Taking the Leap (River Rain 3)

Proving this fact, I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what emoji to use to counter his smirk before I gave up, sent nothing and just drove down to work.

Tuesday was about moving furniture and boxes, unpacking, setting up computers and a half an hour phone tutorial, so the day was busy and the only tortuous part of it was that Judge took the entire team out to lunch, Rix sat beside me, and his knee touched mine the whole time.

Because of that, I could barely concentrate, I had no clue how I even ordered and consumed my food. All I could think about was his knee touching mine. And it only got worse when I’d eventually glazed over, thinking about said knee, he’d elbowed me, I’d looked up at him, and the instant I did, an expression came over his face that I was relatively certain scorched off my eyebrows, it was so hot.

“What?” I’d asked quietly, mesmerized by the look on his face.

He took a second, and that second included his eyes (that, incidentally, looked from afar like they were brown, but up close, I noted they were actually caramel), dipped to my mouth before they returned to my eyes, and he asked, “You want dessert?”

I wanted to devour a vat of caramel.

I thought this, staring into his eyes.

I continued thinking it until Kevin offered, “We can get a menu so you can see what they have.”

I tore my gaze off Rix’s face, felt my own flame, and avoided looking directly at Kevin or Judge (even so, I still noted Kevin staring at me closely, and Judge’s gaze pinging back and forth between Rix and me), and I belatedly noticed the waitress standing there.

“No dessert, thank you,” I said to her, humiliatingly throatily.

“Jesus,” Rix muttered, now staring at the table and shifting in his seat, which made his knee brush against mine.

I tilted both legs to the other side, something I should have done forty-five minutes earlier, I just couldn’t concentrate enough to think of moving them.

I escaped the offices the minute I could that evening, coming home to a big box propped against my front door (which, by the by, was located at the side of the house).

My bridesmaid dress.

With trepidation, and fortified by a glass of hearty red, I opened the box to feel the only relief I felt that day.

The dress was a pretty blush silk with tulle overlay, floor-length skirt with a slit to just above the knee. It had a slender ribbon belt that tied in a bow at the front, and it was off the shoulder with to-the-elbow sheer sleeves. The entire thing was covered in rose-gold embroidery of leaves and flowers, with dimensional blooms drifting from it all over the gown, but these were very thick around the bottom of the skirt.

It was airy, romantic, would be fitted, but not tight, not at all revealing, I knew I’d be comfortable wearing that style, and it had the price tag still attached.

Which was one thousand, four hundred dollars.

The good news was, the company who made it had such skewed sizing, a size sixteen was actually more like a twelve, so it was a bit big, but a nip here, a tuck there, and it’d fit great.

The bad news (outside the price tag for a dress I would wear once) was there was so much embroidery and so many blooms tacked on, it would take a very skilled seamstress to make those nips and tucks, which would likely cost another small fortune.

But at least it wasn’t a tent on me.

After trying it on, I took a selfie and texted it to my best girls, Katie and Gal.

Katie, who worked on a ranch north of town as a ranch hand, and who, when she wasn’t in Lee jeans, musty old tees and trucker hats, was the girliest girl I’d ever met (outside my sister…and Chloe), gave her stamp of approval with, OMG! It doesn’t make me want to hurl!

Gal, who operated her own dog training and daycare center, who further had a year-round tan because she was outside more than me, and who once set fire in a barrel in her backyard to a Christmas present her mother sent her (it was a sweater dress, and that was half about her mother being a constant pain in her behind, and half about the dress, an item of apparel she hadn’t worn since she’d learned to successfully throw a tantrum in second grade), was less impressed.

Her text was, I have to change my shirt because I just threw up all over myself.

I decided not to share its cost. Gal’s business did okay, but Katie was far from rolling in it. They knew my situation, but they’d be seriously ticked Blake spent fourteen hundred of my dollars.