The Wedding Dress Yes (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

“I buy you a beautiful purse, exactly what you need, and it would have matched your sweater almost perfectly, and you decided to toss it aside for an old, fraying, ratty—”

  Lara strode past him, dumped her purse on the couch, and whirled to face him. “Um… okay. Clarify something for me. You gave me a purse, so I have to carry it everywhere I go from now on simply because you picked it out for me? Tell me you’re not saying that.”

  He at least had the decency to look chagrined—for half a second. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to use a beautiful new one instead of a worn out one. It’s like my gift means nothing to you. You won’t even use it.”

  There, she lost it. “Wait. I used it on Sunday when we went to your parents’ house for dinner. I used it yesterday. And today, when I had errands to run in dirty places that might ruin the purse that is obviously more important to you than I am, I chose to carry my favorite purse that I can just toss in the washing machine. You don’t think that’s enough?”

  “The purse isn’t precious, Lara. It can be cleaned.”

  “It’s precious in another way, obviously. It’s more important than I am at this point.”

  He stepped closer, but his eyes were still fixed on her old purse. When he reached her, he pulled her close and cupped her face in his hands. “After the ring thing, you can’t blame me for being concerned when you seem to reject my gifts.”

  “Reject?” Lara couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Reject? I wear your ring every day—if not on my finger, around my neck. I carried your purse wherever we went together to show my appreciation, but that’s not good enough. Should I have them surgically attached to me?”

  The alarms on her phone went nuts at that moment. Lara silenced them and bolted for her bedroom. “I have to get dressed. Just go, Preston. Seriously, I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m mad.”

  “We should discuss—”

  Lara paused in her doorway, ready to slam it shut the moment she finished speaking. “Go. Home. We’ll talk later. Some of us have to work for a living.”

  The slam that followed couldn’t have been more cathartic if she’d special ordered it with gold plating.

  At nine-thirty, a text message arrived. We still need to talk. Tomorrow after you are through with work?

  Lara sighed and typed back. Sure. But before she could send it, she recalled Friday’s counseling session and deleted it. Instead, she sent, Tomorrow won’t work for me. Busy. Let’s talk Friday afternoon after counseling. Facetime if you can’t stay. The slightest hesitation delayed her next words. I love you.

  Her heart sighed, and relief filled her as his next text filled the screen of her phone. I love you, too. More than you know.

  With Lauren curled up in a chair in the corner of Lara’s living room, Brenna and Lara worked on manicures—one color after the next. “I think…” Lara wiggled her left hand. “Well, let me see your right hand again.”

  Brenna stuck out her hand. “With the dress color you chose, I’d go with this one.”

  From the corner, Lauren piped up. “It matches your new purse, too.”

  That’s all it took. “I think it’s too bland for me, but maybe the bridesmaids. It’ll look great with your yellow dresses.”

  “What’ll you wear?”

  The memory of Preston’s latest compliment prompted a snapped, “I should wear nothing.” Lauren’s titter made her add, “On my fingernails…” She dropped her voice and said, “I found online that some people in Preston’s church don’t even wear makeup. Others just wear natural-looking stuff.”

  “That’s true of most churches, though, isn’t it?” Brenna splayed her fingers and reached for a rose-pink. “Everyone has different ways of living their convictions.”

  “True…” With a glance Lauren’s way, Lara leaned closer. “Got a question for you.” At Brenna’s answering look, she said, “So, that purse he got me.”

  “Yeah…?”

  “We had a fight about it.”

  “Why? It’s gorgeous.”

  It took every ounce of self-restraint not to blurt out, “You can have it.” Instead, she said, “I took it to the family dinner on Sunday. I even took it when we went looking at wedding bands on Tuesday. But last night when I got home, I was late getting in—that bad accident just off the loop? Well, he saw me with my old denim one and flipped out.”

  “Why?”

  “He felt all disrespected because I wasn’t using his gift—brought up the ring again and everything.”

  A glob of nail polish landed on Brenna’s knee. They scrambled to get it out before it set, and as they did, Brenna talked through her thoughts. “Okay, so to me, this is like he doesn’t like your purse, so he buys you one to replace it.”

  “That’s about right. But shouldn’t I be able to carry what I like—especially when I’m not even with him?”

  A cough from the corner hinted that Lauren was listening, but Brenna spoke before Lara could decide what to do about that. “This is his preference. It shouldn’t affect you at all. It’s not like you’re wearing skirts up to here and shirts cut down to there or anything.”

  “Right?”

  The sight of Brenna standing at her kitchen sink in just her pajama top and undies, scrubbing nail polish from her bottoms, struck a silly bone in Lara’s side, but her giggles ceased when Brenna added, “If you weren’t willing to use it ever, I might understand why he’s upset. But there’s just no call to pitch a fit because you didn’t use it one day.”

  Another cough prompted Lara to whisper, “What’s with Lauren?”

  “Other than she doesn’t like Preston?” Brenna shrugged. “Look, the ring… this purse… the way he called you at all hours while you were gone… It’s concerning.”

  Brenna might have said more, but Lauren hopped up. “I’m going to go get you some dry bottoms.” To Lara, she added, “Aunt (gimme) Mercy says that guys treat you the best they ever will before they say, ‘I do.’” With that, the girl disappeared out the door.

  “I think I’ll talk to Ty about it,” Lara decided. “Get a guy’s perspective. I wouldn’t want to overreact.”

  And that, Miss Lauren Kinsey, was a definite overreaction. If before marriage is the best I have to hope for, I’ll stay single forever.

  Eleven-thirty. Ty had half an hour to go grab something for lunch and bring it back—plenty of time before Lara arrived for counseling. He just didn’t have time to eat it, too. A grumble from his gut hinted he wouldn’t make it through the session without embarrassing himself.

  Without anything else he could do, Ty grabbed his jacket and hurried out the door. He sent a text to Lara asking if she wanted anything while he was at the Jumping Pig. I heard they have great pastrami right now.

  Her reply came just as he pulled open the door to his favorite pub. Definitely. I’ll bring cheesecake. Lauren’s been baking again. This has those Dove truffle eggs inside. If I could have dairy at the wedding, I’d totally pay her to make this instead of a traditional cake. It’s that good.

  Chatty today. Good. We’ll make progress. He zipped back, Anything for Preston?

  Only a one-word answer followed. No.

  They met at the walkway to the chapel, and Lara nearly pounced on his bag of food. “That smells amazing! I didn’t know how hungry I was!”

  He’d never noticed her perfume before, but it teased his senses with just enough presence to make him wonder at it. When she stared at him, waiting for him to say something, he turned and bolted from the room. “I’ll grab plates and glasses from the kitchen. Be right back.”

  Lara stood there, sandwiches in hand, waiting with a comical impatience that made him laugh. “Hey, I’m starving, and you promised food!”

  Before he sat down with his sandwich, Ty grabbed her hand and offered a quick thanks for the food and a request that Preston would arrive safely. When he stepped back, unshed tears filled Lara’s eyes. “I…”

  “What’s wrong, Lara?”

  “He could
n’t come again. Something with his grandma came up.”

  That doesn’t signify a problem in itself, but twice in a row doesn’t bode well for making this marriage a priority.

  However, before he could find a way to broach that subject without seeming to attack, Lara began talking. “So, while we eat, can I get your perspective on a problem we have?”

  “You and Preston?”

  She nodded, and without waiting for any kind of response, launched into a story, in great detail, of how she’d lost her ring and decided to wear it around her neck at work. Ty’s pointed look at her ring-less hand prompted a blush. “I was afraid we might go late enough that I might forget, so I decided to put it on the chain before I came.”

  The story continued—a gift bag, a purse she didn’t like, and an overreaction, as far as he was concerned, when she used a different one. “I talked to Brenna, and she didn’t think I was nuts, but I decided that maybe I needed a male perspective.”

  “Mine.”

  She nodded, her mouth full of pastrami on a rye hoagie roll. She washed it back and added, “Look, I want to know if I should just apologize and use the stupid purse, or if it’s okay that I’m bothered by his reaction.” She dropped her hands to her lap, and a few of the homemade chips that he’d gotten to go with their sandwiches flew off the plate. “I just can’t get it out of my head. It really bugs me.”

  With one last, longing look at a sandwich he knew he’d not touch again until after the session, Ty wiped his hands and mouth and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her face. “Look, the ring I get. I’m not saying you’re being unreasonable about it, but on that one, neither is he. I’d struggle, too. He went somewhere, looked at every ring they had, and found the one he wanted to give you as a symbol of his love for you. And you hide it under your shirt.”

  “Oh,” Lara pulled out the chain and stared at the ring. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was just trying to protect it and be responsible.”

  “I get that. And like I said, you aren’t being unreasonable,” Ty explained, “But from a guy’s perspective, I can’t help but admit that I would wonder if my girl liked it—even when I knew better.”

  She picked up the chips from the floor and, distracted as she was, almost popped them in her mouth. Ty took them from her and pointed to her plate. “How about those, instead?”

  That prompted a smile that faded almost as quickly. “So, use the purse… Fine.”

  Ty shook his head. “Actually, no. I think that’s over the top. No. Not the same thing at all. The ring symbolizes your relationship. That purse should just be a sign he was thinking of you and wanted to please you.”

  Lara rolled up her empty sandwich wrapper a moment later and dumped it in his wastepaper basket. “So… porn.”

  Never had Ty been so glad that a perfectly good sandwich was getting cold instead of sticking in his craw. “Porn?”

  “It’s not a problem for him. And actually,” Lara’s eyes took on a dreamy quality. “It’s actually kind of sweet. He thought I was being ridiculous to be convicted about my romances until he realized I was serious. Then he backed me up.”

  “Well, this week we were going to talk about the spiritual dimension of your relationship now, and where you want to see it grow later. I assume that, for you and Preston, that’ll include deciding about your faith differences?”

  She pulled two containers and two forks from a denim purse and passed one of each to him. “Might as well get some dessert in you. This is going to be a long day. Let’s talk Easter.”

  At the sight of a couple entering the restaurant, Lara dashed for the kitchen. They will not get a free meal tonight—not if it kills all of us. On principle.

  Jerks might be par for the course in the restaurant business, but repeat offenders ruined everyone’s work night. As she started to push open the kitchen door, Juli-the-hostess’s voice reached her. “Mr. Controlling will probably be here early tonight. Who wants to volunteer to douse him with water?”

  “Lara would probably hear it if we did, but I wish we could.” She couldn’t tell who said that, but he continued with, “How does she put up with his guarding her like a prisoner in her own restaurant? I’d flip.”

  Is he controlling?

  Before she could think about it, Juli turned to hurry out front. Lara burst through the door. “The Marsdens are here. We’re going to charge them this time—if it kills all of us. Let’s make this a game, people. We can let them get us down, or we can make it an Olympic event—trounce the tricksters.”

  Juli dashed for the door. “I’m going to put them with the best lighting, and near my station, so I can watch and listen.”

  “Great. Go!” Lara faced the rest. “Ask before they accept anything if it is to their liking. If they accept everything, that goes a long way to prove they are being deliberately difficult.”

  Carlo scowled at her in a rather uncanny imitation of Preston. “Shall we hand each leaf of lettuce onto their salad plates?”

  She’d nearly said, “Of course, not!” when a slow smile formed. “Greg! I want you to be their server. That’s officially your section tonight. Do just that with the salad. Every. Single. Item put before them. Lift the layers of their lasagna—whatever it takes. We’ll show them that we’re done with the game.”

  Only when she saw Preston observing as Juli asked if the menus were to the guests’ satisfaction did Lara question her judgment. He will not understand. And if I tell him, he’ll get into the middle of something that isn’t his business.

  The critical look on Mr. Marsden’s face reinforced the plan. Preston can just wonder. Too bad Ty’s not here. He’d get it.

  She didn’t have time to think about that. There were glasses to polish, ice cubes to inspect, and plastic-wrapped straws to wipe down. Glad we keep those for our OCD customers… I won’t give those free-loading, mooching, gorge-runners the satisfaction. Not today!

  Greg had made it through the glass inspection when Lara realized that it wouldn’t work. The Marsdens were getting irritated, and soon they’d take it all out on him. So, she took over with their water glasses and stepped up to the table. “You requested water? Are these to your satisfaction? I personally inspected each ice cube and glass before filling them myself.”

  “What is this? We come in for a nice, quiet meal, and everyone is fussing over every little thing so we can’t even have a simple conversation!”

  Oh, so that’s how you want to play it? I can work with that. Lara ignored the question altogether. After all, the restaurant did not have a comp policy for ambiance. “Will you be wanting soup or salad this evening?” To herself, Lara added, Please say salad, please say salad…

  Mrs. Marsden blurted out, “Salad, of course. I always get it, and sometimes it even comes without any unwanted ingredients.”

  Aaand… you just set me up. Thank you.

  Mr. Marsden agreed. “Caesar dressing on the side, though. You always overload it with the stuff.”

  And you always request more dressing, no matter how much we bring you or put on it ourselves.

  Lara returned immediately with plates, a bowl of salad, tongs, and mini pitcher of dressing—one she’d be forced to refill at least once. “All right then, ladies first…”

  By the third leaf, the woman protested. “Are you going to hand pick every piece of spinach and lettuce?”

  “Of course! We only want you to have the best food and service possible.” She laid another… and another onto the plate.

  Mrs. Marsden reached for the tongs. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Lara held them out of her reach. “I’m sorry. I cannot allow that. A piece that isn’t quite up to standard might be hidden somewhere. We must be sure not a piece you don’t wish to have ends up on your plate.”

  By that point, even in the dim lighting, Lara could see the red creeping up Mr. Marsden’s face. It took another full minute to put each individual cucumber triangle, each carrot shaving, each dried cranberry on the plate. W
hen Lara moved to do his, he murmured, “This isn’t necessary.”

  She caught his gaze and held it. “I assure you it is.”

  Though he didn’t say another word, she heard his reply loud and clear. “Point taken.”

  Though tempted to be less vigilant after that, Lara kept it up. Steak temperature and color, chicken Marsala plate carefully picked through and approved. By the time dessert came, something the couple always ate and never paid for, the couple was suddenly stuffed.

  “Couldn’t eat another bite. Superb meal, Ms. Priest.” Mr. Marsden fumbled between cards as he spoke. He slipped it into the check wallet and took a gulp of his water. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

  Lara’s heart sank. She had options, of course. Several. She also had a job to do.

  Their credit card machine blipped the expected words. Declined. Lara hesitated. They’d made their point, but taking a declined card back for another one would only humiliate people. That wasn’t something Lara cared to do.

  She pulled out several comp meal cards, signed the back of each, and slipped all but two in the check wallet. With the receipt signed, PAID, Lara carried it all back to their table, wished them a pleasant rest of their evening, and went to sit with Preston.

  He rose as she approached, but Lara didn’t wait to receive a kiss. She sat and allowed him to take her hand instead. “So glad you’re here.”

  “What was up with that table? You were a positive slave to them.”

  “They’re difficult customers. I made my point. They’ll eat free like they always do, but from now on it’ll be honestly.”

  He stared at her. “What does that mean?”

  So she told him—how every visit included their best meals, every bite eaten, and never satisfactory. “This time, we wanted to show them that they couldn’t cheat us out of good food. But now I know why.”

  “Why? Why would anyone do that?”

  “When you can’t afford to pay the bill.”

  His indignation flared. “If you can’t afford to pay the bill, you shouldn’t go out to eat.”