“Earth to Millie.” Winnie snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, what?” I refocused on my sister and our surroundings—the lobby of the strength training studio where we’d just taken our usual Thursday morning class.
“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Exasperated, my sister opened the locker where we’d stashed our keys and phones.
I bit my lip. Had I?
In truth, my mind was a bit fuzzy. The strength training coach’s muscular arms had reminded me of Zach’s, and I’d spent the entire hourlong class lost in the memories of his body above mine. I’d barely registered anything else—the exercises, the music, the other people in the room.
But it wasn’t just today.
I’d been having trouble concentrating for a month—ever since I got back from New York. No matter what I was doing or who I was talking to, my mind had an uncanny ability to circle back to a night spent in Zach Barrett’s hotel room. I could read entire pages of a book and not register one word. I had to ask people to repeat questions. I’d catch myself staring into space at my desk or kitchen table and realize five minutes had gone by while I replayed portions of our time together.
My vibrator had gotten more use the past few weeks than it had the past year.
“Can you repeat the last thing?” I took her puffy vest off the hanger and handed it to her.
She shoved her arms through the holes and freed her long ponytail from the collar. “I asked how the fashion show plans were coming along.”
I pulled on my jacket and zipped it up. “Good. Really good, actually.”
“Did you hear back from the one designer you were waiting on?”
“Yes—and she’s in.” I grinned. “So I’ve got six designers, each committed to five looks. Date set—first Saturday in March, models are hired, DJ is booked. So far, it’s all going smoothly.”
“Of course it is, with you at the helm.”
“I need to start promoting it soon. Tickets will go on sale in early December.”
Winnie clapped her hands. “I bet it sells out. I’m so excited for you!”
I was excited too—elated, actually. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t done this before. I’d studied fashion design at school, and my degree was in Visual Arts. I’d just never done anything with fashion except make my own clothes, because I’d gone to work for Cloverleigh Farms right away.
Which was fabulous. I loved the work, I still got to use my eye for design and be creative, and I adored Cloverleigh Farms—it was like home to me. I’d practically grown up there since my dad was the CFO and it was Frannie’s family that owned it. But I still liked fashion, and wedding gowns were the perfect intersection of my profession and my interest.
“Well, sales might be slow at first, but given how many people get engaged over the holidays, I bet interest will spike in early January, and then again after Valentine’s Day. And they’ll still have two weeks to purchase tickets.”
“Let me know if I can help with anything.” Winnie pushed the door open for me and we walked out into the crisp autumn morning. It was cloudy and cool, and smelled like rain might be coming.
“Hey, did you ever reach out to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome with the tattoos and magic dick?”
“Winnie!” I glanced around us to make sure no one was within earshot. “No. I haven’t.” Although I kept his card in my nightstand, and just about every night, I took it out and looked at it.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been busy.”
“Busy? You said it was the hottest night of your life! What’s busy compared to that?”
“He lives in San Diego and I live here,” I pointed out.
“Maybe you’ve heard of airplanes?”
I elbowed her as we approached my car. “I can’t call him and suggest he get on a plane. We only spent a few hours together. I barely know anything about him.” Just that he was never off my mind.
“Plan a trip to San Diego,” Winnie suggested.
“I can’t do that! I’ll look like a crazy stalker.” I pulled my keys from my pocket and unlocked my car.
“Maybe you could pretend like you need private security for something.” Winnie’s wheels were still spinning, her head tilted, her devious eyes looking off into space.
“Why on earth would I need private security?”
“Because there’s a . . .” She snapped her fingers as she thought. “A serial killer prowling around Cloverleigh Farms!”
Laughing, I shook my head. “Face it, Win. It was a fun night, and I’m really glad I took your advice, but I’ll probably never see Zachary Barrett again.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun. If I were you, I wouldn’t just give up.”
“There’s nothing to give up on! We had a hot one-night stand, not a serious relationship.” Two women gave me strange looks as they passed us by, and I lowered my voice. “Look, if he lived even remotely close to here, I might reach out. Chicago, or New York even. But San Diego is ridiculously far.”
“But what if—”
“No what ifs. I’ll talk to you later,” I said, ending the conversation.
“Okay. Hey, Felicity and I are meeting downtown around five o’clock for drinks and dinner tonight. Want to come?”
“That sounds good.” I opened the driver’s side door of my car. “I’ll check my work schedule and get back to you.”
Ten minutes later, I let myself into my house and made myself a quick cup of coffee. While it brewed, I pulled one of my mason jars of overnight oats from the fridge and topped it with some maple syrup and cinnamon. Grabbing a spoon, I ate breakfast while scrolling through my inbox on my laptop. I checked my calendar for the day and saw nothing on it after a two o’clock appointment with a potential bride, so I sent a quick text to Win and Felicity that I could meet up with them.
After giving my cats, Molasses and Muffin, some attention, I took my coffee upstairs to get ready for work. My house wasn’t big—just a kitchen with a dining area, tiny half bath, and living room downstairs, plus two bedrooms and a full bathroom up—but I’d fallen in love with it at first sight and cried happy tears the day I was handed the keys. Maybe it was the white picket fence or the pink and yellow tulips blooming in the front yard. Maybe it was the front porch swing or the arched front door. Maybe it was the cozy warmth of the interior woodwork, stained a deep brown.
Sure, I’d had to rip up awful carpeting and tear off hideous wallpaper and repaint all the walls in soft, neutral shades, but I hadn’t minded the work. It had kept me busy the last couple years, and I’d had help—my dad and Frannie had not only helped me secure the loan but had also helped me renovate. Felicity had been living in Chicago when I bought the house, but she’d come up for a long weekend to help me move in. Winnie had a fantastic eye for good finds at estate sales and antique shops, and she helped me reupholster dining chairs, shop for rugs, and find the perfect sapphire blue velvet sofa for my living room. Even Mason pitched in, helping me stain the wood floors last summer.
He and Lori were redoing their own home now.
And Brendan, the guy I’d dated before Mason, had just moved to Denver with his new wife, Sasha. I’d introduced them too—she used to cut my hair. Daniel, the boyfriend before that, was expecting twins with his wife, Amy. An invitation to the baby shower was on my fridge.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I took a sip of my coffee and sighed. I was happy for them all, I really was. They were good people and deserved to find love. My sisters too. I had a feeling Dex was going to pop the question to Winnie over the holidays, and then there would be another wedding to plan. The thought of it made me smile.
Moving into my bedroom, I set the mug on my dresser and started pulling off my workout clothes, tossing them in a laundry basket. I glanced at the bed, and for a moment, I imagined Zach sleeping there, just like he had been in the hotel room when I’d tried to sneak out.
After my shower, as I combed through my wet hair, I fantasized what it might be like if he saw me standing there at the mirror. He might give me one of those low, growly sounds and reach for the towel wrapped around me, yanking it off. I’d laugh and say no, I have to go to work, but he wouldn’t let me refuse him. He’d grab my arm and pull me back into bed with him. His body would be warm and firm as he stretched out above me, his hips and chest heavy and masculine over my curves. He’d bury his face in my neck and tell me how good I smelled—I remembered how he’d liked the scent of my perfume—and his mouth would travel down from there, over my breasts and stomach and hips. He’d push my thighs apart with enough force to tell me he’d brook no resistance, and his tongue would sweep up my center with those long, languid strokes that made me arch and moan and beg for more.
Suddenly I realized my eyes were closed, my nipples were hard, and I was frozen in place with the hairbrush halfway through my damp locks. Between my legs I felt the tingle of arousal.
Setting my brush down, I went over to the edge of my bed and sat down. Opened the nightstand drawer. Took out his card. I stared at it for a full minute, wondering if Winnie was right and I should reach out. Was there something there worth pursuing?
Yeah, said my lady parts. Orgasms.
I stuffed the card back into my drawer and closed it.
My two o’clock bride, whose name was Taylor, came with her mom to look at Cloverleigh Farms as a potential venue for her wedding. She apologized that her fiancé wasn’t available, but he traveled a lot for work, so she was doing some of the initial research on her own.
“My mother sort of invites herself along,” Taylor whispered to me as we walked from the inn toward the wedding barn, where we hosted indoor ceremonies and receptions. “But she’s so critical, she stresses me out.”
I eyed her mother, who’d hurried through the glass doors into the barn ahead of us. “Some mothers are like that,” I said. “But it’s your day, not hers.”
Later, Taylor and her mom sat across from me at my desk as I listed Cloverleigh’s available dates for a Saturday wedding next summer and fall. “There aren’t too many,” I said apologetically. “We tend to book up fast for summer. Have you considered a Friday night wedding? I have some Sunday afternoons available this spring too.”
“Maybe we could do that,” Taylor said. “I just have to—”
“I think that’s too soon,” said her mother. “Taylor needs more time to lose the weight.”
Taylor’s chin dropped, color rising in her cheeks. “Mom.”
“Not one of the dresses you’ve tried on fit,” her mother said, lips pursed. “And we’ve gone to three different bridal salons.”
Taylor, who was plus-sized and short, met my eyes. “I’m having some trouble finding a dress.”
My heart went out to her. “I understand.”
“Everything is either billowy like sheets or all covered up.” Taylor shook her head. “That’s not what I want.”
“What kind of dress do you want?” I asked, thinking I might be able to point her in the right direction.
“I’d like a dress that shows off my curves,” Taylor said, her eyes flicking toward her mother. “Something glamorous and elegant but also sexy. My fiancé loves my curves.”
“That’s all well and good, but they don’t make dresses like that for bodies like yours,” snapped her mother, who was short like her daughter but several sizes smaller. “I’ve been telling you for years to lose the weight.”
I bit my tongue, although the conversation was triggering terrible memories. My real mother, Carla, had been hard on me about my size too. After she’d abandoned us and moved back to Georgia, we only saw her a couple times a year, and those visits always involved comments about my appearance.
You look just like me at fourteen, Millie. If you weren’t so heavy, you could try on my prom dress.
What on earth is your dad feeding you? He must not want you to have boyfriends.
You’re never going to be a professional dancer if you don’t control your weight.
For years, I took what she said to heart. I cut gluten and dairy and sugar and fat. I deprived myself of what the rest of my family and friends ate in the misguided attempt to look like the slender, small-boned girls in my ballet classes (pink tights are so fucking brutal), even though it was never going to happen.
And I was miserable and hungry and exhausted all the time. I hated my body, I hated myself, and I started to hate dance. I spent most of my spare time crying in my bedroom. Finally, I went to my dad and Frannie and I admitted I didn’t want to study ballet anymore—I was tired of the way it made me feel about myself. They understood and told me the choice was mine, and they encouraged me to do what would make me happy. They made me feel loved and appreciated and gave me the reassurance I needed to be myself and love myself.
But Taylor didn’t have that kind of parent.
“You know what,” I said, focusing on the teary-eyed bride-to-be in front of me, “I know a few designers with size-inclusive lines. And they make beautiful, sexy, stunning dresses. I’ll email you their names.”
“Really?” Taylor perked up.
“Yes. Also, I’m hosting a fashion show for curvy brides in early March if you’d like to come. Depending on the wedding date you choose, you might see something there you could get in time for a summer wedding.”
“That sounds amazing.” She smiled. “Thank you so much.”
Just after five that evening, my sisters and I ducked into Southpaw Brewing Co, a downtown microbrewery with great food, spacious leather booths, and fantastic service. It was owned by Tyler Shaw, a former MLB pitcher who’d married our Aunt April. When he saw us come in, he came over to greet us and led us to a booth in a quieter area toward the back.
“How’s everything going?” he asked. “Did you make it in before the rain?”
“Yes, and I hope we make it out too, because I forgot an umbrella,” I said, sliding in across from Winnie and Felicity.
“Me too.” Winnie unzipped her coat and shivered. “I need a hot toddy. I’m chilled to the bone.”
“Coming right up.” Tyler smiled. He was in his early fifties, broad-chested and handsome in a mature way that reminded me of Zach—dark hair with a hint of gray, brown eyes with tiny lines at the corners, chiseled jaw—although Tyler was clean-shaven where Zach had a beard. The memory of that beard on my cheek, belly, and thighs sent a little shiver up my spine.
“And some menus would be good.” Felicity wriggled out of her jacket. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll send something over right away,” he said.
A few minutes later, we had drinks and an order of onion rings on the table, crispy and hot, coated with batter made from one of Southpaw’s hand-crafted ales. While we sipped and munched and looked over the food menu, I told my sisters about the appointment that afternoon. “I felt so bad for this girl. Her mother was so mean.”
“That’s awful,” said Felicity.
“She said they’d been to three salons and not one of them had a dress she liked in a size that fit,” I said, getting worked up all over again. “Shopping for your wedding dress should be a joyful experience. It shouldn’t make you feel bad about yourself.”
“I’ve heard similar things from brides at Abelard,” Winnie remarked. “This is why your event is going to be such a hit, Mills. Curvy brides will get to see what’s out there.”
“But is that enough? One show won’t change the shopping experience for brides. And shopping in general when you’re plus-sized is not terribly fun.” My sisters had been shopping with me enough times in our lives to know this already, and they nodded sympathetically as I went on. “It sucks to see something cute and be told it doesn’t come in your size or be directed to the back of the store where the clothes are all drab and unshapely. That’s why I end up sewing things I really want. I totally understood where Taylor was coming from.”
“Is she going to come to your show?” asked Felicity.
“I think so, and I told her I’d email her a list of designers I know that do beautiful plus-sized dresses.” I sipped my wine. “She mentioned that her fiancé loves her curves. That made me happy.”
Our server appeared and we put in our orders—vegetarian chili for Felicity, club sandwich for me, black and blue burger for Winnie.
“That reminds me,” said Felicity, “a friend of mine from culinary school who lives in Kansas literally flew to another state to shop for her wedding dress at a bridal salon that specializes in gowns for curvy women. I think she went to Georgia.”
“Really?” Winnie looked at Felicity and then at me. “A whole store that specializes in plus-sized wedding dresses? Is there one of those near us? Or even in this state?”
“If there is,” I said, “I haven’t heard of it.”
Winnie picked up an onion ring and bit into it. “Mills, I could see you opening a shop like that, with your design background and all your wedding planning experience. I mean,” she went on after swallowing the bite in her mouth, “if you ever wanted to do something different.”
“That would be a pretty giant career change,” I said. But something about the idea intrigued me.
“Not really,” Felicity countered. “You’d still be helping people experience their dream wedding. I mean, what’s more important to a bride than her dress?”
“The groom?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Okay, besides the groom, the dress is always what the bride most wants to love, and it’s probably the thing she’s been thinking about since before she even liked boys or girls or whoever she’s marrying.”
“She’s right,” Winnie said. “I had an entire file folder of wedding dress photos before I even hit middle school.”
“I remember. You were obsessed with getting married.” I laughed. “Even your prom dress was white.”
“Hey, you designed it.” Winnie nudged my foot with hers beneath the table.
“I know. And I loved doing that—the dress was beautiful on you.”
“Speaking of white dresses,” Felicity said in a suggestive tone. “What are the odds of a proposal this holiday season, Winifred?”
Winnie’s cheeks went pink. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “You’ve got no idea whether or not Dex has been ring shopping? He hasn’t dropped any hints?”
“No.” Winnie lifted her shoulders. “I think it might be too soon.”
“But you’ve been together over a year already,” Felicity pointed out. “That’s a long time.”
“You’re just saying that because you married Hutton after dating him for a month.” Winnie poked Felicity’s shoulder. “But Dex has two little girls. They’re only six and nine. He has to make sure they’d be okay with it.”
“Hallie and Luna adore you,” I said. “They’re probably pressuring Dex to get a move on.”
“Maybe,” Winnie said, laughing. “They do keep asking me if my cat and I can move in with them and their cat.”
I laughed. “If I were you, I’d dig out that old file folder.”
“Okay, enough. Don’t jinx me.” Winnie picked up her beer and took a drink. “Let’s talk about your love life.”
“Uh, it’s nonexistent.”
“Is not,” Felicity said, her eyes flashing with mischief. “I heard you had a hot one-night stand with a mysterious stranger in a hotel room last month. And there was spanking involved.”
I glared at Winnie. “Gee. Wonder where she might have heard that.”
“You know I can’t keep secrets!” Winnie protested. “Especially between us three. Neither of you should tell me things you don’t want the other to know.”
“So it’s true?” Felicity prodded. “It really happened?”
“It’s true. It really happened. And I would have told you sooner, but I’ve hardly seen you since I got back. I’ve been so busy at work.”
“So tell me now.” Felicity propped her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “Who was he?”
“His name is Zach Barrett. He works private security out of San Diego, but he was in New York on business. He’s forty-seven.” I put my hands up. “That’s honestly all I know.”
“What did he look like?” Felicity asked.
“Tall, dark, and handsome, beard, tattoos, big hands, magic dick,” Winnie answered breathlessly.
Felicity’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
I laughed and nodded. “Really.”
“And. And . . .” Winnie was bouncing around in the booth like a pinball. “He rescued her from some married creeper that was trying to hit on her.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He was a perfect gentleman . . . right up until we got to the elevator.” I giggled. “Then he went a bit rogue.”
Winnie swooned. “God, I love this story. I wish it wasn’t over.”
“So wait, the spanking,” said Felicity. “He just did it? Or did he ask you?”
“Actually, I sort of requested it.”
My sisters exchanged a look. “Good for you,” Winnie said.
“Did you like it?” asked Felicity.
“I did, but I think it’s something I only liked because it was him.” I’d given this some thought. “Like, if he was a different kind of guy, someone more like my usual type, I don’t think it would have been as hot.”
“Because you date boys, not men,” Winnie said.
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the server arrived with our food.
“So did you exchange numbers or anything?” Felicity stirred her chili. “Will you see him again?”
“He gave me his card, which has a phone number on it, but I don’t really see the point in calling him.” I picked up a quarter of my sandwich. “He lives so far away.”
“I disagree and think she should reach out,” said Winnie, squirting ketchup onto her fries.
“We’ve been over this, Win.” I gave her my bossiest big-sister look. “I’m not calling him.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“It’s been a month. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”
My sisters exchanged an exasperated look. “He remembers you,” said Felicity dryly.
“Because I’m busy at work.”
Winnie blew a raspberry.
“Because I don’t want to start something that doesn’t have the kind of ending I’m looking for,” I said firmly. “Not at this point in my life.”
Winnie’s posture deflated a bit. “Yeah. I guess I get that.”
“Good.” I took a bite of my sandwich.
But he was on my mind all night.
We left the restaurant just after seven, squealing as we hurried through the pouring rain without umbrellas. I waved goodbye to my sisters and jumped into my car.
Back at home, I was in my jammies by nine, just the way I liked.
After I slipped between the sheets, I lay there for a moment. Then I opened the drawer and pulled out Zach’s card again. I ran my fingertip over his name. With my pulse quickening, I picked up my phone and tapped his number into the keypad. Then I started a message.
Hi, it’s Millie MacAllister from…
Wait, from what? From last month? From New York? From hotel room sexcapades?
Delete.
Hello, this is Millie MacAllister. I don’t know if you remember me, but . . .
But what? But you spanked my ass and I liked it? But you gave me five orgasms in one night and thank you sir, may I have another?
Delete.
Hey, it’s Millie. What are you wearing?
DELETE.
This wasn’t me. It felt too awkward. What if he wasn’t the sexting type? What if I wasn’t the sexting type? I’d never done it before.
Sighing, I set my phone on the charger and tucked his card back into the top drawer. Then I reached into the second drawer and pulled out my Lelo.
Switching off the lamp, I let memory and fantasy take me away.
