I never got to do that, though,” Knox said. “As soon as I got to college, I got on the couture track. Which really just means I made sure all my internships were with the houses I wanted to work in. And that world…it’s not about an individual. A woman with a personality and a backstory. It’s about drama, flair. How different I can make each dress while staying within my brand.”
“You have a brand?” Callie asked. “But they all look so different.”
“My brand is…” She made air quotes. “’Extravagantly feminine, wildly unique, and lushly romantic.’”
“Oh, I see. Yes, that’s exactly it.” Callie patted Delilah’s shoulder. “Well, she’s certainly got the market on lushness. I don’t know why she won’t share some of it with the rest of us.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds of lushness, because it’s harder than you think to find clothes that fit right. And, to be honest, that’s partly why I don’t get excited about wedding dresses. Buying clothes has always been such a chore. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen in love with something and then tried it on, only to find out I look horrible in it.”
“That’s the beauty of custom,” Knox said. “I’ll make one that fits you just right. It’ll feel like you’re wearing yoga pants and your favorite T-shirt. Okay, maybe not exactly like that.”
Delilah’s expression brightened. “Oh, I wish.”
“Besides, don’t you want something amazing when you walk down the aisle?” Callie asked. “Will’s going to be standing there in a tux, looking fine as wine, and he’s only going to have eyes for you. Imagine what you’ll be wearing.”
Delilah answered right away. “I want to look like me. I don’t want a ton of make-up or my hair done in some strange style and lacquered like a helmet.” She turned to Knox with her hands on her breasts. “I need something that won’t make me look like an exotic dancer.”
“Trust me, you’ve got a lot of options,” Knox said. “For the bodice, you’ll want to avoid high necklines and probably halters, but you could go with a sweetheart neckline, a V or scoop neck. For the skirt, A-lines are flattering on almost any figure. No empire. That’ll just make you look pregnant.”
“I guess I imagined something really structured, you know? To hold the girls in. I didn’t think I could have anything as wispy and feminine as those.” She gestured to the dress forms.
Now, Knox totally got Delilah’s reluctance. “You can have anything you want. Literally anything. We can work with a strapless bra or put in boning. You don’t worry about that. Just show me what you love, and I’ll make it fit, so you don’t worry for a single moment the entire time you’re wearing it.” She reached for the laptop and found the dress she thought might work for the hour glass-shaped blonde. “Does it matter to you if it’s white?”
“Not at all.”
“Then look at this one.”
It looked deceptively like a plunging V-neck, but covering the cleavage was a transparent silk tulle in the palest pink. Hand-embroidered flower petals in white adorned the organza bodice. The back, though, that was one of her favorites of all time. It had four pink organza flowers surrounding the keyhole cut-out.
“That is stunning,” Callie said.
“It is.” Delilah didn’t sound as effusive.
And Knox thought she knew why. She suspected Delilah didn’t trust that she’d come out looking like anything other than a Vegas showgirl. “Only, we’d do this.” She turned to a fresh page in the sketchbook and started drawing. “To keep from popping out.” When she finished, she turned the book to Delilah.
“You think I could really look good in that?”
“I know you can. But you don’t have to worry, because I’m going to make a mock-up, which is made from muslin and lets me fit you in the dress before I cut the actual fabric.” She looked from one to the other. “Sound good?”
“Oh, yes,” Callie said. “I completely love mine. Make my muslin.”
Delilah seemed more hesitant.
“Even after I cut the material,” Knox said. “We can keep playing with ideas.”
“I want to play with mine a little,” Delilah said. “But that’s really close.” She gestured to the dress on the screen.
“No problem at all.”
Callie closed the laptop. “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starving.”
Dread smacked her right in the gut. Knox didn’t want to run into anyone who’d once barked at her—not in front of these beautiful, confident women.
But then anger rolled in, knocking her fear right on its ass. If they barked at her today, as twenty-five-year-old adults, then they were immature idiots who hadn’t moved on from high school.
Besides, if she planned on staying in town a while, she couldn’t hide out in the bunkhouse. She walked with them to the door, each step bringing the image of downtown Calamity into sharper focus, as if seeing it from the perspective of a drone. An aerial view of the town green, narrowing down to the antler arches at each gateway, the crowds of people roaming, listening to live music in the gazebo…until it zeroed in on individual faces.
Cady Toller. Melissa Singer. Danny Mortimer. Her heart pounded and her palms grew damp.
After the women walked out the door, she said, “You know what? I’ve got so much work to do. You guys go on.”
Chicken.
Relieved not to find any trucks parked in front of the bunkhouse, Gray knocked on the door. Except…he didn’t have to sneak around, did he? They worked together. And she’s single.
All those years of wanting his best friend’s girlfriend, he’d hated himself. Worked hard to conceal it. It was only after he’d gotten suspended for shutting down some of her bullies, that his dad had gotten involved. They’d taken a long hike—one of the rare occasions they’d spent time alone together—and, over the course of the day, his dad had coaxed the confession out of him: he kept getting into fights over Knox Holliday because he loved her. And he couldn’t stand to see her hurt.
He’d never forget the relief he’d felt at finally saying it out loud, in confiding his deepest, darkest secret. Only, his dad had been pissed. Delivering a blistering lecture on loyalty—as if Gray hadn’t been struggling with that issue all along—his dad had insisted he stay away from Robert and Knox, since any time spent alone with her was a betrayal to his oldest friend.
Gray had tried—of course he had—but he could no sooner breathe without lungs than live in a world without Knox. He’d never talked about her again, though, and his dad had never asked.
He knocked again and, when he still got no answer, he opened the door and peered in. “Knox?” A cool breeze rushed in from the open French doors that led to the patio. It lifted the skirts of the frilly gowns and riffled the pages of a notebook laid out on the kitchen counter.
Less than two weeks ago, this place had smelled like gym shoes and roasted meat, but now, with Knox living here, it smelled like the pine and sage of the outdoors mingling with the warm bread and fresh flowers inside.
The work stations they’d set up sat abandoned, and Gray knew she had to be freaking out. But he’d fixed the problem and couldn’t wait to tell her. “Anybody here?” He raised his voice in case she was coming out of the shower or something. “Knox? It’s Gray. I’m coming in.”
As he neared the French doors, he heard huffs of breath and a shushing, tapping sound. “Knox?” He nearly shouted this time, not wanting to startle her. Was she exercising?
Like front row seating to the spectacle of the Grand Teton mountain range, the cushioned chairs formed a half-circle around the fire pit. On the brick lip, he saw a lit candle, a plate of food, a wine bottle, and one wine glass. One.
Why did the idea of Knox being alone make his stomach hurt?
Stepping onto the patio, he stopped when he saw her dancing like a wild woman. Her wavy, dark hair shimmied and gleamed in the early twilight. In her fist, she held her phone with white wires branching out and leading to her ears. She whispered the lyrics, the soles of her slippered feet scraping on the stone patio.
He’d washed his hands of her seven years ago, the moment he’d understood she was to him what drugs were to Robert. It had been the harshest reality he’d ever faced, knowing he was as messed up as his friend, caught in the unrelenting, sucking pull of unrequited love.
But watching her dance like this—just as she’d done every time a good song had come on the radio—in the bunkhouse, on the trail, in his Jeep—it all came flooding back.
Not good, man. Not good at all.
Fact: she’s only here because you screwed up her career. Stick to business.
He glanced at the plate of food she’d set on the edge of the fire pit—thick slabs of sausage, wedges of cheese, and neatly cut slices of baguette. He’d followed Fin’s training program for months, and his mouth watered for some real food. Without even thinking, he headed toward it, hungry for a taste of that cheese and bread—
“Jesus!” Knox yanked out her earbuds and slapped a palm over her heart. “What’re you doing here?”
He stood there, frozen, like he’d landed on his back on hard ice and gotten the wind knocked out of him. Everything about her—her hair, wild and loose, her toned, feminine legs in black leggings, even the slouchy sweater covering the parts he most wanted to see—was stunning.
And she was pissed that he’d intruded on her privacy. Right. His default lazy smile slid into place. “Got some good news.”
“You scared the crap out of me.”
“I texted you I was on my way over.”
“I haven’t looked at my messages since everyone left for the day.”
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He shrugged. “I knocked and shouted. Did everything but burn the place down.” He stacked cheese and sausage on a slice of fresh baguette and shoved it in his mouth.
Setting the phone down next to the plate, she flopped into a chair. She raised one eyebrow and said, “Help yourself.”
“Thanks. I’m starved.” He reached for her glass and drank some of the wine. “Nice.”
“It’s yours. Not many people have a wine cellar in a bunkhouse.”
“Callie’s brother got married here in June. We classed the place up.”
She took in the slate patio, the barbecue station, and fire pit. “You sure did.”
“So. You took on my brothers this morning.” Not many people had the confidence to stand up to them like that. “Impressive.”
“Well, I didn’t like the way they made you out to be the bad guy. I mean, I was there. I saw—”
“I know you were.” One thing he could count on back then: Knox Holliday cheering him on in the audience. “You remember that electric guitar you got me?”
“Of course.” Her features turned pink.
“I’d asked my dad for one for my birthday.”
Her lips pressed together in disapproval. “I couldn’t believe he didn’t get it for you.”
All through his birthday dinner, he’d had his eyes on the big, long box waiting for him. His spirits had soared, certain his dad had gotten him what he’d wanted. Damn, it had sucked when he’d opened it to find a new snowboard. “So, for Christmas, you got me one.”
“It was just a cheap thing from a thrift store in Jackson.”
She could make light of it all she wanted. It had meant the world to him. “Still have it.”
“You do?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“I’m glad.” That soft smile hit him as viscerally as if she’d reached out and touched him.
“Okay, I came bearing news about the fabric situation.”
“Yeah?” She tried so hard not to expose her fears and anxieties. A survival technique, for sure. Can’t let the bullies see you vulnerable. He just wished she knew she didn’t have to be anything other than herself around him.
Because there’d never been a single thing about her he hadn’t liked and respected. “We got the appointment.”
“You did? How?”
“Conference call with the owner and Mrs. Granger.”
“That was pretty ballsy for a guy who makes socks.”
He burst out laughing. “That’s going on my headstone. Here lies Gray Bowie. Ballsy…for a guy who makes socks.” He sandwiched sausage and cheese between baguette slices and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
With her legs
curled under her on the big chair, she watched while he chewed and swallowed. “Are you a snake?”
“I’m hungry.” He grabbed a napkin and swiped his mouth. “So. We leave tomorrow, and meet him on Wednesday at noon. Mrs. Granger will meet us there.”
Her hand spasmed—just the tiniest bit—but enough for the wine to slosh over the rim of her glass and spill on her leg. Damn, well, guess that answers that question. Her reaction meant she was still tied up emotionally in Robert.
She reached for a napkin. “That was stupid.” She patted the damp spots on her leggings.
“Why’re you so worried about seeing her?”
“No matter what you say, she can’t think well of me for taking off the way I did. Not when her son was finally getting the help he needed. It was a shitty thing to do.”
“All I can tell you is she smiled when I mentioned your name.” If he was this disappointed, it meant that somewhere, deep down, he still held out hope for them.
Why couldn’t he get over this woman?
“Have you stayed in touch with Robert?” She tried to sound casual.
“I’ve seen him, but, no. We haven’t stayed in touch. What about you?” He held his breath, and he wanted to punch his own face for even caring about this shit.
“My mom said he came straight to our house after getting out of rehab.” She shook her head as if to say it hadn’t gone well. “In her usual in-your-face style, she told him to let me go. To ‘give Knox a chance in life.’” She tried for a smile. “As you can expect, he didn’t like hearing that. He lit into her about the way she’d raised me, said that I wouldn’t have had to rely on him if I’d had a mother who’d looked out for me. It was ugly. I’m glad I wasn’t there.” She went quiet, and he knew what came next. He knew his role well.
Man, he did not want to be the window into her fucking ex-boyfriend. Why is he acting like this? Did you see him with Shauna at the party? Where is he? He’s not answering his phone.
Kill me now. But, of course, he was the asshole who was going to feed the beast. He didn’t think he’d ever denied Knox anything she’d ever wanted.