“What?” I ask quietly.
His lip curls up in the corner as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, his muffin still in his hand. “You. You’d be late to your own wedding if it meant making some stranger’s day perfect. Not many people would do that.”
I reach underneath the counter and grab my design binder. “You’d do it, too, Joey Holt. I know you would.”
“Not for just anybody. You or Juls? Yes. But you, cupcake, you’d do it for somebody you don’t even know. And that’s what makes you amazing.”
I straighten up and blink heavily, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. “That’s what you should say.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “Huh?”
I walk up to him and shift my binder to one side of my body so I can wrap my free arm around his waist. I lay the side of my face against his chest. “On Saturday. I know you’re worried about giving your Man of Honor speech. It doesn’t have to be long. You should just say that.” I let go of him and see his glowing smile.
“Oh, I’m going to rock that speech. Don’t you worry. Now, while you do your bride thing, is there anything you’d like me to do?” I don’t say a word. I simply grin at him and shift my eyes toward the kitchen. He closes his eyes tightly while reaching up and pinching the top of his nose. “Of course. You’re lucky I love you.”
“I am,” I reply, rounding the counter and taking my seat at the table. I lay my book out and open it up, turning it so the excited young woman practically bouncing in her seat can look at my portfolio. “Here you go. This is some of what I can do, but I’m not limited to this. Take a look, see if there’s anything you like. I can modify just about anything in there. And the cake and icing flavor choices are listed in the back.”
She smiles wide and slides the book closer to her, her eyes shifting between each picture.
Joey’s right. I would do this for anybody. Because the look on her face right now, the blissful glow radiating from her, this look is totally worth it. It’s what makes my job so rewarding. The long hours. The late nights of baking. The sometimes overly-picky clients. I love my job because I get to see this look. And even if I am a few minutes late to my own wedding, it won’t matter.
Nothing will ruin that day.
19
“Try and suck in a little more,” the woman says behind me as she struggles to zip and button my dress.
If I suck in anymore, I might actually crack a rib. Thanks a lot, five-mile run. You obviously were pointless. I shift on my feet and brace myself against the mirror with my hands while I take in shallow breaths. “I am sucked in. How close is it to fastening?” She pulls the material taut and I gasp, dropping a hand down to my diaphragm.
“There. Have you been eating a lot?”
“No,” I barely manage to get out. “Jesus Christ. I can’t have it be this tight for Saturday. I’ll pass out before the ceremony starts.” I spin around and see five pairs of eyes on me. Two amused sets, courtesy of my best friends, two motherly pairs full of anxiety, and the distraught-looking set belonging to the seamstress. My mother’s jaw is tight, her face full of discontentment. “I swear to God, Mom. I haven’t been eating a lot.”
“Did you have a lot to drink lately? Like in the past week?” the seamstress asks, stepping forward and grabbing onto sections of my train.
I don’t reply right away, and my mother decides to cut in. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dylan. Don’t you know not to drink alcohol at least a week before your final fitting? That’s common sense.”
“To who? And it was my bachelorette party. Of course there was drinking.” I look down at the hands tugging the side of my dress. “Can’t you take it out a little?”
She sighs, flattening her hand against the material and smoothing it down the front. “I could. But if it’s just tight from drinking, I wouldn’t alter it. As long as you don’t drink anymore this week and stick with a low-carb diet, it should fit perfectly on Saturday.”
Well, fuck me.
I grimace at the seamstress. “But I love carbs. And I’m a baker. I taste-test all my stuff.”
“I’ll take that burden off your hands,” Joey offers, stepping up and putting his hands on his hips. His gaze trails up my dress to my face. “I must say, it does look seriously hot on you skin-tight. Fashion before comfort, cupcake.”
“It’s too tight. She can barely breathe in it,” Juls states. She smiles up at me. “But you do look amazing. I’ll never forget when you tried this on for me the first time.”
I shake my head at her, playing over the memory of that day in my head. “Only you can get me to try on a wedding dress when I’m not even engaged.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand lovingly. “I think we both knew Reese was going to be seeing you in this dress.”
I blush, putting my other hand on top of hers. Yup. I definitely knew.
“I must say, I absolutely love this dress, Dylan.” Mrs. Carroll walks up to stand in front of the pedestal I’m on. She motions with her hand for me to twirl around and I humor her. “You look stunning in it. I love all this lace and the pearls on the back. And this train. My goodness. Absolutely gorgeous.” She moves around me and grabs the train of my dress, fanning it out in front of me. “My son is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this.”
“And his sperm count,” Joey snickers under his breath. I glare down at him and he clears his throat as Juls elbows him in the side. “Well, it looks like I’ll be the only one partying Friday night at The Tavern. Fine by me. And just in case this needs to be said, I’m retired from Brooke babysitting duty.”