Page 84 of Special Delivery

A hearty chuckle escapes Ryan, and I realize I’ve been beaten. He places a kiss on my cheek, which I’m grateful for considering we have company, and follows Linda to her yard. Dread builds in my stomach as I watch him walk into the lion’s den, but a ping on my phone reminds me I’m running late.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Paige

My breath racing after walking the entire Main Street, I reach the only wedding salon in Fig Bay. The shop is the size of my living room, so it’s easy to find Jordan, Emma, and Kim perusing the racks. All heads turn toward me.

“S-sorry for being late.” I’m only three minutes late, but it seems like these women mean business.

Kim’s face transforms into an honest smile. Her gray hair is pulled together into a low bun. In tan wide-legged pants and a jean blouse, she reaches me in three steps before pulling me into a hug. Once again, her hug is warm and inviting, and I quickly relax into it.

“I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Of course.” My eyes meet Jordan’s, and I notice she’s different, too. I was worried about how she would react, but it’s nice to see she’s slowly warming up to Kim.

“This is my sister, Brenda.” Kim introduces me to an unfamiliar woman. She’s around Kim’s age, but her hair is sprinkled with lighter and darker blonde highlights. She sports a loose navy dress and a pearl necklace.

Brenda shakes my hand with an honest smile. “Nice to meet you, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

An image of what I did with her nephew just a few hours ago appears in my mind, and my chest blotches with red spots. “You, too,” I respond, hoping my embarrassment isn’t obvious.

Brenda turns to her sister. “So, did you figure out where Ryan was last night?”

Shit.

Kim throws me a sheepish glance before focusing back on her sister. “No. He just told me he wasn’t coming home. He’s an adult, he doesn’t have to answer to me anymore, but I still appreciate not having to worry.”

“That’s nice. But you don’t know if he’s dating someone? Or if it’s serious? What if he wants to invite her to the wedding?” Brenda doubles down.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Another glance in my direction. “I wouldn’t be too worried about that.”

She knows. She definitely knows. My insides scream at me, begging the ground to swallow me whole, while I plaster a poker face, hoping I don’t look like a haunted porcelain doll.

“This would look beautiful on you, Kim,” Emma’s excited voice breaks my moment of panic, and I’m eternally grateful to her.

All of us turn to the hundreds of dresses in different shades of white. The wedding is close, but I guess Dad offered them enough money for the dress to be ready on time. We search the racks, placing the dresses we like to the side. I go through them, barely aware, my mind stuck in the events of last night. It’s ironic, really. I’m flustered spending time with a woman whose son thoroughly fucked me mere hours ago, and to deal with that, my brain keeps replaying everything that happened. Every touch, every word, every orgasm. God, there were so many orgasms.

“What do you think of this one?” A voice next to me says, startling me. It’s Kim, showing me a modest ivory dress with lace trimmings.

I clear my throat before speaking. “It looks lovely.”

“They’re all just so white…” she comments, tilting her head.

“Would you prefer a different color?” Emma appears next to us, ready to save the day.

“I don’t know. I like them, but I feel silly wearing a white dress at my age.”

A hint of insecurity laces her voice, and my shoulders drop with compassion. We really were assholes toward her, weren’t we?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kim. You should wear whatever you like.” Brenda steps in.

“What does your age have to do with anything? You’re getting married and brides typically wear white dresses for weddings,” my sister adds, surprising me.

Kim’s face transforms with a smile, making my chest expand. Brenda casts an approving look at Jordan. This is the type of person Jordan is: loyal to the bone and ready to defend you against anyone, even yourself. She just sometimes has a hard time showing it when she buries her feelings underneath the memories of hurt.

“She’s right,” I say. “You should try it.”

The rest of the dress shopping is much more relaxed. I finally get out of my head and focus on the task at hand. The bridal consultant places the chosen dresses into the spacious changing room and helps Kim into the first one. With the store being a small family-owned shop in Fig Bay, not a fancy store on Fifth Avenue, we don’t get champagne, but we still clap and squeal as Kim models dress after dress.