Our Bridal Shop

Chapter 19 - Charlotte

Right about the time Rachel Lee Copeland, Hollywood A-lister, arrived via black-tinted SUV, driven by a guy in dress clothes and sunglasses, Charlotte's plans for the perfect final fitting went to pot.

Even dressed down, the woman was impossibly beautiful. Her peach skin was otherworldly in tone and luster. Locks that had been meticulously colored for optimum highlights of her cheekbones were pulled back in an exquisite messy twist. She moved inside her high-end clothes like she had in the final train station scene of her blockbuster romantic comedy, Shorten The Road, when she realized that Ian Vanderbilts's character loved her and gave up his family's legacy to slum out a life of impoverished bliss with her in the Irish countryside.

Julia squealed and made a production of Rachel's arrival. The history between the two was palpable. Julia clutched Rachel's wrist and dragged her around for introductions.

"This is Charlotte," said Julia. "I feel like I've known her forever. She takes care of us like this is her home and I'm the most important bride on earth."

Rachel extended her hand. "I've heard so much about you. It's a pleasure."

Which was right about the time Nash crashed through the front door and hollered, "Damn it, Charlotte. We lost nearly every chicken to a coyote last night because you didn't fix the gate."

He wore his cowboy hat and work clothes—patches, dirty butt, and all—and smelled like the second coming of the apocalypse after hellfire had scorched the land and all the feces in its wake. His muddy boots left a clod trail across the shop's wire-brushed hardwood she had treated the night before.

Every voice in the shop quieted. Well, everyone but Niles Demarco crooning through the speakers about one and only loves. Rachel slapped on her best turning-point scene look, no acting required. Her hand sagged back to her side. She clutched her purse a little tighter.

Had Jonah installed the trapdoor like Charlotte had joked about—the one for brides when too many opinions crowded out her voice—Charlotte would have activated it, wiggled free of the foundation, and sprinted down Second Street, carrying on like she couldn't in polite company. As it was, she was on the brink of frying up some testicles with a composed verbal lashing. Instead, she opted for dragging her husband by his stinky sleeve behind the register—the best she could do because, damn it all, Alex had locked herself in the office all day, not answering Charlotte's repeated requests to open up.

"You can't just crash in here, steaming like a rhino's hot ass, while there are customers." Half yell, half whisper, Charlotte's take-down sounded like it pushed past the strained throat of someone afflicted with laryngitis. "Sadie said she'd take care of it before school."

"She tied a shoelace around the latch. You can't expect a fifteen-year-old to know a coyote can chew through that in one bite. Bottom line, you said you'd do it."

"I was busy."

"You're always busy." He glanced around for the first time since he'd entered.

Charlotte could only imagine what was poking through that countrified sensibility of his. Champagne glasses and gussied up females and Beyoncé—a recent add to her playlist, thanks to Freesia—hardly constituted busy.

"I need you back at the farm now. I have to go to Lavery to get a part for the tractor and there's hen carcasses everywhere."

"I can't just up and leave, Nash."

"Isn't that what you got help for. I've tried to be understanding, but I haven't seen you in days. I agreed with Alex, to let this damned place go, sell it and get some cash to fix up that old barn we'd talked about, but I took your side because it was important to you. But this...this isn't what I signed up for, Char."