20. Jude

TWENTY

JUDE

I assumed I'd be nervous. I hadn't dressed up in a suit and tie in years. In fact, I'd had to run out to buy a new one yesterday since the one I had in the closet had been a tad bit tight when I'd tried it on. Any other time, I probably would've asked Brooke to come along with me, but she'd been wrapped up with the rehearsal and dinner, so it was only me and the salesguy, Ron. I'd put all my trust in him.

Consequently, here I was, knocking on my best friend's door with the intent to take her to a wedding after we'd all but confessed our feelings to each other, in a brand new "pistachio"-colored suit, and I was totally chill.

A moment later, Brooke opened the door, and my breath caught in my throat. She grinned, brushing strands of soft brown hair away from her cheek. "Hi."

"You look…" I allowed my gaze to wander over her face with her adorably crooked smile and chocolate-drop eyes, down her throat to the thin gold chain and single diamond, and even farther, over the pretty floral dress she wore that swayed back and forth with each of her movements. "You're beautiful. "

"Thank you." She gestured me in. "You're not so bad yourself."

I tugged on the lapels of the suit jacket then smoothed my hand down my shirt, finding it to be a good omen that I'd decided to go with the patterned shirt with the fine floral print, so we matched. "Ron, the salesguy, told me I didn't need a tie."

She laughed, skating her hands over my shoulders, then plucked at the pocket square. "No, you don't. You look hot, Jude."

Taking that as an invitation, I curved my hands around her hips, pulling her to me, aiming for a kiss, but she ducked out of the way. "I just put on lip gloss."

"I don't care." I closed the distance between us before she could argue. It had felt like years since I touched her, since those too few minutes in my kitchen when everything had changed. Or, really, revealed itself.

It hadn't been like a tectonic plate shift. There was no earthquake or mind-shattering epiphany. It felt more like a curtain had been pushed to the side, and I could finally see clearly for the first time in a long time.

I combed my fingers into her hair, angling her head so I could sweep my tongue over her lips, curling around hers. Uncaring for the mess I made of her hair and lip gloss, I searched for all those sweet corners of her mouth, prompting her quiet, pleading sounds. I didn't stop until sharp pins pressed against my calf.

I jumped back to find Dorothy clawing at me.

Brooke nodded at her cat. "She's been jealous lately, I think. Smells you on me or something."

I bent to pick her up, kissing the top of her head. "Sorry, girl, but you're my second-favorite kitty."

"Oh my god," Brooke shrieked in laughter. I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. "You have…" She swiped her fingers over my lips, presumably to wipe off the lip gloss .

"Your hair," I said with a tip of my chin.

She turned toward the small mirror hanging on the wall and proceeded to release the strands she'd pinned back in a sparkly barrette to redo it. Then she reapplied her lip gloss and fluffed her dress before spinning around, her focus drifting over me after I set Dorothy on the couch. "Oh. You're all full of cat hair now." She dug through a woven basket on her kitchen counter for a minute, brandishing a lint roller. "Come here."

Always.

I stood patiently as she ran the sticky roller over my jacket and then pants, patting it all down when she finished, smiling. Even fixed the pocket square, though it didn't really need it. Her familiar lavender scent wrapped around my senses, pulled me in toward her once again, but she stopped me, her hand in the middle of my chest. "I can't be late, and if you keep kissing me, I will be."

I heaved a sigh, eliciting another smile from her, and I didn't think I'd ever tire of them or the sound of her laughter. She sat on the couch, double-checking her purse, large enough to fit a pair of pale-pink Converse that matched her dress. When she draped the hem of her long skirt over her thighs and opened a shoe box, revealing a pair of heels, I kneeled on the floor in front of her. "Let me."

She gaped at me for a moment, unblinking, and I thought it a shame no one had ever helped her put her shoes on before. I took the box from her hands, and she came back to life with an audible inhale. "Thank you."

I picked up the first shoe, considering the pointy toe and slim heel. "These are gonna kill you."

"That's why I'm bringing the sneakers."

I held up her right foot, grazed her petal-pink-painted toes with my thumb, then slid the shoe on. I set it on the floor with a squeeze of her ankle and permitted myself a caress of her shin as payment before repeating the whole process with her left foot. This time, I doubled my payment with a kiss on her knee. Taking her hand in mine, I towed her up with me. "You ready?"

She nodded, smiling, almost shyly, and I could see she wanted to tell me something. Something really important.

Maybe the same something really important I wanted to tell her. But now wasn't the time. Like she'd said, she didn't want to be late.

I grabbed her purse and offered Dorothy a farewell pet before leading the way out the door. Brooke locked up behind me and tucked her keys into her bag, looped over my shoulder, before taking my proffered hand. The ease with which we interlaced our fingers was the same ease with which we were making this transition.

Inside my car, we buckled in, and Brooke helped herself to cuing up her playlist on the Bluetooth. "Thanks again for coming with me."

"Like I said, I wanted to."

"I didn't know if…"

I made a left out of the parking lot, following the directions on my phone. "If I wanted to come with you?"

"Yeah. I didn't know if it would be uncomfortable for you because you've only ever…" She trailed off again, and I could guess why.

I offered her a small shake of my head as I followed the on-ramp for the highway. "It won't be uncomfortable. Not with you."

"I don't want you to be sad or anything."

I took my time, waiting until I merged into the middle lane to answer. "No. I spent a lot of time worrying about how I'd feel if I ever decided to try to be with someone again. I thought it would feel like I was betraying her or something, but you and I have been friends for so long that I don't think I could ever feel that way with you. Maybe it would be different—I'd feel different—if it were someone else, but you've only ever made me happy. So, no, I won't be sad. I might get a little emotional because only serial killers remain dry-eyed at weddings, but I plan on having a lot of fun."

When she stayed quiet, I glanced at her again to find her contemplating me with her head tipped to the side. "What about you?" I asked. "Are weddings hard for you?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "Yes and no. Yes, they're hard in that I get a little jealous, but no, because I'm so happy for them. Tom and I weren't meant to be."

"You're goddamn right you weren't."

She bit back a smile. "I'd bought my wedding dress. Did I ever tell you that?"

I changed lanes and placed my hand over her thigh, the thin layers of her dress wrinkling under my fingers. "I don't think so."

"It was a few weeks before I was diagnosed. I found the dress," she said with a sad little laugh. "But by the time it came in, I was well into treatment, so my mom went and picked it up then hung it in my closet. Whenever I felt like…" She swallowed, her chin dipping for a moment. "When it got really hard, I'd look at that dress, and it would keep me going. It represented my future. Plus, it was so gorgeous."

"What'd it look like?"

She threw her hand out. "Classic. Ivory satin A-line with?—"

"I have no idea what that means."

She drew the figure with her hands in front of her. "The skirt sort of billows out like the legs of the letter A. My dress had wide straps that created this low V neckline," she explained, her fingers meeting in a point at her chest. "And it had an open back and a long train. It was simple, but I loved it."

"What did you end up doing with it?"

She lifted a careless shoulder. "Sold it. Used the money to buy supplies for my farm. "

I caught her gaze. "Good."

"What about you? What was your wedding like?"

"Huge. Her family's big and loud, and it took us a while to find a place that would be able to accommodate three hundred people. In Arab weddings, they have a special entrance for the bride and groom." I smiled at the memory. "It's called a zaffa , and these guys play traditional drums and perform chants for the bride and groom to enter. They did some sword dancing, and her uncles put me on their shoulders."

"That sounds really fun."

I nodded. "It was perfect. A big party and an even bigger cake."

Brooke laughed. "What did Mira wear?"

"A big white dress. Decked out in sparkles," I said, recalling when I'd first seen her. Like a lump of sugar walking down the aisle to me. "It swallowed her up."

We were both quiet for a while as I followed my GPS to the golf course. It wasn't until I parked that we faced each other, the air charged between us, thick with unspoken longing and words that hovered behind our lips. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my hand to cup her cheek, marveling at her soft skin.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she nuzzled into my palm, and I slid my other hand to her neck, sliding under the curtain of her curled hair, and rested my forehead to hers. Her hands found my wrists, holding me in place, and that was when it hit me.

I didn't know if fate was real or if life was simply one big journey of coincidences, but it was wild to think about how the woman who made me believe I could open myself up again to love and marriage was the one woman I'd been introduced to by my wife.

I'd been so fortunate in my life .

To have fallen in love with a girl who gave me everything I'd ever wanted and taught me to appreciate it in her absence.

To have my best friend guide me out to the other side, demonstrating true patience and offering me unending support.

How fortunate I was to have the love of two incredible women in my life.

I thought I'd been cursed with bad luck, but really, it had been the opposite. I'd been blessed.

I kissed Brooke, pressing all of my unspoken thoughts into her lips, hoping she understood the translation. And I thought she did, because when I took her hand once we'd met each other by the hood of the car, she tossed me her impishly crooked smile. "When I get married, I'm not going to wear a wedding dress. It'll be something whimsical and flowery and gold. Like the sunset."

I took her bag from her then positioned her hand in the crook of my elbow. "It should be at sunset. At your farm. Maybe under our tree."

"You'll be there? You think you'll be able to make it?"

My smile slipped, unable to make this promise as if it were a joke. Because it wasn't. What we had wasn't a joke. "I didn't think I'd want to be, but that was before. Now, I know I can be there. Not tomorrow, but eventually."

She stared up at me, her lashes long and dark, fanning around her honey-brown eyes. Eyes that had always seen me clearly. "I can wait."

I kissed her forehead and escorted her toward the hall. Because what couldn't wait was this wedding.