35. Scarlet

THIRTY-FIVE

SCARLET

Resting my head on my dad's shoulder as he pays, I hum, "Thank you; I needed that after this morning."

"Anytime, Princess," he says, kissing the top of my head. "But this isn't what I had planned for you."

"It's not?"

Handing the signed copy of our receipt to one of the nail techs who did our pedicures and manicures after hours of frenetic shopping—murmuring, "Happy Holidays," as her eyes go comically wide upon catching a glimpse of the added gratuity—he slings his arm around my shoulder and walks us out of the spa, confirming, "Nope," as he directs us not towards my car but further down the picturesque cobblestone street of the Knoxville suburb he brought us to.

The storefronts of the charming town are already decorated in their festive best. Some have snowy, woodland scenes, others have presents under trees, and more still simply evoking the joy and spirit of the holidays with carefully selected color pallets. The lamp posts made to look like gas lanterns that line the street alternate between massive velvet bows and giant hanging ornaments. And in the center of the quaint town square, the previously bare trees are dressed as well with candy cane colored lights while instrumental Christmas music lilts from hidden speakers.

"This way," he guides, hand at my back as he pushes me ahead of him and changes from my left side to my right so he remains between me and the street once we cross. After checking his phone and the next shop number we pass, he murmurs, "Almost." Then stopping in front of a bright white brick storefront with robin's egg colored doors and looping script on the glass proclaiming it Ever After Bridal, he comments, "It would seem you're in need of a new dress."

Lured to the window where a mannequin wears a dress with a dagger-like plunging neckline and full skirt in pearlescent white, I quietly ask, "Am I allowed?" as if speaking too loudly will see me banished from the store before we even enter.

"You do have the golden ticket," he responds, lifting my left hand to remind me of Remington's ring on my finger.

"But what about an appointment? On TV?—"

"I made one on Wednesday."

Finally looking away from the rack of blush colored dresses I can just barely make out beyond the boutique's display window, I ask, "You did?"

"Yeah. I kind of assumed with the expediency of the proposal y'all would want to marry before Spring Training. I mean we can make a mid-season wedding work; it'll be a logistics nightmare, but with enough money and a decent planner we can pull it off.

"I figure Knox'll start for a series and we'll call Quintin up from the farm as backup so you two can have a quick honeymoon. With your program, the earliest we could do that would maybe be late May, but if we hit the ground running between now and February we could knock out?—"

"No," I interrupt. "The sooner the better. All I need is a dress."

"Are you sure? Boomer's already talking about a home plate ceremony."

"Definitely not," I laugh. "But yeah, I'm sure. Remi and I already talked about it. We don't want to wait. I don't want to plan anything; I just want a dress."

"Then let's find you a dress."

Little bells jingle above the door when we walk in, announcing our presence to the shop associates. In answer, a statuesque woman comes out to greet us with a broad smile—her appearance commanding attention as she stands out amongst the light walls, light floors, light furniture, and rows and rows of white dresses. Briefly introducing myself, I let my dad inform her of our appointment slot and my expeditious needs. Meanwhile, my gaze searches out the swaths of taffeta, organza, satin, and lace gowns, all with splashes of delicate blush pink coloring I saw from outside.

Spotting the section of pink gowns and following their call, I start to make way onto the sales floor when the woman, Stacey I believe she said her name was, asks, "Do you have any inspiration photos or materials you like? Maybe a favored silhouette? Given your time constraint, you'll be limited to the samples we currently have, but I have no doubt we can find you the perfect dress for your I Dos."

"I've never really given it much thought," I reply candidly. "Definitely pink, though I could be open to white for the right dress."

Pointing at my shirt as I unwind my scarf, she probes, "What about a princess style or maybe something Bohemian?"

"Um… maybe. I honestly don't know. I just know I want feminine, soft, not overly trendy. More classic and timeless but not boring." Then glancing at the dresses again, I ask, "Is it okay if I just go look?"

"Of course!" she answers brightly. "Will your fiancé be joining us, or will you be going the traditional route of, ‘It's bad luck to see the bride's dress ahead of the wedding?'"

Already on my way to the dresses, my mind zeroing in on the hunt at hand, I stop and turn back to the shop's entry, stretching up on my toes in case I somehow missed Remington's tall frame amongst all the frills, commenting, "You could say our line of work makes us a rather superstitious bunch so no, he won't be seeing it beforehand. Where is he…?" When the only man I can see remains to be my dad, I slowly respond, "He's not here," and it slowly dawns on me that she's not talking about Remi.

Eyes wide, I shrilly shout, "Oh my God, no! He's my dad !" at the same time he identifies, "Dad, I'm her dad. Not the fiancé. Dad, father, giver of life."

Hand to her chest, cheeks rapidly going from a creamy ivory to pink to red, Stacey profusely apologizes, "I am so sorry. I just assumed. We don't often get a lot of fathers coming in to shop with their daughters and when we do, they certainly don't look like you." With elegant fingers stretching across her pinched forehead, she swears, "I'm usually much more professional than this," her earlier bubbly presence zapped.

"Um, thank you?" my dad asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks towards the ceiling.

Wanting to erase the moment from my mind with industrial grade bleach, I say, "So dresses?"

"Right this way!" Stacey jumps, clearly as eager as I am to pretend this didn't just happen. Walking us over to a cozy corner with two arm chairs positioned around a small dais and a tri-folded mirror lining the wall, she offers, "You can leave your coats here while we search. Colt, if you wish, you can take a seat or dive into the fray with us."

Already pulling off his leather jacket and unzipping his hoodie, he stretches his neck from side to side and cracks his knuckles while jumping in place as if he's psyching up to take the mound.

"Oh, I'm coming. We're gonna need all hands on deck in order to find the dress. "

"You're really into this."

"Certified girl dad since ‘03," he answers. "I can braid hair, paint nails, marathon romcoms, and shop ‘til I drop with the best of ‘em.

"Now the grand slam of dresses would be pink, tulle or tulle-like, shimmer or some sort of sparkle, and either strapless or off the shoulder." Stopping his warm up, he claps his hands together and in full skipper mode, says, "Now, let's do the damn thing," leaving Stacey and I both behind as he stalks off for the first collection of pink wedding dresses like a predator with its prey locked in sight.

Four dresses. That was all it took. And had I started with the single dress my dad pulled for me, it would have been a one and done situation. But he had insisted I try on the ones Stacey and I pulled before his because he didn't want me to feel obligated toward his selection.

Even off the rack, its fit is amazing. The bodice cupping and molding to my body as if the dress had been expertly crafted and tailored specifically for me. The drop and flow of the skirt, light and movable while remaining voluminous and structured. And the color… he found the one dress in the whole showroom that is a dead ringer for my favorite shade of pink.

Standing in front of a wall covered in white silk flowers, my dad holds our two champagne flutes in one hand. His other is draped over my shoulder and his head is tucked down to mine as he kisses my crown, hiding his red rimmed eyes. In my own, I hold up my gown, safely ensconced inside a viewless dress bag, smiling from ear to ear.

Shifting ever so slightly, Stacey takes several more pictures before slowly pronouncing, "That should do it," handing our phones back to us. "Tell me what you think."

"Perfect; thank you," we say, parroting each other. "And thanks for all your help," I add.

"Colt did all the work. I merely supplied the merchandise and manned the zippers and trains."

After another small round of thanks and chit chat, we're back out on the street, my dad taking over carrying my dress for me as we head to my car.

While we were inside, winter seemed to have come and ferociously pushed fall out of the way. Overhead, dark, heavy clouds loom, banishing the sun and making an overcast sky. The wind has gone from crisp and refreshing to sharp and biting, drawing the people still out quickly into the safety of their cars or the stores and restaurants. And they have the right idea because only two doors down from Ever After Bridal, the skies open up, enhancing the wind's blistering sting with knife-like droplets of rain that slice through the atmosphere to make landfall on my skin like paper cuts.

Still, the literal rain that falls around me can't dampen my parade. I'm filled to bursting with buoyant, uncontainable giddiness. My heart is huge and warm as my mind flits between imaginations of how Remington will react when he sees me in my dress. Sees me as his bride. It's that word—bride, Remington's bride—as it wraps around me that has my feet taking up a mind of their own, leading me to begin dancing to a romantic, lilting melody only I can hear.

I'm floating on air as I twirl with my arms out wide, my laughter mingling with the rain as I smile up at the clouds. It's complete, undeniable, wholly fulfilled happiness that I feel. A happiness that more and more becomes my norm thanks to Remi's love.

It's the hopeful sort of happiness I felt when I kissed him for the first time. The dreamy kind of happiness that came when he slipped and said he loved me. An all consuming happiness like when we shared our first date and he proposed. The addicting, intoxicating, body shattering happiness that comes when we make love.

It's a life changing happiness. One I never thought to even try to find. Was too afraid to try for, until him.

Unable to help myself, I announce, "I'm getting married!" twirling again, my hair sticking to my face. And once it's out there, it's like a burst dam. I can't stop the words even if I wanted to as I repeat, "I'm getting married!" running up to my dad and kissing his cheek, laughing from the overflow of excitement.

Then, pulling out my phone, I tap on Remi's name and wait for him to answer my FaceTime call as my dad opens my car door before getting my dress safely inside.

"Hey, Scar; how's it goin'?"

Not even the sight of him shirtless with Winnie napping between his legs as they're stretched out on the couch—something that usually stops me dead as my imagination runs away with ideas of him laying like that with our baby on his chest—can deter me as I rush out, "Go online and file for a marriage license. We'll meet you at whatever clerk office is open today to sign the paperwork," in lieu of returning his greeting. "I have a dress."

"You have a dress?" he confirms, sitting up, his relaxed demeanor melting away as his eyes become as alight as mine no doubt are.

Turning the camera around, I show him the dress bag laying across all the other shopping my dad and I did today.

"See?"

"And you want?—"

"To get married tomorrow evening. My dad, Roman, and even Reeves are already here and I now have a dress. Except for you showing up and saying ‘I do,' that's all I need for it to be my dream wedding day."

"Then tomorrow evening I'm changing your last name, baby girl."

"Or maybe I'll change yours," I wink, blowing the camera a kiss. "Either way, enjoy your last night of being a bachelor, Remi."

With a look that could melt my phone right along with my panties, he responds, "I plan to," a pillow smacking over his face as Roman shouts, "Keep it in your damn pants, fucker!" startling Winnie off the couch as the two devolve into play fighting.

Picking up the phone, Reeves's face comes into view as he says, "You and Colt drive safe, Sugar. I gotta go ref the death match happening in the livin' room."

Plugging my phone in and dropping it in the cup holder, I look at my dad and ask, "You think they'll be alright?"

"If not, we can have your wedding pictures photoshopped," he whispers, before saying into his phone, "Hey, Boomer, guess what? Scarlet's getting married… Yeah, married…" Holding up his finger to me as he chuckles, he continues, "No, I'm not, but that's how it goes I guess… Yeah they will…".

"So listen, it's actually happening tomorrow out here in Gatlinburg… I know it's fast… Well yeah, she still has a semester of school to focus on. Plus with how long and grueling the season can get… Exactly!

"No yeah, I remember; that's actually why I called." Giving me a thumbs up, he confirms, "She is…? Y'all will…? Perfect, man. I owe you and Marcia about a dozen more for this.

"Neither was I… Yeah, yeah, see ya tomorrow, Boomer… I will… Bye."

Hanging up, he proudly announces, "And now you have a photographer. Also, Marcia and Bommer say, ‘Best wishes.'"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I clap, leaning over the console to hug my dad. "You're the best."

"I try," he winks, pulling us out onto the street while tapping at my car's screen. "Now, what is our father/daughter song going to be?"