Dear Nate,
I’m sorry. I know I apologize too much, but I feel this warrants an apology. I’ve been terribly busy at the flower shop. Everyone is suddenly getting married in October. Fall weddings are all the rage, apparently. Still, that’s no excuse for my silence. I promise I’ve been thinking about you often. I at least hope that in my absence, you’ve been able to get a lot of writing accomplished.
Your previous e-mail didn’t scare me. And what you wrote doesn’t sound all that crazy. I miss you too.
Affectionately,
Amelia
I hit Send before I could give it too much thought. Nate deserved a response.
But he also deserves the truth, my conscience whispered. And all of what I’d sent him had been a lie, except the missing-him part. I did miss him. So much it left a hole inside my chest.
The flower shop, however, had not been terribly busy, or even busy at all. His e-mail had scared me, in all kinds of ways. His relationship to my ex-boyfriend aside, there were less complicated things to consider. Like the fact that I wasn’t as interesting in real life as I was via e-mail. When it came to e-mail, I had the luxury of editing. Revising. Putting in the best parts.
And there was the matter of me. I’d been wearing a hat and sunglasses when Nate and I met. I wasn’t a ravishing beauty, or even beautiful at all. I had red hair and freckles, something Candace and Crystal had teased me about mercilessly growing up. Some people insisted I was pretty, but those were mostly old, kind men, like George, who were probably just being nice. Never mind Chelsea and Matt and all the accompanying embarrassment. What if Nate and I went on a date and he realized he’d driven all the way to Mayfair for nothing?
I guess Rachel was a little bit right after all.
Bridget fidgeted. William placed an assuring arm around her shoulder. Usually I met with my brides twice. Once initially to make all the plans, then again a few weeks before the big day to make sure everything was squared away. I didn’t want any of my brides fretting over a missing corsage for a beloved great-aunt we forgot to consider. I’d had both of these meetings already with William and Bridget. This third one, which really wasn’t a meeting at all (more of a stop-by-the-shop check-in), was a courtesy to my brother and my soon-to-be sister-in-law.
According to him, Bridget had started having anxiety dreams, where all manner of things went wrong. Most of them had to do with the flowers and the wedding dress. So William checked on the alterations for her dress and asked if we could meet one last time to check over the flowers.
“We have three bridesmaids’ bouquets.” One of which I’d be carrying. “And, of course, your bouquet. Three groomsmen boutonnieres and three additional boutonnieres. Two for Bridget’s side of the family. One for the pastor. Six corsages—three for William’s side.” Jeanine, Candace, and Crystal would cause a fuss if they didn’t all have corsages. “Three for Bridget’s side. The unity candle arrangement, which we’ll bring to the reception hall. And then ten centerpiece arrangements.”
Bridget continued to nod as I moved down the list in my notebook.
“See, everything’s in order,” William assured.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Bridget fiddled with the hem of her shirt.
“It’s only natural,” I said, hoping to set her at ease. “Almost all brides and grooms get a little anxious as the wedding approaches.”
Bridget nudged my brother. “He’s not.”
“Yeah well, William doesn’t get nervous about much.”
He winked at me over the top of Bridget’s head. “So we’ll see you tonight, right? Out at Sawyer Farm for our annual corn maze adventure?”
I hesitated.
“Come on, Ames, you have to come. It’s tradition.”
He was right. It was. And it’s not like we hadn’t brought guests with us before. All through college, I’d brought Matt. But this felt different. William had been so much younger, and younger brothers were supposed to be tag-alongs. I wasn’t sure if that rule applied to older, single sisters. I opened my mouth to answer when the door swooshed open, bringing in a delightful breeze of October air.
I expected a familiar face. This particular familiar face, I did not.