Page 78 of Fall Over You

Alright, yeah, I can’t help it. I don’t want her to have any reason to feel bad today.

“You eaten anything?” I ask.

“I’ll just grab a protein bar when we leave.”

Make that two things I can fix.

I bob my head and go into her bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and hoping for the best. I find what I’m looking for and head down to the kitchen.

Becca comes downstairs as I’m putting her sandwich on a plate. “Get you something to eat?”

“No. It’s for you.”

Her cheeks pinken and her eyes look glassy. “Is that fried bologna?”

“With yellow mustard.” I grab the butter knife I used to smear the mustard and cut her sandwich in half diagonally. “There. Now you know it was made with love.”

It’s a thing she used to say, arguing that a sandwich is just food if it’s not cut in half diagonally. I realize I may have now stuck my foot in my mouth because it’s like I told my fiancée of convenience I love her through a bologna sandwich.

Appropriate.

Her lips are pressed together. “We need to go, don’t we?”

I lift a shoulder. “We’ll make it before they close.”

Becca sits at her little round dining table, the one that perfectly seats the three of us in her kitchen. She leans over her plate extra hard. “I don’t want to get mustard on my dress.”

I sit in the seat next to her and pull the nail polish bottles out of my pocket. “We won’t get this on your dress either. Which color?”

There’s a bright red, a Barbie pink, and a bottle of multi-colored glitter. The teary smile Becca gives me almost makes me cry too. “I know it’s stupid, but I wanted one of those pretty soft bridal pink colors.”

“Then we’ll stop at the store,” I say.

“No, this pink is fine. I don’t want to waste more time,” she objects, dotting a napkin at her lips and checking for mustard. “I love how you brought the glitter one.”

I tip my head from side to side. “Ellie would say you need glitter on top.”

Becca laughs and sniffles. “Then pink with the glitter on top.”

“We’ll get the color you want, Reba⁠—”

She waves her hands. “No, no, no, I like that Ellie will be there in spirit.”

She grabs the pink bottle and shakes it up, but I snatch it back. “That’s my job.”

“What?”

“If I have to know how to paint nails, I may as well put it to good use. How many grooms can say they painted their bride’s nails?” I nod toward the sink. “Finish up and go wash your hands.”

Becca puffs her lip out before shoving in the last bite of sandwich. I forgot how freaky fast she eats. Probably a product of growing up with Dusty. She takes her plate to the dishwasher, then keeps shooting me glances while she washes her hands. “You really don’t have to, Ty.”

“Sit before I make you.”

Her voice is a low purr. “And how would you do that?” I plant her with a look and she rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

She slumps into the seat next to me and holds out her hands for me to examine. “Lovely color choice, Miss Martin.”

Becca giggles, but her joking stops when I unscrew the lid of the pink nail polish, dabbing the brush on the lip of the bottle. She’s quiet, which is rare.