“I’m so glad you guys are finally getting married. You are so perfect together and college sweethearts. It’s so romantic,” Ainsley says.
That’s my cue. Time for another beer. This is when Ainsley looks younger than her age—believing in a happy little fairytale marriage. She hasn’t outgrown the notion that one day she’ll meet her prince. I guess we did something right with her, if she can still believe in love like that.
Turning back, I find Ainsley’s blue eyes right on me. She gives me a small, reassuring smile like she can read my mind. I smile back at her. She had her heart broken recently, so maybe she needs reassurance that everything will be alright. I know for her it will be. She breaks our gaze and turns her attention back to the game.
Sitting down on the floor next to her chair, I pat Sadie, who promptly licks my cheek, her own little reassurance. Ainsley reaches over and pats Sadie, too. I can’t resist. I gently glide my finger over her pinkie, just one time so she’ll assume it’s an accident.
She doesn’t squirm. She doesn’t blush. Still, I see tiny goosebumps on her pale skin. My eyes wander down to Sadie’s fur, where both our hands are patting her. My hand is as close as it can be to hers without touching. Time to test the waters. I move my pinkie slightly, but her voice stops me.
“How about you, Rhett? Still seeing that girl from Christmas, Meghan?” Ainsley asks.
“Who?” I ask, no clue who she’s talking about.
“Meghan, stunning, long-legged flight attendant.”
“Nah,” I say, wondering what made Ainsley think of her.
Skye rolls her eyes. “She was perfect for him. Out of town a lot, no big commitment.”
“Until she used the love word,” Brody piles on. “Kiss of death.”
“Yeah, like after two weeks,” I say, the ridiculousness of that conversation coming back to me.
“Here’s the thing, Ainsley. Now that you’re living here, you should know—don’t ever set Rhett up with any of your girlfriends because they’ll all end up hating you,” Skye says.
“Got it,” Ainsley says, flashing me a smile.
That smile? I wonder what’s behind that smile.
CHAPTER TWO
PRESENT DAY
AINSLEY
At least I’m not counting the days in my head anymore. Counting the minutes, hours, and seconds since Rhett broke my heart. That’s progress.
Heartache sucks. I’ve gotten good at pushing through the days, losing myself in work. I’m the poster girl for the phrase Fake it till you make it.
But the nights are the worst. I dread the sunset. It only brings another night without the man I love.
I miss him.
It’s hard to decide what I miss the most.
His arms around me.
The way his breath sounds when he sleeps.
The feel of his body pressed to mine.
The way he looks at me.
There’s not one specific thing. It’s the whole Rhett package that I miss. If Rhett were here, he’d make some sex joke about me missing his “package.” Yeah, I miss his sex jokes, too.
There are two types of people in the world—those that have a thousand unopened email messages on their phone, and those that have to look as soon as the little number pops up. I’m the latter. I also keep my ketchup in the refrigerator and believe cabinet-ketchup people are insane. Another thing: you’re either a morning person or night owl. You can’t be both.
There are people that think with their heads, and those of us that think with our hearts—I’d wager a bet that heart thinkers end up more heartbroken.
Then there are the people who believe in happily-ever-afters, and those who don’t. I used to believe. Now, not so much.
How much heartbreak does it take to get it right? It’s like that old Tootsie Pop commercial, where the owl asks how many licks it takes to get to the center. I’d rather know how many heartbreaks it takes until the heart gets it right.
Heartache has a life of its own. It comes without you knowing, and you have no idea how long it will last. You can’t cure it. You can’t will it away. The life expectancy of a woman is about seventy-eight years in the United States. The life expectancy of heartache is unknown. And mine’s been hanging around for almost a year now.
My life’s taken a dramatic detour since my heart got broken.
Rhett.
It’s been hard. Movies, books, songs—they all paint love as this amazing experience. I know deep down it is. I had it—the butterflies, the tingles, the hopes and dreams that love promises. Had is the operative word.
The thing that those songs and movies don’t tell you:
Love isn’t always a good thing.
There, I’ve said it. Love can feel good, but be bad for you—like that donut I ate this morning. Was good at the time, but when it’s gone, you just feel blah! Love has left me blah.
It’s funny. I design wedding dresses for a living. Creating wedding dresses is my passion, the bright spot in my day. A person’s wedding day is one of the happiest days of their lives. I love being a part of that. I basically sell the fairytale, but deep down, I wonder if it’s all bullshit.
I sunk every penny I had into opening my own wedding dress design studio. Keeping busy helps. Distraction is the only thing that keeps me moving.
My heart starts remembering Rhett—time to sew. My head floats into a memory—time to sketch.
That’s why Skye and I are grabbing a drink after work today, I need the distraction. But she’s running late. I should’ve just met her at the bar, because now I’m surrounded by the hope of offspring in the air. I want to have babies, be a mom, but there are no potential fathers in sight. Then again, I am standing in a fertility clinic.
Waiting at the nurse’s desk for Skye to finish up, I flip through a pamphlet on fertility options. Who knew there were so many ways to conceive? My momma only warned me against one.
“Excuse me?” I hear a smooth voice say from behind me. “Can I help you with something?”
Dropping the pamphlet to the floor like I was caught looking at a dirty magazine, I stammer, looking up into his smile, “Um . . . No, I’m waiting for Skye.”
He bends down and picks up the pamphlet, handing it back to me. “She’s in with a patient. Can I help you with something?”
I search his lab coat, trying to see around his stethoscope, looking for a name. “No, thank you.”
His head tilts, and he smiles again. He’s very nice looking, but I can tell he’s much older than me—a touch of gray on his temples. But he’s sexy, nonetheless.
“It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. Why don’t you let me put you in a room?” he says, and I feel his hand go to my back, encouraging me to move.
“There’s some mistake,” I say, stopping and looking back at him.
“You’re not an egg donor?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
An egg donor? Do egg donors have a certain look? And what about me would make him think that? “Uh, no.”
Red rises to his neck, and he starts fiddling with his stethoscope. “I apologize. We don’t get unmarried women in here very often, especially ones that are . . .” He pauses. “I just assumed you were meeting Skye to . . . I apologize for my error.”
“Hey, Ainsley,” Skye says, coming out of a nearby room. “Doctor, everything is fine in room two now.”
“Thank you,” he says, giving me a little nod and grin. “Ainsley.”
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Skye booty bumps me. “Dr. Hottie has eyes for you.”
“No, he definitely does not. He thought I was an egg donor,” I say.
Skye laughs out loud then covers her mouth. “No wonder his face was so red. He’s smoking hot, though.”
“You’ve already got yourself a hot doctor.”
“Yeah, but your brother only knows about animal anatomy.” Skye nods her head in the hot doctor’s direction. “He’s an expert in women. Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
We both start to giggle as we
leave and head to a local watering hole a few blocks away. Despite being close to the water, Charleston is hot much of the year. I swear I can almost hear my pale skin sizzle as soon as the sun hits it.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Today has been insane,” Skye says. “First, this really, really pregnant lady falls into the toilet.”
“What?” I ask, almost falling over from laughter. Skye always has the funniest stories to tell and her delivery is classic.
“I know, right?” Skye laughs. “Poor thing, someone left the toilet seat up, and she fell right in, but she couldn’t get back out.”
“No way.”
“Yep,” Skye says. “That’s so not in my job description. Then this crazy lady comes in with some of her boyfriend’s sperm she pulled out of a used condom. She tells me she told him she was pregnant even though she wasn’t and wants us to use the sperm to get her pregnant for real.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yep, you haven’t heard the best part,” Skye says. “She bought a positive pregnancy test off the internet to convince him.”
“Someone is selling positive pregnancy tests?” I ask.
“Yeah, fifty dollars a pop,” Skye says, eyes wide. “I throw that shit away every day. I guess I should be selling them.”
It’s good to be with Skye. She is the trifecta of female support, acting as my sister, friend, and mother when I need one.
She opens the door to the bar. It’s still early, so the place isn’t too crowded, mostly tourists and a few business types, throwing one back after a long day. We grab a seat at the bar. Seems like Skye had a rough day, so I let her order. I’m slightly surprised when she orders champagne. I’m even more surprised when the bartender cards me. I pull out my license and flash it to him, thankful that my recent heartache hasn’t taken a toll on my face. He gives me an apologetic smile.
“Are we celebrating?” I ask, putting away my identification.
“Nah,” she says, grinning. “It’s the lowest drink in calories.”
That’s good to know. There’s not a bride I’ve worked with that hasn’t been on some sort of diet. It’s a little crazy. You have the ring, the man obviously loves you. Own it!
“Have you heard anything from . . .” Skye asks, treading lightly.
“You can say his name,” I say. “No, I haven’t heard from Rhett.”
Rhett is the last thing I want to talk about. I’m here to avoid all the memories—the site of our first date, first kiss, where he proposed to me. We should have been married by now, happy. There’s just something about Rhett. His eyes are the palest blue I’ve ever seen, and his brown hair is always slightly messy like he just fucked someone hard. Rhett’s got handsome down pat.
It’s the details of a man that make him sexy—the stubble on his face, the v-cut, the blue of his eyes, the veins in his hands. Rhett has it all. He just might be the perfect man. There’s just one problem, he’s gone.
I can’t forget. Did I mention the way he kisses? He kisses me like he means it, like kissing me is one of his basic human needs. I wonder if any man will ever kiss me like that again.
No matter what’s happened, Rhett still gets my knickers in a twist, but I guess there are certain attractions that just burn too bright to fade.
“Maybe that’s for the best,” Skye offers.
Resisting the urge to ask if she or Brody have heard from him, I down my drink. After all, the calories aren’t going to kill me. The memories might, though.
Skye’s phone dings. “It’s probably Brody,” she says with a snipe of attitude, digging through her purse. “Telling me he’s working late again.”
With that, I motion for another drink. Things between Skye and my brother haven’t been great lately. There’s tension between them that wasn’t there before. Brody has yet to hire a replacement for Rhett. It’s long overdue. I’m not sure why. We don’t really talk about it. My breakup didn’t just happen to me. It happened to all of us, but none of us want to talk about it. Maybe that’s why Brody is working like he is. Must run in the family. He and I both seem to think if we work hard enough, we won’t have to feel so damn much.
Skye waves the bartender away. “It’s not your brother.” Turning the phone to me, she raises an eyebrow. “Dr. Hottie wants to know if you’re single?”
There’s not a ring on my finger. I haven’t been on a date in God knows how long. I check the single box on my taxes, my medical forms. Yes, I’m single. It’s just my heart still feels very much attached. I blow out a deep breath and fake a smile.
Single girls have more fun, right?
“He’s a little old,” I say.
“Experienced!” Skye says, winking at me.
“What else do you know about him?”
“He’s a rich, single doctor who is sexy as hell,” she says. “What else do you need to know?”
“My last relationship was with a rich, single doctor who was sexy as hell.”
She places her hand on top of mine. “I’m pulling rank here. It’s time.”
CHAPTER THREE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
You’ve always been my measure of what a real man is.
A. Rose
RHETT
Sadie looks up at me with her leash dangling from her mouth, reminding me that I missed her evening walk. Attaching her leash to her collar, we walk out to the elevator. It was a hell of a day, having two emergency surgeries pop up back-to-back. One dog made it—the other didn’t. It always drains me to have to tell an owner their pet died. I’ll never get used to it. Being in the room as a living thing takes its last breath isn’t something most people experience in their life. Being the one who couldn’t save them? Having to look in a child’s eyes and tell them their best friend went to heaven? That’s the shit that keeps me up at night.
The elevator stops one floor below mine, and my breath stops with it. “A. Rose, where you off to?”
“Need to clear my head,” she says, her voice soft.
She had a breakup recently, so I suppose that’s what her somber mood is about. It’s part of the reason she moved to Charleston. I think she did the breaking, but apparently, he moved on real quick. I never actually met the guy. I don’t have all the details, but I don’t need them. You hurt Ainsley, I hurt you. That was the motto Brody and I had for years.
“Want to walk Sadie with me?” I ask.
She steps inside, briefly glancing at me. “I’d like that.”
She looks so sad. Her usual smile, gone. I can’t remember the last time she and I were alone together. The most recent times I’ve seen her have been holidays, so Brody and Skye were always there, too. It wasn’t always that way. When she lived with us, I spent lots of time alone with her. Of course, that was before she’d turned into this bombshell. But even then, I’d always liked her. She was fun to hang around with and always made me laugh. I never resented her living with us. She made it fun. She cramped my style a little bit in the dating department, but she was a teenager. She wasn’t doing it on purpose.
We used to spend hours on the couch watching some show she was obsessed with, talking and hanging out. Of course, she loved any show about weddings or wedding dresses. Every Super Bowl Sunday, she made me watch the entire puppy bowl with her, and she loved all the awards shows like the Oscars and Grammys, asking me what I thought of the dresses, the shoes. Brody usually refused to watch, but I indulged her. She had me wrapped around her little finger, even then. But I don’t mind. Ainsley’s the type of person that can make anything fun, even fashion.
It’s strange how, even after all this time, we can fall back into that place. Back in the day, she walked Sadie with me, or for me, all the time. Sadie moves a little slower now than she did then.
Ainsley leans over, rubbing Sadie’s coat a little. “Remember how she used to pull on the leash, chasing other dogs?” I ask.
“And acting like squirrels were her arch nemesis?”
The hair on the back of Sadie’s coat stands up
at the mere mention of her rival. “She still hates them,” I whisper.
A small smile crosses her lips, and I hope that means she’s feeling a little better. She raises an eyebrow at me. “You really shouldn’t make her wear the poop bags around her neck. She’s probably embarrassed, like all the other dogs are making fun of her.”
Sadie rubs up against Ainsley’s leg like she appreciates her humiliation being addressed. But that little contraption that holds the bags and attaches to her leash is a life saver. Sorry, Sadie. This time Ainsley breaks into a full-on grin, making my heart miss a beat. How can talking about poop bags and the bowel habits of my canine do that?
Charleston is a romantic city by anyone’s standards. Tree lined streets echo with the sound of horse hooves from the private carriages, and certain times of the year, the city is painted pink with camellia blooms. Romance lives in the streets here, so it probably isn’t the best idea for me to be walking around with a woman that is totally off limits. Too much temptation. Everywhere we turn there seems a couple making out, holding hands, fondling each other on a bench.
“So what are your plans now that you’re back?” I ask, hoping for a nice, safe conversation.
“I’m not sure,” she says.
I know Brody’s letting her live in his place rent free. He says it’s in exchange for her making Skye’s wedding dress, joking he’s getting the better end of the deal, but I know he’d never take a dime from her.
“I’ve got some side jobs making veils and things. I’ve got some savings and my portion of the money my parents left me. So I have a few months until I have to decide anything.” She stops for a second. “I have applied with some designers in New York and Paris.”
“Does Brody know that?” I ask.
“No, but it’s a long shot. I’m not sure Charleston is right for me. I’m just keeping my options open. I’m here at least through the wedding. We’ll see what happens afterwards. I’m also thinking about looking for space for my own wedding dress boutique. If I stay in Charleston, that’s what I want to do.” She looks up at me with those blue eyes of hers. “Please don’t mention any of this to Brody.”
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