Page 20 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

He glanced down at her as warmth spread through his chest. “What I do most every night.” He didn’t know where this was going, but he wanted to be cautious nonetheless. No drama. No untrusting women. No nonsense.

She stared at her high-heeled feet. No wonder she’d fallen. “Want to go dancing?”

He tried to keep his expression blank, but a smile pulled at his lips anyway. “With you?”

Her big blueberry eyes went round. “And Jo and Cash . . .”

He furrowed his brow. “Like a double date?”

“No!” She cleared her throat. “No, a lot of people are going. It’s my and Jo’s birthday. It wouldn’t be right without you.”

“Well . . .” He nodded. “I’ve never been much for dancin’.”

“You wouldn’t have to dance. Please come.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Allie, you go from hot to cold faster than a nuclear missile.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not your fault. It’s me and my bad judgment.” She touched his arm. “But I do want you to be there.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

She grinned, and his whole world shifted. He reached over and pulled a wad of straw from her hair, and she wrapped her arms around herself, then glanced up at the rafters again. “Want to help me get rid of some wasps?”

“I’d love to.”

Chapter 7

“A tactful man can pull the stinger from a bee without getting stung.”

- George Horace Lorimer

Rows and rows of dresses hung on racks all over My Flair Lady Bridal Shop in Charlottesville. Acres of satin, lace, beads, chiffon, rayon, and more nestled between mirrors that fought for first place in space grabber. Elegant and comfortable high-back sofas strategically placed around the room, crystal chandeliers guaranteed the most flattering light, and large bouquets of white flowers adorned tables throughout. Allie had never seen anything quite like the place.

Of course, she and Jo had known they’d need to come to Charlottesville for Jo’s wedding dress and the bridesmaids’ dresses, but they’d both expected something a little more mom-and-pop. This place was more kings and queens. In all truthfulness, she wasn’t sure why they were in this place to begin with. How had Jo even heard of it?

The rustle of fabric came from a dressing room directly in front of where Allie sat, followed by moans of irritation. Allie slouched down where she sat on the pretty, light gray sofa that felt like bricks and tried to remember the key points of a podcast she’d listened to last week. One about being tactful. So far, she’d had to put that lesson to use for three out of the four dresses Jo had tried on. The fourth hadn’t fit right, so it’d saved her having to give an opinion.

“Everything okay in there, Josie?”

Jo let out a huff, then pushed her dressing room door open and shuffled out in a dress that reminded Allie of a cupcake. “How about this one?”

Allie tried not to laugh as she stood and walked around her sister to have a better look. It was awful. Okay, how should she put this? What words could she use that would sound like compliments but that would completely turn Jo off the dress?

She could do this. Jo did it all the time.

“It’s eye-catching; that’s for sure. No one will be able to take their eyes off you.” She picked up the top layer. “It certainly has a lot of tulle. You know, beauty is how you feel inside. If this dress makes you feel like your best self—”

Jo lifted a hand. “Stop. What is with you today?”

Allie glanced off to the side, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong. “What do you mean?”

“This dress is horrendous—I look like a muffin—every dress I’ve tried on so far has been so off the mark, and you’ve just been . . . what . . . nice?”

Allie perked up at that. Yes, fist pump!

Jo faced the mirror and stared at herself as she twisted the tulle around. “You know I hate tulle, and the last thing I’d want in a dress like this is for everyone to not take their eyes off me. If I wanted tact, I would’ve brought Caroline.”

Allie frowned. Caroline was tactful, but she also rarely spoke her true thoughts, preferring to placate.

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