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8

JESS

I call my friend Cara—we met my senior year in high school when I moved here and have stayed in touch.

Sort of.

I didn’t exactly mention the whole wedding thing when Sorsha said I couldn’t invite anyone from my side “of the family,” not that I have one.

Cara is still at work and tells me to meet her at the Ice Palace.

It’s not until I’m in the parking lot do I realize I might encounter the sourpuss from the bakery. Plastering on a smile, I tell myself, if I do, it’ll give me a chance to get that signed photo for Grandma Dolly. See? I’m always turning lemons into lemonade and wedding gowns into everyday wear.

As I step through the automatic glass doors, I smooth my skirt and get more than a few curious looks. I parade into the relatively quiet arena in the calm before the storm. My grandmother said they’re playing Carolina tonight.

Hopefully, Mr. Meanie is busy sharpening his skates. I have no interest in being around someone so rude, so why does a fluffy marshmallow of excitement drop out from under me and give way to a void of disappointment?

There’s no arguing against the fact that he was attractive in a big, imposing, swoop-in-and-save-the-day kind of way. But I am not looking for romance or a relationship. I’m barely out of one. Besides, he’s probably married.

However, when I take an honest look at things between Rexlan and me, we were running on my optimism and Sorsha’s insistence that we get hitched. She just didn’t want him to marry Cassleigh.

He was probably with me because he was too scared to defy his mom and I’m too nice to say no to.

Before I can talk myself out of a frown, someone shrieks from down the hall. I look around, alarmed. Cara rushes toward me, calling my name then abruptly going quiet as she looks me over from head to toe, wearing an expression that goes from shock to curiosity. “What are you wearing? I need a story time and I need it now.”

Ushering me into an austere office, I tell Cara almost everything, including some of the details I skipped when relaying events to Grandma Dolly. It’s not that I want to keep anything from her, but she’ll worry, which will prompt her to bake more cookies, and then I’ll never fit into a wedding dress again.

What can I say? They’re hard to resist.

Cara exclaims, “So he left you at the altar? Want to hatch a revenge plot?”

“Yes, but no. You know me. I’m just hoping for a plot twist. Like I’ll wake up and none of this ever happened.”

“Can we talk about the red flags?”

“Where to start? There were so many. I was in a fog.”

“Or drugged. Did they drug you? Tell me he drugged you so I can be mad at them on your behalf and not at you since you didn’t mention YOU WERE GETTING MARRIED.”

“You’re talking in all caps.”

“I KNOW.”

“I’m a terrible friend. But his mother was overbearing and when she said the guest list was full, I didn’t want to impose.”

“I think you should start imposing in your own life, especially when it comes to your future, your own marriage.”

“During the rehearsal dinner, when we were practicing our vows, he said his assistant’s name. Cass.”

Cara’s eyes widen.

“Also, last month, his buddy did warn me.”

“I want all the gory details. Actually, we need backup. The girl squad. I’ll text you the date and time. At the Fish Bowl.”

“I thought you hated that place.”

“Technically, it’s where Pierre and I first met. He was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.” She lets out a blissful little sigh. “But I want to know where on earth you picked up a guy who’d walk out on your wedding day?”

I grouse, “Should I even be surprised?”

Apparently, not hearing me, Cara says, “You’re wearing your ‘Everything is fine’ face.”

“I’m coping.”

“Or in shock.”

“What else am I going to do? Wallow in my misery?”

She pounds her fists on her thighs. “Revenge, revenge, revenge.”

“The fact that he’ll have to deal with Sorsha is probably bad enough.”

“But you said she was making excuses for him.”

I gaze at my hands. “So was I.”

Cara taps the air with her forefinger. “I know, we’ll get revenge by showing him what he’s missing.”

My brow wrinkles. “Like a rebound relationship?”

“I mean more like we’ll show him that you’re thriving without him.”

I shift from foot to foot. “How about we get me out of this gown first?” Then I can forget that Rexlan Coogan ever existed. That’s the plan and I’m sticking to it.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?”

I clap my hand to my forehead. “No. I rushed out of the house, desperate to get this thing off—do you have any idea how hard it is to use the bathroom with a bustle?”

“A trumpet-style gown with a bustle.” She makes a cringing face.

“And lots and lots of tulle or is this organza?” I ask.

“It’s strangely shaggy and layered like a lizard molting.” Cara flits her hand across the fabric.

“How did I let a woman who worshipped lizards talk me into this?”

“Because I wasn’t there.”

“I’m a wreck.”

She holds up a hand. “That’s not thriving-Jess-post-jilted bride language. The solution is simple. I’ll go grab some Knights spirit wear.”

Leaving me alone in the office with only hints that someone as sweet as Cara occupies the space with its dark wood paneling, deep red wallpaper, and heavy frames filled with hockey awards, I can’t help but wonder why I always feel like I’m coming in last despite my best efforts.

Can a gal get a win?

Moreover, why didn’t I let myself see how wrong things had gone with Rexlan before I’d showed up at the end of the aisle under his mother’s marching orders?

Cara pops back into the office and waves a hoodie and leggings with the Knights logo. “Grandma Dolly will insist you wear this every day from now on.” She guards the door and helps me out of the gown while I quickly change. We keep a running dialog.

I say, “She’s very excited about the game against the Carolina Storm tonight. Congrats, by the way, on the new job.”

“It only took me three college degrees to realize that what I wanted to do didn’t require any of them.”

I sigh. “I’m still not sure what I want to do.”

“Open a bakery. Your Bundts are the best. Did you see the new Old Mill building? They have spaces available.”

I nod. “I do need a job.”

Cara taps the air like a Christmas light blinked on—it’s her favorite holiday and she still has red and green candy in the bowl on her desk. “That’s it. You could be Ellis’s assistant.”

“An assistant like you? I’m hardly hockey-qualified. The only things I know about the sport are only translatable through sign language.”

“I mean the personal assistant to one of our players. My father put him on ice for a couple of weeks.” She returns to her seat behind the desk.

I sit back down in the leather chair. “If he’s a hockey player, isn’t that his preferred habitat?”

“I mean he got in trouble. Technically, Dadaszek took him off the ice for some R you can never be too careful. It’s not that I’m scared of him, more like I won’t have a sweaty six-and-a-half-foot giant raining on my welcome home parade.

He points to the gown in my hands. “Why were you wearing that?”

“Are you the fun police?”

His eyebrows lift a micrometer, but he schools his expression.

“No, seriously, are you? It’s been a while since I’ve been in Cobbiton, do they have a new community ordinance?”

Rude and crude, he snorts before carrying on down the hallway.

It isn’t until after he turns the corner that a reply comes to mind. I’m always a minute slow, a day late, and a dollar short.

Sticking out my tongue at Mr. Meanie’s back, I low-key snarl, “I wore it because I wanted to.” Well, not this particular dress because as Cara noted, it’s not especially flattering. Sorsha insisted. I let her. If I’m brutally honest, she pushed me into the whole thing … even after I moved to Los Angeles and declared that my life choices were mine after nearly a lifetime of moving around in the foster care system—only to allow Sorsha to take charge.

I push those dismal thoughts away because today, er, tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully, the sun will come out, and I can begin again.

New (old) town! New job! Nothing can stop me now!

When I get back to Grandma Dolly’s, I flip the page in my bullet journal, and using my favorite assortment of colorful pens, I put my plans to paper … though my big dreams page remains a scribbled mess of ideas and inspiration. The Hollywood one didn’t quite work out as expected. Maybe I’ll get lucky like Cara and get my big break.

There’s nothing like hope … and Grandma Dolly’s cookies to keep me going.