Page 43 of The Wedding Menu

Ridiculous, don’t you think?

I can’t help the sense of relief that overcomes me, my lungs filling with air.

He answered.

Amelie:

Totally. And no other shop encourages day drinking.

Ian:

Oh, and strawberries and champagne?

It’s not a great pairing, and someone needs to come out and say it.

Amelie:

Right?! How about some cheese nachos instead?

Ian:

You’re reading my mind, Amelie.

Plus, cheese powder is surely easier to get off white tulle than strawberry juice.

Fighting back a smile, I scour my thoughts to try to find other absurd reasons for bridal shops being so bad. Really, they aren’t. They’re fancy, with soothing music, comfortable couches, andgorgeous dresses. Plus, there’s always this cheery atmosphere of new beginnings.

But I don’t want to stop texting.

Just as I begin typing, he does too.

Ian:

PFP.

I’m guessing he thinks I’m here for a fitting for my own wedding, so I approach the mirror and snap a shot of my reflec-tion.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha says as she enters the room, adjusting the forest-green ankle-length dress Barb’s also wearing. “Send it to me too. My future mother-in-law needs to approve.”

Her lips twist, but as she quickly turns to the mirror and talks with Barb about her upcoming honeymoon, I check the picture. My smile is wide, my hip tilted, and I hope it’s enough to distract Ian from the fact that I’m at a bridal shop. I can’t keep talking about my nonexistent wedding planning.

Ian:

You’re gorgeous enough to marry.

If one was inclined to that sort of nonsense.

Amelie:

Still no story, huh?

Ian:

Nope. No story.

I mentally stomp my foot. Theredefinitelyis a story, and seeing as he’s all up in my business all the time, I won’t rest until I know it. But just as I prepare to type my next text, Martha squeezes my shoulder.

“Ames?” she asks in her whiny voice, and, even before meetingher begging green eyes, I know what this will be about. “Do you think, since we’re here, I could try on the dress?”

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