Page 14 of Up in Smoke

I want to ask why the missing maid of honor couldn’t just get it fitted properly by having the dress shipped to her, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned when dealing with weddings, it’s this: never, under any circumstances, question the bride’s process. Go along with it and nod enthusiastically.

My eyes twinkle seeing a picked-over platter of cake samples on the kitchen island. Between that and the endless amount of flowers and fabric swatches laid over every piece of furniture, I could have easily mistaken the space for an upscale, albeit rustic, bridal shop.

The wedding stuff looks a little out of place in contrast to the masculine interior. My jaw drops as I examine the extra high ceiling and exposed beams.

Some of the original decor might be questionable. The jukebox and pool table screamfrat house, which makes my nose scrunch. And is that a beer vending machine?

Most amusing are the burly men in suits being measured against their will. They look less than pleased about this little fitting party. One of them, the tallest and most displeased from what I can tell, has to bend over for a tailor to measure around his neck. Another, with a more cunning persona, smooths a hand down the front of the shirt under his suit jacket.

A completelyopenshirt, no less. I can’t help it when my eyes dart between the impossibly deep valleys of muscle. Maybe he’s wearing his shirt like that as a sign of protest. I bite the corner of my bottom lip and try to imagine what his thoughts might sound like.

You want me to stand around in a suit? Sure. No problem. But like hell am I wasting my time with any buttons.

My head tilts to an embarrassing angle as I take in his bright eyes laden with mischief and his stance that implies he owns the room.

I sense his gaze might shift in my direction and snap my focus away instantly. Determined to appear unruffled, I keep my eyes ahead and follow behind Savannah as she leads us down a long hallway past the chaos.

There are several closed doors, and she finally opens one that leads to a bedroom I know instantly is hers. The meticulously organized rack of designer bags by her dresser is a dead giveaway. The door closes softly behind us, and Savvy lets out a huge breath.

“Whew. Okay, thank you so much again for coming and doing this for B. I’m not even the one getting married, and I can already tell you this stuff isstressful.”

“I can see that,” I reply with a laugh. “I probably made it seem like I didn’t want to do this when we talked about it yesterday, but the truth is that I’m happy to help. You know that.”

“Ugh,” she groans with relief, stepping toward me for a hug. “You’re the best.”

Over her shoulder, my eyes fixate on a ginormous white garment bag hanging in the closet doorway. There are hand-stitched gold initials in the middle, and I can barely make out the outlines of intricate beading on the gown inside.

“Is that her dress?” I whisper in awe.

Savannah breaks our hug, spinning around to track my line of sight. “That’s it. Wait until you see it, you’re going todie. We’re keeping it in here so Gage doesn’t see it by accident.”

I swoon for a moment, picturing when he’ll see her in it for the first time. I’ve dreamed of such things since I was a little girl, imagining myself in a lavish dress like that. As soon as the vision takes shape in my mind, I catch myself and shake my head.

I don’t fantasize about that sort of stuff anymore. It wasn’t twenty-four hours ago that I was lecturing myself about rewiring my brain when it comes to this crap.

Love, bad. Independence, good.

Savannah walks toward the side of the room where a free-standing clothing rack holds three blush satin dresses. After double-checking the tag, she holds one out in my direction.

It’s remarkably beautiful. I don’t actually know Blythe, but I’m glad I didn’t suggest she pack up and mail this delicate thing across the country. I’m afraid I might ruin it just by holding it.

“So, you live here,” I say, stating the obvious while very carefully draping the bridesmaid dress on the perfectly made bed so I can start shucking off my clothes.

I’m aware that this is where she lives and don’t technically need clarification. Now that I’m fully immersed in the place I’ve only ever heard vague ramblings about though, I want to know more.

“Yeah. It’s great, isn’t it?”

I nod, picking up on her fondness. I’ll admit, the bunkhouse is unexpectedly charming in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.

Stepping out of my cutoff jean overalls feels silly considering the dress that’s about to replace them. They’re on the frumpy side, and I probably should have thought to change after spending my afternoon finishing spring planting in my backyard.

“Warren and I aren’t going to live here forever, but we’re not in any rush to get our new house finished, either. The guys would probably cry if Warren moved out too soon, anyway,” she jokes.

“The guys?”

“Oh, Tripp and Heston. They live here, too.”

No judgment, but the living arrangements are a bit of a head-scratcher. Growing up in the city must have sheltered me from the concept of grown adults living together in a yeehaw commune. That, or it’s as unusual as I think it is.

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