Page 31 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
As I run my hands down the forest green silk, I’m grateful Jenna’s vision for her wedding didn’t include some awful color that would clash with my hair and skin tone.
Slipping into the floor-length dress, I’m stunned at the cowl neckline and thin straps and how they balance my wider shoulders.
The loose skirt and high slit on my left leg make moving easy, and the hidden worry that this dress wouldn’t fit over my hips and thighs dissipates in a blink of an eye.
My breath catches as I examine myself in the mirror on the wall of the dressing room, turning this way and that and watching the skirt move around my legs with ease .
After admiring myself for longer than I’d like to admit, I pull back the curtain and step into the back room.
“Jenna?” I ask, approaching the curtain she disappeared behind. When she doesn’t answer, I step closer, wishing that there was a door I could knock on. “Jenna?” I ask again, to no answer.
I had expected someone to be back here with a measuring tape and pins, ready to measure and prod and pin away until this dress fit better, but with the way it fits perfectly, I’m relieved no one is here to second guess this dress.
When Jenna doesn’t answer, I assume she’s already stepped out into the main room, and I make my way to the curtain that separates the dressing rooms from the waiting area.
The quiet chatter on the other side of the curtain is different from the animated, bubbly conversations Jenna’s bridesmaids were having when Trace and I arrived, and a knot of worry forms in my stomach.
I push the curtain aside and step out into the waiting area. Jenna is standing off to the side in quiet conversation with her circle of bridesmaids—about what, I could never guess. And Trace…
Trace is looking at me like he’s never seen me before.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that expression of awe and wonder on his face in all the years I’ve known him—including when he’s looked at past girlfriends.
Jenna doesn’t immediately turn around, and it doesn’t look like any of her other bridesmaids have noticed me, so I step over to Trace, my bare feet tickled by the textured rug in the middle of the room.
“So,” I stop in front of Trace and spin from side to side, letting my skirt float around my legs, “what do you think?”
Trace’s eyes rove over the simple dress, and his hands find my waist, his fingers stroking the smooth material as his honey eyes devour the rest of me.
Heat rises from my chest to my neck as I watch him, but against my better judgment, I step closer, wanting to memorize the feeling of his hands on me in this dress.
“I can barely find the words, Naomi,” Trace says quietly, his usual smooth accent turning gravelly as he looks up at me, the tips of his fingers digging into the softer parts around my waist. “You are stunning .” One of his hands leaves my waist to caress a loose lock of red hair before pushing it back over my shoulder.
When the backs of his knuckles brush my bare skin, I have to suppress a shiver before it can take over my whole body.
Trace’s hand lingers on my shoulder and his eyes lock me into place.
I couldn’t look away or move if I tried—not that I want to.
I’m right where I want to be, and judging by the way Trace’s fingers continue to brush the skin of my shoulder, the way he pulls me closer, the way his eyes dart down to my lips as he wets his own, Trace is where he wants to be, too.
“Naomi!” Hearing my name knocks me out of that intense eye contact before a soft hand on my shoulder brings me back to the present. I turn to look down at my younger sister, and Trace drops his hands from my waist.
“Naomi! That dress looks amazing!”
“That’s all you, Jenna.” I didn’t have any say in this dress, other than giving my sister my measurements. The cut, the color—all Jenna. I run my hands over the silk again, marveling at the dress. “They did a really good job,” I agree. “I don’t think it even needs alterations.”
Jenna’s chest deflates, and her smile grows, her relief obvious. “Perfect. One less thing to worry about.”
Anika looks me up and down, a wistful expression on her face. “I wish I had legs like yours and could pull off a dress like that.” She laughs and brandishes one of her—much shorter—legs. “But all I’ve got are these stumpy little things. ”
“More like tree trunks,” Jenna laughs, pinching her friend on the thigh. The four of them share a round of laughter, and I smile, appreciating the joke, but with the distinct feeling of being on the outside.
The bell above the entrance rings again, interrupting their laughter, and we all turn toward the sound and the two casually-dressed men with wide smiles on their faces who are walking straight to us.
The blonde bridesmaid—Berkley—lets out a squeal and enthusiastically hugs one of them. These must be Ryker’s groomsmen.
“Where’s Ryker?” Jenna asks, moving in their direction. Melissa and Anika move with her, leaving me and Trace back by the circle of chairs.
“He’s holding a table for us at Alpenglow,” the groomsman who still has his arm around Berkley says.
Jenna turns back to me and Trace. “We’re headed to a bar in town with the rest of the bridal party.” At the raise of my eyebrow, she hurries to add, “No parents, of course. A little fun for all of us before Mom puts us to work tomorrow. Do you guys want to come with us?”
I look at Trace, the question on my face. He smiles softly at me and raises his shoulders.
“I don’t drink during the season,” I warn her, “but we’d love to come.”
Jenna’s genuine smile thaws a spot of ice in my heart. Is this how our relationship could have been if Mom hadn’t constantly pitted us against each other?
She quickly gives me the address and assures me it’s just down the street. “I’m heading there now. If you want to get changed, you can leave your dress with mine. The boutique is going to be delivering the dresses tomorrow after they finish final alterations.”
Trace snatches me by the waist after Jenna leaves with her friends, pulling me into him .
“Are you sure about all of this?” he asks, bringing his face close to mine.
I lift my arms to rest on his shoulders, crossing my wrists behind his neck.
“As long as Mom isn’t there, it will be great.
Besides”—I look back to the glass windows and watch Jenna disappear down the street, a smile on her face and surrounded by friends—“I think this will be a good chance for us to work through some things.”