Approaching the table nearly overflowing with wrapped gifts, I deposit mine on it carefully. I’m already second-guessing it, but it’s too late now. I’d stayed up late finishing it for her and hope she appreciates it.
“Hollis!” Before I can turn and fully face the person who called my name, a petite woman with blue-streaked hair latches on to me.
Stephanie.
I laugh. “Good to see you.”
She leans back with a smile. “Hey, stranger.” Her eyes survey me. “You look all…” She struggles with how to finish. “Manly.”
I grin. “That so?”
“Do I need to worry about y’all?” a male voice interrupts. Up steps a guy with a friendly smile. He places a hand at the base of Stephanie’s back and offers his hand. “I’m Tommy. Nice to meet you.”
We exchange a brief handshake. “Hollis Barnes.”
His eyebrows rise. “Whoa. The Hollis Barnes?”
I’m at a loss at how to respond because I’ve never received this kind of reaction before.
“Yes, honey,” Stephanie answers for me. “The Hollis Barnes.”
I glance between them warily. “I’m afraid to ask why I’m not just Hollis Barnes.”
Tommy shakes his head with what appears to be awe. “I’m a huge fan of your work. I follow you guys on Instagram.”
Oh. Well, that changes things.
I nod. “I appreciate it.”
“Are you in town for long?” he asks.
“No.” I attempt an expression of remorse when, in truth, I can’t wait to get out of here. Being around Magnolia when she’s due to marry someone else is flat-out torture. “I’m fixin’ to head back tomorrow.”
We make small talk for a few minutes before Stephanie’s attention shifts to focus somewhere behind me to my right. It doesn’t dawn on me until the small hand rests on my arm. I turn and, fuck. She’s breathtaking. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she’ll be a gorgeous bride.
Seeing her now, in the sleeveless knee-length dress that brings out the blue in her eyes, it’s undeniable that she’s become a beautiful woman. Merely stopping for gas or grabbing a few toiletries from the local grocery store had me overhearing the locals chatter on about how “the Barton girl is fixin’ to take over city council and make things right.”
Everything’s falling into place for her, and I should be happy for her. No, I am happy for her.
I just wish with every molecule of my body that I could be the one by her side instead of Grant.
“Hey, man!” Her fiancé greets me with a warm smile and a handshake. “Glad you could make it.” He sobers, then leans in and offers, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s passin’.”
I nod. “Appreciate it.”
A lady I don’t recognize materializes beside Magnolia. “Your mother needs y’all at the front.”
“We’ll be right there,” Magnolia says. Then she turns to me. “Thanks so much for comin’.” She gives me a quick hug, one that has me closing my eyes to memorize the feel of it before she backs away, accepting Grant’s outstretched hand.
“Please don’t leave without sayin’ goodbye, okay?” Her eyes plead with mine, but before I can offer a noncommittal answer, someone else calls out to her, drawing her attention.
I back away and grab one of the offered glasses of champagne from a passing server. Grant and Magnolia are now at the front of the room, thanking everyone for coming. Then Grant begins retelling how the two of them met and fell in love. It takes all I have in me not to toss back my glass of champagne in one gulp.
When the awws and smattering of applause come at the end, I leave my unfinished champagne and sneak out the exit, unnoticed.
I feel like a fool for leaving that present. It’s juvenile and not sentimental like I’d originally thought.
I don’t wait until the morning. I think I had an inkling earlier, which is why my bag is already stowed in my truck, ready to go.
I hit the interstate in record time, and the pressure on my chest doesn’t ease until I pass over the Alabama-Georgia border, bringing me that much closer to Atlanta.
The text comes in within a few hours after I leave Fairhope, but I can’t bring myself to read it until two days later.
Shortcake: I wish you would’ve stayed so I could say goodbye to you. Thank you for the present. I love it, Hollis.
The selfie taken with the pink convertible model car isn’t what has me throwing myself even deeper into my work these days.
It’s the large, sparkling diamond ring on the hand holding the car I’d painstakingly painted Just Married: Grant and Magnolia Stevenson on the back bumper. On the hood, a small print version of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 glued to the surface. She sticks out her tongue playfully to show me what’s on it.
The cherry Pop Rocks from the packet I’d taped to the bottom of the car.
Magnolia
THREE MONTHS LATER
Wedding Day
Stephanie has gone above and beyond. She’s still proving that even now. After my hair and makeup were complete, she assisted me in getting into my dress. When I whisper to her that I need a quick moment alone, she jumps into action with no questions asked.
“Let’s give the lovely bride some air and a moment to herself.” She shoos everyone from the room, and to my amazement, she handles my mother with ease. “Mrs. Barton, I think the mayor was asking to speak with you, dying to know more about the caterers you hired.”
I stare sightlessly at my reflection in the mirror, my lips curving up at my friend’s blatant fib. But it works. Soon, the room is empty aside from the two of us.
She steps up behind me, and I focus on her reflection in the floor-length mirror. “Thank you,” I offer softly.
“Anytime.” She fusses with the ends of my veil one last time before she lets out a sigh. “God, you’re gorgeous.” With a quick squeeze of my hand, she disappears, closing the door quietly behind her.
Once I’m finally alone, I exhale loudly. My cell phone lies on the dresser, playing welcoming background music to all the chatter while I was restricted to the chair where the makeup artist and Michelle, the woman from the salon I frequent, had done their best work.
My childhood room no longer holds any of my belongings since everything’s been packed up and delivered to Grant’s house.
I gaze at my reflection, my eyes flicking over the sparkly headband with the attached veil cascading down my back. My hair is twisted in sections and weaved in an intricate style I could never manage to recreate on my own. My lips are a unique blush color I’ve never worn before.
I reach up to touch them and freeze when I catch sight of the man standing a few feet behind me.
“Hollis,” I breathe softly.
Hollis
I shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to. Much like those in twelve-step programs, I need to complete this final task.
When I sneak up to her childhood room, Stephanie slips out the door the instant I approach. She eyes me with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “She wanted a moment alone.”