sold out from under due to her misguided grandparents’ will. What do you think?”
“I see.”
“Do you, Heath? Do you really see her? Because she’s looked at you for years, and you never treated her as anything but a thorn in your side.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s always acted like one.”
“Have you ever thought to ask why?”
“Have you?” he countered.
“I’ve known for her as long as you have—I don’t have to ask her why because I already know the answer.”
With that, she ended their call and left him staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was missing.
Chapter Eight
‡
I n the two days that followed, Haven’s life became inundated with wedding plans and Ambroses, but not the Ambrose she did and did not want to see. Instead, cousins, aunts, soon-to-be sisters-in-law, and of course, her soon-to-be mother-in-law descended upon her like a plague of locusts dressed in Lily Pulitzer. And they all had two things on their minds—bridal showers and bridal gowns.
Which was why she was sitting in the middle of the Ambrose living room, covered in ribbons and wrapping paper. She’d been opening presents for what seemed like hours and growing more and more uneasy with each one.
They were so thoughtful and so cute, right down to the matching Hello Kitty salt and pepper shakers. It was like they got her, or Willow had given them suggestions. Either way, the fact they bought something so undeniably nontraditional meant a lot to her.
“Do you have a gown, sugar?” Leah asked, placing her teacup on a dainty saucer. “My son sprung this on you so quickly that I’m sure you haven’t had time to think, much less shop.”
A gown? Holy crud. She hadn’t even thought about a gown. Panicking she searched for Willow while trying to stall, “I—that is—”
Her friend, bless her heart, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s gorgeous, Mrs. Ambrose. All antique lace from the 1920s, and the most precious hand-beading you’ve ever seen. Every Crawford woman wears it on her wedding day as good luck.”
Every single lady in the room sighed at once, including Haven, but hers was of relief, not because of a romantic family tradition that did not exist.
“Can we see it?”
“No,” Haven all but shouted. The room turned silent and she blushed. Where in the heck would she get a dress that matched Willow’s description? And in under twelve hours. She was getting married tomorrow.
Panic started to set in. Her skin began to itch, began to feel too tight. There wasn’t enough air in the room. Willow moved closer to Haven, as if she could sense her distress.
She placed a cool hand on her bare shoulder, whispering, “It’s okay,” before raising her voice, “Haven wanted to surprise you with it today, but there was the tiniest of rips in the hem and that wouldn’t do. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll be working on that this afternoon. You don’t mind not seeing the gown until tomorrow, do you, Mrs. Ambrose?”
It was all Haven could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. She hoped that meant Willow actually had a gown.
Leah’s eyes rounded. “Of course not.” She leaned over and placed her hand over Haven’s. “At least he did right by you and proposed with a proper engagement ring.”
Haven bit the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting that his proper engagement ring was a fake diamond she’d bought for twenty dollars at Target.
“Mm-hmm.” She began to fidget in her seat, pulling at her pleated skirt as her leg began to shake. It was a nervous tic left over from childhood. Her so-called perfect plan hadn’t included spending time with people who actually seemed like they wanted to get to know her. They laughed at her jokes and asked get-to-know-you questions. Sure, there were a few who gave her side-eyed looks, but for the most part, Heath’s family was… nice .
Guilt rose, like a thorny weed, pricking at her insides. She was so selfish to do this. But, she
“I see.”
“Do you, Heath? Do you really see her? Because she’s looked at you for years, and you never treated her as anything but a thorn in your side.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s always acted like one.”
“Have you ever thought to ask why?”
“Have you?” he countered.
“I’ve known for her as long as you have—I don’t have to ask her why because I already know the answer.”
With that, she ended their call and left him staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was missing.
Chapter Eight
‡
I n the two days that followed, Haven’s life became inundated with wedding plans and Ambroses, but not the Ambrose she did and did not want to see. Instead, cousins, aunts, soon-to-be sisters-in-law, and of course, her soon-to-be mother-in-law descended upon her like a plague of locusts dressed in Lily Pulitzer. And they all had two things on their minds—bridal showers and bridal gowns.
Which was why she was sitting in the middle of the Ambrose living room, covered in ribbons and wrapping paper. She’d been opening presents for what seemed like hours and growing more and more uneasy with each one.
They were so thoughtful and so cute, right down to the matching Hello Kitty salt and pepper shakers. It was like they got her, or Willow had given them suggestions. Either way, the fact they bought something so undeniably nontraditional meant a lot to her.
“Do you have a gown, sugar?” Leah asked, placing her teacup on a dainty saucer. “My son sprung this on you so quickly that I’m sure you haven’t had time to think, much less shop.”
A gown? Holy crud. She hadn’t even thought about a gown. Panicking she searched for Willow while trying to stall, “I—that is—”
Her friend, bless her heart, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s gorgeous, Mrs. Ambrose. All antique lace from the 1920s, and the most precious hand-beading you’ve ever seen. Every Crawford woman wears it on her wedding day as good luck.”
Every single lady in the room sighed at once, including Haven, but hers was of relief, not because of a romantic family tradition that did not exist.
“Can we see it?”
“No,” Haven all but shouted. The room turned silent and she blushed. Where in the heck would she get a dress that matched Willow’s description? And in under twelve hours. She was getting married tomorrow.
Panic started to set in. Her skin began to itch, began to feel too tight. There wasn’t enough air in the room. Willow moved closer to Haven, as if she could sense her distress.
She placed a cool hand on her bare shoulder, whispering, “It’s okay,” before raising her voice, “Haven wanted to surprise you with it today, but there was the tiniest of rips in the hem and that wouldn’t do. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll be working on that this afternoon. You don’t mind not seeing the gown until tomorrow, do you, Mrs. Ambrose?”
It was all Haven could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. She hoped that meant Willow actually had a gown.
Leah’s eyes rounded. “Of course not.” She leaned over and placed her hand over Haven’s. “At least he did right by you and proposed with a proper engagement ring.”
Haven bit the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting that his proper engagement ring was a fake diamond she’d bought for twenty dollars at Target.
“Mm-hmm.” She began to fidget in her seat, pulling at her pleated skirt as her leg began to shake. It was a nervous tic left over from childhood. Her so-called perfect plan hadn’t included spending time with people who actually seemed like they wanted to get to know her. They laughed at her jokes and asked get-to-know-you questions. Sure, there were a few who gave her side-eyed looks, but for the most part, Heath’s family was… nice .
Guilt rose, like a thorny weed, pricking at her insides. She was so selfish to do this. But, she
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