Everything But You: Newberry Springs Book 3 (Newberry Springs Series), page 7
“It’s timeless. There’s nothing wrong with a princess-style ballgown,” I counter, even though the bottom of this dress makes me feel like I’m wearing a cupcake.
“Oh, I know. It just doesn’t seem very . . . you.” She steps closer and adjusts my veil from the back. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m sure Brock will be in tears as you walk down the aisle toward him.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter as that dread fills my stomach again. I keep telling myself it’s normal to feel jittery, but the closer I get to walking down the aisle of the church—not my choice, either—the more I find myself asking for a sign that I’m making the right decision.
Here I am, in my freaking wedding dress for crying out loud, about to marry a man who loves me, and I can’t stop thinking about Forrest.
It’s been two weeks, and with each passing day, memories of our past rush in like a hurricane—feeling so consumed by him that I never wanted us to be apart, helping his mother cook in the kitchen after a long day of riding horses on the ranch, watching movies with his brothers in the living room, and daydreaming of the family I always thought I would marry into.
Why do these thoughts have to be so strong right now?
Our conversation from the other night has also been on constant replay in my head—reminiscing about how crazy we were about each other, the look on his face when he realized I was engaged, the ache in my heart when I watched him walk away for a second time, although I’m the one who pushed him to walk away in the first place.
“Shauna?” my mother calls out as she knocks but doesn’t wait for permission to enter, not that she hasn’t seen me already. “The church is filling up. I talked to the coordinator, and she said we are right on schedule to start just fifteen minutes late, like you wanted.”
Erin is one of the associates I work with at Ember & Stone Events, and I knew I could trust no one else to make sure my own wedding ran smoothly since I wouldn’t be able to do that myself.
“Oh. Okay. Good.” I hold my hand over my stomach, wondering if I should try to use the bathroom one more time. Or maybe I need to go outside and get some fresh air.
My mother places her clasped hands over her lips as tears well in her eyes. “I still can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” She drops her hands and walks toward me, reaching out to grasp mine. “I’m so proud of you, so honored to be your mother.”
“Oh, Mom . . .”
“It’s true. You’ve grown into such a successful woman, so confident, so headstrong, so sure of what she wants. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, for you to prove that you could have everything you’ve ever wanted in life.”
But do I really have that?
“And to think, you could have ended up in that small town . . .”
With Forrest.
“I love you, Mom.” I lean forward and kiss her on the cheek as she swipes a tear out from under her eye.
“I love you, too, Shauna. And I love Brock. He’s a good man. He accepts you, appreciates you, and he wants the same things you do.”
He does accept me, shows me love and affection, and treats me with respect. But is that enough? He doesn’t get my blood pumping, he doesn’t challenge me, he doesn’t make me feel alive like someone else once did.
“He is a good man,” I reply instead, knowing there’s no way I can voice my concerns now. It’s too late. The dress is on, the church is filling up, and in a few moments, I’m going to be Mrs. Brock Robertson. That’s what I wanted, right?
My mother waves her hands in front of her face, trying to dry her tears and prevent more from falling. “Okay. I’m going to go out there one more time and make sure everything is ready.”
“Okay, Mom.”
I watch her leave and then turn back to the mirror, adjusting my veil behind my head over my bun. I wanted to wear my hair down, but my mother insisted an updo would be more appropriate.
“You ready for this?” Willow asks as she takes a step toward me now. She stood by in the corner, allowing my mother and me our moment, but now she’s back in maid-of-honor mode. It’s the same look she has when she’s running her million-dollar business.
“Yes,” I reply on a shaky breath.
“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” she teases, bumping her shoulder against mine.
“I know.”
“You swore off men for so long in college, I just assumed you’d become a workaholic like me. But then along came Brock.” Willow moved back to Washington, D.C. after college to start her own advertising agency and be closer to her godparents. Over the past twelve years, she’s fostered the growth of her firm, Marshall Advertising, and is now a multi-millionaire who dedicates most of her time to her job. I’ve rarely seen her date, either, so we naturally gravitated toward each other while we were in college. After she moved, every few months, we’d take turns visiting one another, basking in our single-girl lives until I met Brock shortly after my father died.
No one was as shocked as Willow that I began dating him since I avoided relationships for years—because how does a girl move on from a man like Forrest? But she was actually the one who encouraged me to give Brock a shot when I told her about him, and now here we are.
“You guys will be happy together,” she continues, rubbing my shoulder. But when she sees my face in the mirror, her brow furrows. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie.
“You sure? You look kinda pale.”
“I’m just hot. This dress has a lot of layers.” I fluff the fabric of the skirt, knowing it won’t help because that’s not the problem. But I don’t dare cast doubt thoughtlessly.
“Want me to get you some water?”
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” The room was only stocked with champagne today, and one glass was enough for me. Not sure more alcohol is the best decision right now.
She pats my arm. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I hear the door shut and then move to the window, staring out at the grounds as I watch people slowly stride toward the church, most of whom I don’t even know. Brock’s family is well-known around Vegas, so our guest list grew by the hundreds rather quickly once our engagement was announced.
I always imagined a small wedding, just family and a few close friends, outside, in a field . . .
Or a barn . . .
The door opens behind me as I continue to gaze out the window thinking about a life that could have been. But when I hear the voice of the person who enters, my knees nearly buckle as I try to convince myself I’m dreaming.
“Shauna . . .”
Spinning so fast I almost fall over, I brace myself on the window frame behind me as I face the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head for weeks—years, really.
“Forrest? What . . . what are you doing here?”
He’s dressed in jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and Ariat boots—the same outfit he was wearing in Vegas that still doesn’t fail to make my entire body warm up just at the sight of him. He’s the quintessential cowboy and always has been.
All he’s missing right now is the hat.
His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, but his presence is still as overpowering as ever. I’m frozen in place by his stare.
His eyes drop down my body as he takes in my dress, the pinch in his brow almost alarming. But when our eyes meet again, he takes a step closer to me, and suddenly all of the oxygen is sucked out of the room. “I need to speak with you.”
“Now? I’m, uh . . . I’m kind of busy.”
“I know, and I know that the timing of this isn’t ideal, but if I don’t say something right now before it’s too late, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I’m tired of regretting shit. I’m tired of missing you, too, Shauna.” His voice sounds much steadier after that speech.
“Oh my God . . .” My heart is pounding so violently, I definitely feel like I might pass out. But I can’t deny that I want to hear what he has to say.
“Running into you two weeks ago was fate. I have to believe that.” He takes a step closer, the smell of his cologne hitting me with a force that is borderline hypnotizing. “Did you feel what I felt that night? Did you feel like part of your heart snapped back into place when we spoke?” He reaches for my hand and begins to rub the top of it with his thumb.
Heat blooms in my veins.
Yes, I felt it. “I’m . . . I’m about to get married, Forrest.”
“But you’re not yet, Shauna. You haven’t said ‘I do.’”
Shit. I can’t handle this. I can’t stand here and let him make my mind spin.
Your mind was already spinning, Shauna. And this man and how you feel about him were the main cause of that.
“And I know I told you all those years ago that I would never ask you to choose between me and another man, but I guess I lied—because that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m asking you to choose me.”
I’m going to pass out.
He said that.
He actually just told me not to marry Brock.
“Forrest . . . you—you need to go.” I pull my hand back, much to his dismay, but he stays right where he’s standing.
Swallowing roughly, he nods once but then bends his knees so we’re looking at each other eye to eye. “I will, but only if you can tell me that he’s the love of your life, that when he touches you, you feel like your body comes alive and the adrenaline that courses through you is powerful enough to catapult you off a cliff because it makes you believe you can fly. That’s what my love for you made me feel—and still does, Shauna. And I know we can find that again if you just give us a chance.” He trails a finger down my cheek. “Tell me you don’t still have feelings for me.”
“I . . .” Our eyes are locked on each other’s, but I don’t get a chance to finish that sentence because Willow returns at that very moment, interrupting his declaration and reminding me of my impending nuptials, of where I am.
I’m here in the present, on my wedding day, not back in the past—even though my past is standing right in front of me.
“Oh. Sorry. I, uh . . . didn’t realize you had company.” Her eyes jump back and forth between me and Forrest, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head.
Forrest turns around and smiles at Willow. “It’s okay. I said what I needed to say.” With one more glance at me, he says, “Think about it, Shauna.” And then he leaves, tugging on my heart strings as he does.
Willow softly shuts the door behind her and then hands me the glass of water she went to find. I down it in one fell swoop. “Um, who the hell was that?”
I smack my lips together when I’m done drinking and stare at the door before replying, “That was Forrest.”
Willow’s eyes double in size. “Holy shit. The Forrest?”
Of course I told Willow about the boy from my past I pushed away to establish a relationship with my father. But she’s never seen him in real life, so I understand her shock right now.
“Uh, yup.”
“Oh my God. What the hell is he doing here?”
“I . . . uh . . .”
A knock on the door interrupts me. “It’s time!” my mother croons as she prances inside the room, oblivious to the emotional turmoil I’m currently going through.
Willow’s eyes dart to me as if asking me what happens next. But I don’t answer her. I can’t even find any words to speak at the moment.
This is what shock must feel like.
Mom grabs my bouquet, adjusts the roses, and hands it to me. “Let’s go make you Mrs. Brock Robertson, baby.”
Pasting on a smile, I take the bouquet from her and weave my hand through hers, even though my gut is telling me this is all wrong.
I miss my dad. I wish he were here to walk me down the aisle.
But part of me feels like the man I’m walking toward is all wrong, too.
Willow fluffs out the back of my dress as Erin holds the door to the bridal suite open wide enough that I can fit through. “You look gorgeous, Shauna,” Erin says as I plaster on the best smile I can manage at the moment.
“Thank you,” I whisper, trying not to open my mouth too wide for fear of throwing up.
I can’t believe Forrest came all this way to say those words to me—although, this isn’t the first time he’s done that, so I shouldn’t be so surprised, should I?
You’re the one who asked for a sign, Shauna. And well, I think you just got it.
I follow my mother’s lead to the chapel doors as my pulse grows louder in my ears.
“Mom?” I whisper, trying to get her attention, but she’s listening to the directions that Erin is giving her, oblivious to me.
The bridal march starts, and suddenly, the heavy wooden doors float open and a sea of people greets my eyes. I don’t have time to look for Forrest and see if he’s still there because my mother takes a step forward. My feet follow her on instinct.
Hundreds of people smile and nod at me as I walk past, but I don’t even know if I’m smiling in return. My body is vibrating with nerves, there’s a lump in my throat that feels like a softball, and when my eyes land on Brock at the end of the aisle, the look he’s giving me tells me what my heart already knew.
I can’t do this.
He doesn’t deserve a woman who has any doubts about marrying him. And right now, I have plenty.
Unfortunately, I end up right before him far too quickly, taking his hand as my mother gives me away. I have no idea what to say, what to do, and then the preacher starts speaking.
“We are gathered here today to join these two in holy matrimony,” he starts just as the sound of a side door closing rings out. Everyone turns toward the sound, myself included, but there’s no one there. Whoever left did so in a hurry.
Murmurs echo through the space, but the preacher redirects everyone’s attention to us once again.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes.” He points down at the book in front of him as my stomach twists in knots. And then he says the words that have me leaning forward, anxious to know what happens next, as if I’m not the one in control of the moment I’m standing in.
“Marriage is not a vow that should be taken lightly, but with love and support, these two can make it through. However, if anyone here has just cause why these two should not be married, please speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
Little did I know, the voice that would speak up would be mine.
CHAPTER FIVE
Forrest
Six Weeks Later
“I can’t believe it’s already November,” Kelsea says as she moves around Momma in the kitchen. The two of them are doing their normal dance like a well-oiled machine, and I’m watching them from my seat on the other side of the counter, wishing there was whiskey in my coffee.
“I know. And Kaydence is going to be one next month,” Evelyn adds, bouncing her daughter in her arms as she stands to the right of me.
“Are you gonna plan a party?” my mother asks, and I instantly groan. A kids’ birthday party? Just what I want to do with my life right now.
Better than what you’ve been doing for the past month and a half . . . which is a whole lot of sulking.
Evelyn grabs a biscuit from the basket on the counter and starts feeding small chucks of it to her daughter. “I’m not sure yet.”
The three of them start sounding like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoon as I remind myself why I’m even less enthusiastic about life than normal.
Leaving Vegas empty-handed six weeks ago was the definition of rock bottom for me. I really thought that by showing up at Shauna’s wedding, I’d convince her that what I felt that night two months ago wasn’t all in my head and that she was still in love with me like I still am with her.
But I guess that kind of shit only happens in the movies and books, right? The guy pleads with the girl for one last chance just as she’s about to marry someone else, and then she runs off with him and they live happily ever after . . .
Fuck. Is it too early to start drinking?
Since it’s nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, I’m going to say yes. However, given my life lately, I think God might understand and give me a hall pass.
“You have to throw her a party,” Kelsea continues. “The poor girl has a birthday close to Christmas and will have to deal with that fact for the rest of her life. She deserves her own day.”
“She’s one,” I mutter, but my mother catches it.
“Doesn’t matter. My first grandbaby is having a birthday, and we’re going to celebrate it.” She glares across the counter at me, sliding the basket of freshly made biscuits in my direction. “Sounds like you didn’t eat this morning. Take one.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Take a biscuit, Forrest. Maybe some food will turn that frown of yours upside down,” she says through clenched teeth, her words laced with that southern drawl that makes her sound a lot sweeter than she intends to be.
And since I respect my mother and she makes the best biscuits this side of the Mississippi, I oblige her and bite off a huge hunk of one.
“That’s better.” She winks at me and goes back to stirring the pot of jam on the counter as Kelsea lines up the jars to be filled.
Each week, the two of them make batches of homemade jam to sell at the farmers market along with spice blends and homemade sauces fresh from my mother’s kitchen. It’s part of the Gibson Ranch brand, and presenting our ranch and bed and breakfast in town each week helps to cement our name in the community and draw in new customers.
“Now, back to the holidays. Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, and you girls know how I wanted to put on a Winter Wonderland Festival this year?” Momma says, lifting the pot as she begins to fill jars. Kelsea holds a funnel in each one, seamlessly proceeding down the line with my mom.
“But what about Sheila? I thought she quit?” Evelyn asks as she watches Kelsea and Momma. Sheila was the event coordinator who’s worked at the ranch for the past ten years, but she recently moved to Florida to be closer to her mother whose health has been declining over the last year.
