Page 111 of Not You Again

I raise a brow.

“And maybe because it’s the one I drew all the dresses in my show with.” At my laughter, she says, “It’s a really nice pencil, Kit.”

We’re mid-kiss when there’s a knock on the door. It swings open before we can answer. The same assistant who helped get me to Andie today stands in the doorway, open-mouthed. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” Andie giggles. Reluctantly, I set her down. She’s still working tonight, as much as I’d love to whisk her away for some more private reconciliation time. “What’s going on?”

“Um.” The assistant steps aside and gestures to the women in the doorway behind her, “This is Molly Birmingham from Down the Aisle Bridal, with—”

“Odette Thorne,” Andie says, eyes going wide. Quickly she smooths her hair, and as she walks around me, I straighten her skirt. If these women are important enough for Andie to know them by name, she’ll want to look her best.

Molly and Odette step into the room and eye the divorce papers scattered on the ground like it’s the last day of school in a summer musical. When Odette returns her gaze to Andie with a raised brow, Andie shrugs. “We—that is, Kit—I mean—”

I step forward and offer my hand. “Kit Watson.” I shake both their hands. “Andie’s husband.”

Andie blushes but holds her head high as she offers a handshake as well. Odette gives Andie a mischievous grin. “I can see where you get the inspiration for your designs.” She tilts her head toward me, and I can’t help but smile.

“Yes,” Andie agrees solemnly. “He’s a big help, if you know what I mean.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it over coffee,” Molly says. “Next week? Ms. Thorne alerted me to your talent, and I’d like to discuss a potential partnership.”

Odette holds a perfectly manicured finger up as if to tell us to hold on a moment. “After you agree to design my gown, of course.”

“Of course.” Andie nods. “I’ll get you on the schedule right away.”

Her fingers curl around mine, and she squeezes. I squeeze back, my chest swelling with pride. She did it. Andie fucking did it.

“Next week is perfect,” Andie says smoothly. She looks to her assistant. “Catarina, will you make sure Ms. Birmingham has my number so we can pick a time? And block out the next custom dress slot for Ms. Thorne.”

Catarina nods, already pulling out her phone. As Molly turns to give her information, I whisper in Andie’s ear, “You are everything, Ms. Dresser.”

“Oh my God!” Kendra squeals from the doorway, and soon we’re crushed in a cast group hug. All of us still married.

It seems the matchmakers got it right.

ONE YEAR LATER

EPILOGUEANDIE

“Jamie and Leslie, one year later!” Petra gestures for the crowd beyond the soundstage to cheer. They do, including whooping and howling. It makes me smile. Jamie and Leslie have just finished talking about how they adopted a Bernese mountain dog puppy named Couscous.

When the crowd calms down, Petra gives everyone a sly smile. “Speaking of happily ever afters, let’s talk to one of First Look at Forever’s favorite couples!”

The crowd roars once more as Kit and I walk onto the soundstage set up to look like some kind of modern pink and semi-cozy living room. All the seating is angled toward the cameras, and everyone is perched on the edge of their chairs, dressed to the nines.

Kit keeps his hand on the small of my back all the way across the stage, and he even reminds me to wave and smile at the crowd. I let out a breath when we plop down on the pink sofa on stage left.

The show aired a full nine months after we filmed, and this reunion episode is live. I’ve avoided all cameras, save my cell phone for the occasional TikTok, since we stopped filming. I feel like a toddler learning to walk all over again.

“Welcome.” Petra smiles at us, the glitter on her cheekbones sparkling in the spotlights.

“It’s good to be here,” Kit says smoothly, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. He’s wearing a pocket square I made him—yellow silk. He wore it because it matches the golden underlay of my dress—a one-shoulder number with a snug bodice and my signature flowy skirt overlaid with golden metallic organza, including hidden pockets, of course.

“Now, on decision day, Kit”—Petra glances at the branded notecards in her hands, then pins him with a glare—“you decided to divorce.”

He nods. “I did.”

“You never really explained why.” Petra leans forward, resting her chin on her fist.

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