by Kris Calvert
I turned and looked at the empty store that I knew would be teeming with hungry patrons in less than half an hour. I picked out a table for two in the corner and sat, pulling out the stack of bride magazines Jonathan had bought for me from my bag. The colorful pages were full of beautiful dresses, cake ideas and honeymoon getaways. Since I’d promised to be married to David until the end of our days I figured I needed to do it right. I was only getting one shot.
I thumbed through the first book, full of mostly overly styled dresses and long trains and paused only to gaze at the beautiful diamond on my finger. It had been Rachael Thornbury’s ring and I loved it even more because of that. The five-carat princess cut ring was almost too big for my small hand—almost.
I heard the bell at the front of the store and muttered under my breath without looking up. “Burt, you better get a move on. Not everyone is as nice as I am about waiting on their chicken.”
I pushed the first magazine off the tall stack and picked up another. I was deep inside the head of a wedding stylist explaining the do’s and don’ts of in-law faux pas when I heard the chair across the table from me screech on the old linoleum floor.
I looked up from my magazine and saw him. I was speechless, frozen in my seat. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t move. I stared into the deep blue eyes of Mike as he sat across from me in his gray t-shirt and fatigue pants. I swallowed hard, not knowing what to do next.
“Indie?” Burt said as he sat the basket of fried chicken and a biscuit in front of me. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”
“It’s…” I swallowed again, trying to get the dryness from my throat so I could speak. “It’s okay.”
“Everything alright?” Burt asked as he stared into my face and touched me on the shoulder.
“Sh–sure.” I stuttered through the word, unable to look at Burt as I stared at the steely gaze of Mike, his rugged exterior somehow softer than I remembered.
“Aw, I forgot your Diet Coke,” Burt said as he began to back away from the table. “Hang on a second and I’ll get it for you.”
I finally pulled my gaze from Mike to Burt and choked out one word. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Burt said as he patted Mike on the back. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. Can I get you something to eat? It’s fried chicken night.”
“Sure,” Mike said with a smile as he looked to Burt and back to me. “That sounds divine.”
Kris Calvert is a former copywriter and PR mercenary who began writing novels when her kids went off to college. She loves alliteration, pearls and Post-it notes. She’s married to the man of her dreams and lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She’s mother to two and is also responsible for one very needy dog. When she’s not writing she’s baking cupcakes.
A Note from the Author
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—KC
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