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“I do now.” Megan shrugged. “I knew I needed them before that. Reuben just pushed me over the edge.”
Our conversation lulled, then drifted through various inconsequential topics as we made our way around the Beltway to Tyson’s. I never really minded all the driving that living in this area demanded. Even if I got stuck in traffic. There were people who hated it—and I could understand that—but there was so much to see and do, I figured it made up for it.
I signaled and got into the right lane as we neared the exits for Tyson’s Corner. “Someone might have to remind me where Friday’s is though.”
“I’ll get it on my GPS. Hang on.” Whitney rustled in the back seat and after a moment, her phone started telling me to prepare to exit.
“Perfect, thanks.” I eased into the exit lane.
Megan held her hand out, and Whitney put her phone into it.
“Even better. Now I won’t miss a turn.” I followed the GPS directions to the restaurant. I might have remembered how to get here, but it definitely wouldn’t have been as smooth.
We parked and went in. The place was hopping, so we ended up taking a high-top table in the bar area. In some ways that worked out better—I was pretty sure our food got to us faster than I saw it hitting tables.
When we’d finished—and narrowly avoided splitting a dessert—we headed back out to the car.
“I’ll let you sit up front again since it’s such a short drive to the mall.” Whitney reached for the back door handle.
“I thought we were alternating.” Megan crossed her arms. “You’re just trying to get the front seat for the drive back to Old Town.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Deal with it.” Whitney opened the door as soon as I unlocked them and sat in the back.
Megan sighed. “Unfair.”
“Get a grip, Megan.” I shook my head and got behind the wheel. We had to wait a minute for Megan to finish pouting, then she got in. “Are we ready now?”
Megan nodded.
“Yep.” Whitney spoke from the backseat. “Do you know what style you’re looking for?”
I chewed my lip as I backed out of the spot and pointed the car toward the mall area. This, at least, I knew how to do without someone chiming in my ear about the next turn. “In theory? I think fairly simple. Maybe A-line? I know I don’t want a mermaid because I’m not Morticia Addams.”
Whitney snickered. “That’s something I’ll never get out of my head now. Thanks.”
“I like mermaid dresses. They’re fun.” Megan pointed at me. “You have to try one on. Just to see.”
I groaned. “Maybe.”
Even if I tried it on—even if it was the most amazing thing ever—I absolutely wouldn’t be buying it. Because seriously, no. I didn’t get them.
“I don’t want strapless. Maybe a halter style, but honestly? I think I want sleeves. It feels more modest? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I don’t have any hate for someone who loves strapless—there’s nothing wrong—it’s just not for me.” Other than occasionally for sleepwear, I didn’t tend to wear tank tops even in the summer, when the heat and humidity around here definitely called for them. Pretty much the only time my arms were bare was if I was in a swimsuit.
“That’s a good start.” Whitney rubbed her hands together. “I have a good feeling about this.”
It was good someone did.
I turned into one of the parking garages at the mall and started the slow and ridiculous process of circling higher and higher looking for a spot.
“There’s one.” Megan pointed. “On the right. Just past the yellow Mini Cooper.”
“I see it. Thanks.” I accelerated a little and hit my turn signal. It was the automotive equivalent of calling dibs. It probably worked half the time.
Thankfully today was one of the winning days.
Once we’d parked, we made our way from the car into the mall and, after one wrong turn, found the bridal shop.
“Hi. I’m Kayla Jones. I have an appointment.”
