Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “This is Alison Obermeyer from Bellissima Bridal returning your call. I’d be happy to chat with you about my business, and I’m available until five p.m. today. If that doesn’t work, I do have some mornings open this week. And if you’re in the area, feel free to pop in! Hope to talk soon.”
I returned her call, and she was so friendly and forthcoming with information, I found my spirits lifting even more.
“Best thing I ever did,” she said about leaving her job as an administrative assistant and opening the shop. “After my disappointing experience trying to find a wedding dress as a plus-sized woman, all I wanted to do was make sure no one ever felt that way again. Every bride deserves to feel beautiful, and I love that I get to play a role in that.”
“That’s what I want to do too,” I said. I told her about my background and my career, and about conversations I’d had with local brides who had struggled to find a dress that showed off everything they loved about their bodies. “Shopping for regular clothes is hard enough, not to mention dealing with critical mothers or fat-shaming doctors or tiny airplane seats or any of the other ways bigger women can be made to feel bad about their bodies. Finding the perfect wedding dress should make a woman feel celebrated, not humiliated.”
“Exactly,” said Alison. “And I know we’ve only been talking for thirty minutes and I already forgot your last name, but I think you should go for it—open that shop. I’m here to answer any questions and give advice if I can.”
I laughed. “Thank you so much. I’d love to come see your salon.”
“Please do! We’re open Tuesday through Saturday, but if a Sunday or Monday is best for you, just let me know. I’m usually there on my off days too.”
“I’m going to check my schedule and see what this week looks like,” I said. “I’m so excited, I’d like to come down right away.”
Alison laughed. “Do it. Sometimes a dream won’t wait.”
After rearranging a few meetings, I booked a hotel room in Detroit for Wednesday night and made the drive down that afternoon. I met a friend from college for dinner in Corktown and went back to my room around nine, got ready for bed, and slid between the sheets. I’d just turned on my Kindle when my phone vibrated with a text.
I glanced at it and gasped—it was a message from Zach.
Guess what I’m doing?
My heart hammered as I picked up my phone and studied it. There had been no word from him since he’d left my house Monday morning. Not that I’d expected him to reach out—in fact, I sort of figured he wouldn’t. I almost hoped he wouldn’t. How else was I going to get him out of my head?
But I replied to his text.
What?
Watching Antiques Roadshow.
I laughed out loud as I typed.
Really?
My phone hummed. He was calling me.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I considered not taking the call, but then decided I would. We could practice being friends.
“I thought you deleted my number,” I said instead of hello.
“I did. Turns out, you can undo that move.” He sounded all stuffed up.
“Uh oh. Are you sick?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just a cold. Probably picked it up on the plane home—the guy next to me was coughing the entire flight. Hang on.” He sneezed three times in a row. Loud.
I laughed. “You sound demonic when you sneeze.”
“I know.” He blew his nose. “Jackson sent me home from work because he couldn’t stand the racket.”
“Awww. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just bored. I hate sitting still.”
“So you decided to try a little Antiques Roadshow?”
“I was channel surfing and came across it. I thought of you.”
“And?”
“And now I can’t turn it off. This lady found the creepiest fucking doll I’ve ever seen in some dilapidated barn on her family’s property. This doll literally looks like it’s about to murder you. Turns out it’s from 1880, and it’s worth like twelve grand.”
“Haha! Told you!”
“The guy before her had this helmet worn by his great uncle, a Naval officer during World War II who was in charge at Utah Beach on D-Day. He saw it on a table when he was a kid at his grandma’s house. She was using it as a flowerpot.”
“Stop it.”
“It had dirt in it!”
“What did it turn out to be worth?”
“Forty grand.”
I gasped. “Wow. Really?”
“Oh, yeah. D-Day stuff is always valuable.”
“Are you into military history?”
“A little. I like the World War II stuff. When I was a kid, my grandpa would tell me about when he was in the Navy at that time. He wasn’t at Normandy or anything, but he still had good stories.”
“Did you write them down?”
“No. But I should.”