Page 51 of Better Off Wed
Biting my bottom lip, I hesitated. My heart banged against my ribs. Henry had had thislookhe would give me when he thought I was being stupid. It was a condescending, pitying look that he’d cover up if I questioned it. Once, I’d found a bridal show and wanted to prepare a small collection to attend the convention. He’d systematically poked holes in my plan, asking me where I’d come up with the money to make the dresses, how I’d manage the risk of not selling anything, what I would do with the clients I already had, who were taking up all my time…
I ended up not going, and Henry patted me on the head and told me I’d made the right decision. It wasn’t until a few months after our breakup that I got angry about it. And this type of thing happened over and over and over again. I started questioning myself about whether or not I was hungry, or tired, or horny. He stripped away all my confidence to the point I didn’t know myself anymore.
So telling Gideon my ideas felt dangerous. He waited, and finally, I decided that I had to speak. After all, wasn’t he my sort-of husband? And if this marriage was going to work out, we’d need to have each other’s backs, even if we weren’treallyhusband and wife.
“I was thinking about The Pier,” I finally said. “It’s really nice. Like, surprisingly nice.”
Gideon hummed, nodding. We took an exit toward the city, and I watched the forests melt away to reveal more buildings. “Lots of wealthy folks have second homes up here,” he said, “away from the big cities.”
“Right.” Speaking quickly, I continued, “I thought maybe I could organize retreats. Or…I’ll come up with a name. But basically, brides would come with their entourage, stay at The Pier or another nice hotel, and I’d have a couple of days with them to do designs, fittings, whatever. They could visit the area—it’ssobeautiful—and make a trip out of it.”
Gideon’s brows jumped. I tensed, waiting for him to start poking holes in my idea. But when he spoke, he sounded genuinely curious. “You think people would go for that?”
“People spend crazy amounts of money on their weddings.”
That made him glance over. “Is that something you wanted?”
“To spend the equivalent of a house down payment on one event?” I asked, laughing.
He shrugged. “Yeah. The planning. All the little details. The—the romance.” He cleared his throat.
We pulled into the Walmart parking lot and he slid into a space. I stared at the big blue building and shrugged. “Once upon a time, maybe, yes. But by the time we got married, I was kind of just happy to get it over with.”
He looked at me then, and his expression was unreadable. Maybe a little sad. Maybe even heartbroken. For me? Or for himself? But he blinked, and I convinced myself I’d imagined it.We went into the store, and I bought all the cleaning supplies I needed. Then we went to the fabric store, and I got supplies for Lola’s dress.
We were back in Marswood Harbor by ten, and I went to work. Gideon set himself up at a table with a laptop while I cleaned, then disappeared to get us some sandwiches from the grocery store deli for lunch.
“You don’t have to stick around here,” I told him as we broke for lunch.
“Sadie,” he replied patiently, unwrapping his sandwich with methodical care. “Someone vandalized your cartwice. And no, I’m not letting you stay here on your own as bait,” he added, giving me a dark look.
His protectiveness sent a shiver of delight through me. I got back to work cleaning and organizing the space, and Gideon did whatever he was doing on the laptop. As I cleaned the wall of shelves, I asked, “Any news on Mr. Titty?”
“He’s gone quiet. Orthey’vegone quiet,” he said. “Not a single new tag in the last couple of days.”
“That’s unusual,” I said, and Gideon grunted in response.
We worked some more. By three o’clock, I was drenched in sweat and in desperate need of a shower. We went back to the cottage, took our turns in the bathroom, and then I told Gideon about my date with Caroline at Bertie’s.
“All right,” he said, and went to get his shoes.
“You don’t have to come.”
“Twice,” he grumbled, and I knew he was talking about my vandalized car. A warm glow kindled in my chest, and I allowed him to drive me to the bar.
Bertie’s was pumping. It was about halfway between Life’s a Stitch and Rock Bottom, a block off of Main Street. Lights spilled from the open door, and the sounds of a man shouting into a microphone were audible as soon as we got out of the car half a block away. Then music started, and the hum of conversation and laughter added to the noise. We stepped into a cozy room with wood pillars and matching paneling, a long bar to the right, and lots of high-top tables. The edges of the room were lined with booths.
Caroline sat at a table by the tiny stage in the back corner with two other people. She spotted me immediately and waved, then scowled when she spotted Gideon behind me.
“Really?” she asked with an arched brow. “What, he wouldn’t let you out of the house on your own?”
“Actually no,” I said, laughing. “But he has a good reason.”
Caroline pointed a finger at Gideon. “I’m only allowing this because of the matcha. You understand that, right?”
I frowned. “The matcha?”
“Nothing,” Gideon grumbled. He nodded at the two other people at the table.
