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“Wow.” I continue to stare at the blank screen, digesting everything. “Karma sent me a personal message. I’m such a huge fan of her designs.”
“That’s such a Karma thing to do,” Zoey agrees.
“I didn’t realize Q made such an impression on her.” I hand the phone back to Zoey, who steps back and out of the way of the bridal stylist who’s been taking my measurements.
"I haven't heard her voice since she went out on maternity leave two months ago. You must really be special!” The young woman smiles up at me from where she’s kneeling on the ground. "I’ll send these measurements off right away.” She rises to her feet, nods at me and Zoey, and leaves.
"I still can't believe Karma sent me a personal message.” I shake my head. “Being in this shop is privilege enough for me, but to have Karma reach out—” To say I’m gob-smacked is putting it mildly. If Karma meant to make me look at Q in a more favorable light, she succeeded. Of course, I'm marrying him, and men often come across differently with their wives than with their friends, but still... The very fact that the designer I have a girl crush on advocated for Q means something to me.
Summer messaged me earlier to apologize that she couldn’t make it because little Matty has been a little under the weather and she wanted to stay home with him. Zoey invited her friends Harper and Grace to the fitting. She called them on FaceTime and introduced us. Both congratulated me and said they’d have loved to join but couldn’t. Turns out, Harper's putting in another long day at the restaurant where she works as a sous chef. Grace begged off, saying she was exhausted and had to be up at two a.m. to prep for her morning show. Zoey hinted about a surprise guest who might be showing up, but since Karma already called me, I can't imagine who it could be.
It seems like even friends of friends of Q have quickly included me in their circle.
In fact, Q has more friends than I've ever had. They're all so loyal to him, and somehow, it’s made them loyal to me, too, which is a strange thought to have. Like Summer’s friend Skylar who runs The Fierce Kitten Bakery up the street from the boutique. Summer told her I’d be here for a fitting, and she had one of her team members deliver a selection of desserts.
I was overwhelmed and unsure if I should indulge myself, considering I was being fitted and didn’t want to mess up the measurements. But Zoey waved aside my hesitation. And when she bit into one of the cupcakes and moaned, my mouth watered, and I reached for a doughnut myself.
Now we hear the sound of a motorbike approaching. The pipes make enough noise that all three of us glance toward the front of the shop, where a woman in a motorcycle jacket and leather pants, dismounts from a Harley.
She takes off her helmet and the sunlight glints off the silver strands of her hair threaded through the brown and blue-colored ones. She turns toward the shop, sees us and waves through the frontage.
Zoey waves back with enthusiasm. "Oh, goodie, our surprise guest has arrived." She turns to me. “I hope you don’t mind. My Granny Imelda’s a hoot, I promise. I thought she might provide a welcome diversion.”
The woman struts into the bridal shop, and heads for us.
"Gran… I mean Imelda!" Zoey throws her arms around the other woman. "I didn’t think you’d make it."
"And pass up the chance for free champagne and Skylar’s desserts?” She huffs, “No fucking way."
Whoa, this is not your average grandma. This is a shit-kicking, in-her-prime woman, who’s living life the way she wants, and to hell with the consequences. Zoey was right. She livens up the place.
Sensing my perusal, she turns and flashes me a wicked smile. "You must be Vivian."
I begin to nod when she closes the distance to us and hugs me. I stiffen at first, but her hug feels so motherly, so warm, I find myself relaxing by degrees. When she releases me, I smile back. "Nice to meet you, too, Imelda."
Her face brightens. "Thank God, you didn’t call me Gran. Not that I’m not a grandmother, but I also have an identity. One I’m beginning to explore." She steps back and surveys my features. "And what about you, my dear? How are you feeling about everything?"
"If you mean the marriage?—"
"I do mean the upcoming nuptials, but more importantly, how do you feel here?" She taps her left breastbone. "Do you feel he’s the right man for you?"
I blink. "I ah, I… Um?—"
"Imelda, you’re putting Vivian on the spot," Zoey admonishes her.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," Imelda says in a voice that indicates she definitely did mean to.
I bark out a laugh. "You’re wicked."
Imelda looks pleased. "I aim to be. At my age, you cut the bullshit and get to the core of the issue. Which, in this case is, are you in love with the man you’re going to marry?"
I gape at her. Doesn’t pull any punches, does she?
"That’s a very personal question,” Zoey scolds.
The bridal stylist who's been measuring me for the dress looks between us. "Uh, I think I have everything I need. Feel free to stay and enjoy the refreshments. Karma instructed me to close the shop to customers, so you'd have privacy." She half waves at us, then leaves.
Imelda, who’s been watching me closely all this time, blows out a breath. "I’m sorry, dear. I couldn’t help but notice the uncertainty lurking in your eyes, and that’s what led me to asking the question. Perhaps I’ve become insensitive in my old age. I didn’t mean to hurt you, in any way."
