1. Bailey

A loud beepsounded as I held the phone to my ear. My palms tingled, and my heart was lodged in my throat. In an attempt to soothe the butterflies throwing a rave in my stomach, I took a breath. He hadn't even answered. I was such a mess that I was stressed about leaving a simple message. "Hey, Simon, it's, um, me. I saw I missed your call, so I was, yeah, just calling you back. I was in the shower."

Why? Whyhad I told him I was in the shower? That was TMI. Would he think I was trying to be sexy, or something?

Play it cool, I told myself.

"So, yeah, phone tag, you're it."

Phone tag, you're it?!Yeah, that was not cool at all. It was the antithesis of cool.

I hung up before I said anything more embarrassing. I stared down at the device in my hand and told myself to put the phone down and finish getting ready. I also instructed myself not to listen to the two messages I'd received over the past week again.

Do. Not. Listen. As I watched my finger hit the last saved message from five days ago, those words scrolled through my mind like ticker tape.

Simon's deep voice echoed off the walls of my tiny, closet-sized bathroom. "Hey, Bay. It's been a while. I was hoping to catch you. Give me a call back when you have a chance. Miss you… Talk soon."

As I slathered lotion on my damp legs, I set the phone down and my brain began dissecting what I'd heard. Just like the first time I'd listened to the message and the twenty or so times I'd listened to it since then, I noted the pause between ‘miss you' and ‘talk soon.' A few seconds of silence held so much possibility.

What was he going to say?

Why had he stopped himself?

Had he nearly said he loved me?

It had been over three years since I'd seen Simon in person and heard him use the L-word. Two of those years, he'd lived in London. Since returning to the States fourteen months ago, he'd been in New York. We'd kept in touch mainly via emails, and a few texts here and there. Then he'd called two weeks ago to let me know he was moving back to San Francisco and wanted to see me. That was message number one. Message number two was the one I just replayed, saying he missed me. After that, there had only been missed calls. No more voicemails.

I was trying not to get my hopes up, but the hopeless romantic in me was screaming that this was it. This was our time. Finally, we were going to be together for real. Finally, he was ready to settle down. Finally, we'd have the life we talked about having since we were high school sweethearts.

Sure, twenty years was a long time to be off and on, but it would be worth it. Simon was the only man I'd ever loved. He was my first love. My first boyfriend. My first everything. He was the only man I'd ever envisioned myself marrying. He was the only man I'd ever pictured having a family with.

My phone buzzed on the counter, and I grabbed it, thinking it was a message from Simon. The phone slid from my greased-up grip, and I fumbled to catch it before it crashed onto my '50s-era black and white basket weave tiled floor. After a game of hot potato, I was able to save the device from falling.

I held my breath as I stared down at the screen. The message wasn't from Simon. It was from Billie, my sister, saying she was around the corner. She wasn't supposed to be here for another thirty minutes. She was picking me up for the Baxter/Martin wedding, which started in exactly six hours.

My older sister Billie, younger sister Birdie, and I inherited Bliss Bridal Boutique from our Grandma Betty after she passed away over two years ago. Working with my sisters was rewarding in so many ways, but it could also be a lot. The three of us could not be more different. Exhibit A: Billie was always early, and I was always running late.

"Shit," I mumbled as I raced down the narrow hall into my bedroom, naked as the day I was born.

Water dripped down my back as I rushed toward the closet. I hadn't even dried my hair yet. Why had I wasted precious minutes trying to come up with what to say when I called Simon back? Especially since I'd totally blown it when my mind blanked while leaving the message.

Phone tag, you're it?I was going to be thirty-six in a few months.

"Meow. Meow. Meow." The Duke of Pawsting voiced his displeasure that the sun was not streaming through the window as he rolled on the green and blue braided rug that lay at the end of my bed.

"I'll open it as soon as I get dressed. I don't want to flash the neighbors."

"Meow! Meow! Meow!" He repeated his protest even louder.

"Fine." I grabbed my robe and threw it on, then pulled up the shades, allowing the mid-morning sun to flood the room.

The sudden burst of light caused her majesty, Lady Whiskerdown, aka Whiskey, to stir from her slumber on the chair in the corner of the room that she'd claimed as her throne. She rose to a standing position and did her morning yoga poses of downward dog with her feet straight out in front of her, then shifted to a cat-cow pose, her back arching and lowering.

Yes, both of my cats were named after the Bridgerton characters, the Duke of Hastings and Lady Whistledown. Why? Well, the weekend after Simon moved to the UK three years ago, I binge-watched Bridgerton, as one does when the love of their life moves over five thousand miles away. As it turns out, the first name of the main character in season one, the Duke of Hastings, is Simon. Cut to Monday morning, while scrolling Instagram, I saw that one of my favorite rescues had a pair of British shorthair siblings that needed a home and would do best if they were adopted together. The female was a white and orange cat with bright blue eyes, and the male was a cinnamon-colored cat with brown eyes. By the end of the day, I'd welcomed Lady Whiskerdown and the Duke of Pawstings home, and I'd been catering to their every whim ever since. Case in point: I would be dressing in my closet to avoid giving the neighbors a peep show, so Duke could sunbathe.

"Good morning, your Highness," I greeted Lady Whiskerdown as she jumped to the ground as I fastened my bra behind my back.

Unlike Duke, who woke before dawn, Whiskey was not a morning feline. Her circadian rhythm was set to night mode. She came alive when the sun went down and didn't curl up on her throne until it rose in the morning. I often wondered if she wasn't part vampire.

I rested my hand on the doorframe as I clumsily stepped into a pair of black slacks. I managed to shimmy them up my still heavily-lotioned legs before grabbing the sleeveless mock turtleneck I'd impulse-bought a week ago when I was passing a boutique. The color caught my attention because the green matched my eyes. When I tried it on, the material molded to my curves without clinging, which was imperative for work attire.

As a wedding coordinator, I couldn't wear anything that would draw attention to myself, which was fine by me. I gladly blended into my environment. To put it in Bridgerton-terms, I was happy to be a wallflower. But lately, for the past six months or so, I'd found myself wanting to look my best and had been putting a little bit more effort into my appearance at weddings.

I pulled the tags off, slid the emerald green shirt over my head, and tugged it into place. When I stepped back into the bedroom and saw my reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner, I was once again struck by how flattering it was to my curves without being over the top or in your face flashy.

"What do you think?" I asked Duke as I spun toward him, raising my arms out to the side.

"Meow. Meow." He rolled onto his back so his belly could feel the sunshine. "Meow."

"Work crush? No, silly, I don't have a work crush." In addition to indulging Duke and Whiskey's every need, I also had conversations with them on a regular basis, at least with Duke. Whiskey wasn't vocal. She was silent and judgy. "I work with Aunt Billie and Auntie Birdie, so a work crush is impossible."

I might not have a work crush, but there was a certain wedding attendee who I'd noticed at quite a few weddings I'd coordinated over the past nine months or so. He was always with a different date, so clearly a ladies' man. I'd obviously never spoken to him, but he was very nice to look at. I'd had a crush on Zac Efron since his high school musical days, and this guy was an even hotter version of the dark-haired, light-eyed heartthrob. It was sort of fun playing the will-he or won't-he be there game.

In case he was, my plan had been to forgo my typical ponytail and style my mid-back-length, honey-blonde hair in beach waves that would fall around my shoulders. And that wasn't all. I'd even learned how to do a smokey eye from a TikTok tutorial the night before that I planned on implementing. Okay, so maybe I did have a work-ish crush.

As I grabbed my flats from the shoe storage under my bed, my phone rang. The ring caused my heart to skip at the thought that it was Simon, and I'd finally get to speak to him. When I picked it up, I saw it was Billie.

"Hey," I answered as the adrenaline spike I'd just experienced drained from my body.

"I'm outside," my sister said in a clipped tone. She wasn't being rude; that was just her demeanor.

"I'll be right down."

No beach waves today, but all was not lost; I may still be able to pull off a smokey eye. I grabbed a rubber band and my makeup bag, dropped them in my oversized bag, slid on my black ballet flats, and said goodbye to my fur babies.

On the ride down the elevator, I brushed out my hair and pulled it back in my signature ponytail, using the reflection in the steel doors as my mirror. When I got off on the first floor, I rushed out to the street where Billie was double-parked.

As I walked to her Tesla, I took a moment to appreciate the brisk, sunny summer day. In my book, it just didn't get better than San Francisco when the sun was shining, a cool breeze was blowing, and the waters of the bay were shimmering and blue.

"Sorry, I was still getting ready," I apologized as I slid into the passenger's seat.

"Is that a new shirt?" Billie questioned in a tone that indicated she already knew the answer.

I glanced down, pretending I hadn't just taken the tags off. "Oh, yeah. I guess it is."

"Any reason for the new wardrobe?"

Two reasons, actually. The reason I was wearing my new purchase today came in the form of a six-foot-four stranger with dark hair and eyes bluer than the aforementioned bay, whose name I didn't know. The second reason I'd bought the shirt, was because the man I'd been in love with since I was fourteen years old was moving back home. The first thing Simon had ever said to me was that I had pretty eyes.

"He's back, isn't he?" Billie asked, as if reading my mind.

"Who?" I feigned ignorance as I pulled down the visor to start applying my make-up.

My sister sighed, clearly not amused by me playing dumb. "Simon."

"Um…I'm not sure." Technically, I didn't know where he was. In the first message Simon left, he said he was moving back to the city. I had no idea if he was here yet.

"Don't do this again," Billie said firmly.

"Do what?"

"You need to cut him off. Cold turkey. No contact."

"He's my friend." It was the same defense I'd used whenever anyone brought up Simon. Anyone being my best friend Olivia, or Billie, that is. They were the two people in my life who were anti-Simon. They also happened to be the two people I was closest to.

"Your friend who ghosts you for years at a time, then shows up out of the blue, hooks up with you for a few months, won't actually commit, draws you back in, and then leaves again, breaking your heart."

My instinct was to explain that our timing had just never been right. He worked for his parents' finance business, and they had offices all over the world. He'd had to put in his time in each of them because one day he'd be taking over Prescott Limited Holdings. But I knew my response would fall on deaf ears, so I just continued applying my foundation.

"You're a toy he takes off the shelf to play with. I mean, I used to blame him, but at this point… you should know better." She glanced in my direction. "Let's face it, you're not getting any younger."

"Neither are you," I pointed out, hoping to turn the tables.

Billie was a year older than me, and Birdie was a year younger. We were Irish triplets who could not be more different. Besides our one commonality, the almond-shaped green eyes we'd all inherited from our mother, we were polar opposites. Billie was a five-foot-eight, leggy brunette. She was a no-nonsense, no fuss, no fluff, take no prisoners, Type-A personality who thrived on structure and schedules and was allergic to spontaneity. Literally, when surprises occurred, she would break out in hives. She was also ruthlessly blunt. She didn't understand the meaning of sugar-coating anything. She took care of finances, marketing, and day-of scheduling for the wedding coordination side of our business.

Birdie, my younger sister, was an auburn-haired, petite, five-foot-two, creative, go-with-the-flow, free spirit who was the most self-assured person I knew. She'd been born with an intrinsic sense of self and never deviated from who she was. She didn't believe in rules or boundaries. She was an artist and saw beauty in things other people didn't. She designed dresses for the boutique and also did the majority of the appointments with our brides. She always knew exactly what to put on a bride to make her feel beautiful. She radiated kindness and love and had the sweetest soul. I don't think I'd ever heard her say a bad word about anyone.

I was the middle child, standing a very average five feet four inches, with dirty dishwater blonde hair and curves that I'd never quite come to terms with. I would describe myself as an introverted, empathetic, nurturing, overthinking, people-pleaser. On the surface, I was calm, but beneath the surface, my legs were flailing, trying to stay afloat. I never let anyone see if I was upset or if anything rattled me, because I didn't want anyone else to stress. Grandma Betty always used to say I was the peanut butter that held the two slices of bread together, the bread being my sisters. I always wanted to make sure everyone was happy and taken care of. As far as the business went, I was the event planner and handled all customer and vendor relations.

"No, I'm not getting any younger," Billie conceded. "But I don't want what you do. I don't want kids, a husband, or a family. You do."

I gave up on my smokey eyes and pulled out my tablet. I pretended to read through the day's itinerary and answer emails, but in reality, I was just avoiding speaking to Billie. Everything she'd said about my ‘situationship' with Simon was accurate. It's not like I hadn't tried to move on from him. I'd dated plenty of guys. But none of them had made me feel the way he did. All he had to do was look at me, and my insides turned to mush.

Even though I didn't want to admit it, Billie was right. I wasn't getting any younger, and I did want those things. Unfortunately, I only wanted them with Simon. But this was it. This was the last time I was going to go through the toxic cycle she'd so eloquently outlined. If he wasn't ready to commit, I was done waiting. That was an easy boundary for me in theory; I just hoped I'd be strong enough to enforce it.

"I got another quote for the house," Billie stated, snapping me out of my inner turmoil.

The ‘house' that my sister was referring to was the home we'd grown up in after our mother died giving birth to Birdie. In addition to inheriting Grandma Betty's business, we'd also inherited the five-bedroom, two-bath Victorian, which, in its day, had been spectacular. Unfortunately, my grandparents hadn't been able to keep up with repairs and upkeep over the past fifteen years. Since we'd gained ownership, we'd hired and lost two contractors. One took off with ten grand of our money, and the other just stopped showing up after ten days of work.

We were hoping that the third time would be the charm, but we were also very cautious. Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice, shame on us. Fool us three times; we're obviously the fools.

I glanced over at my sister. "And?"

"It's more than the last quote."

"How much more?"

"A lot."

"So, are you thinking we should sell?"

"No," she stated firmly. "We're not selling."

For someone who was not at all sentimental, the house was one thing Billie held close to her heart. She had no desire to live in it, but she was adamant that we keep it in the family. The problem was, the boutique took up all of our time and money. The house had sat vacant for the past two and a half years, since Grandma Betty passed.

"Okay." I smiled. "Then we'll just keep looking. We'll find the right contractor with the right numbers."

She gave me the side eye as we approached a stop light.

"What?" I asked as I grabbed my lip gloss out of my bag.

"The optimistic gene must have skipped me."

Yeah. It had. But, like Lady Gaga, I was born this way. That gene was why, even though Simon and I hadn't worked out in the past, I knew that this time was different. This time, when he came back, we were finally going to be together. Yep. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.