Courtship of the Cake ("Much ""I Do"" About Nothing", Band 2) - Softcover

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Jessica Topper is an ex-librarian turned rock n’ roll number cruncher and author of the novels Dictatorship of the Dress and Louder than Love. She is a PAN member of the Romance Writers of America, and belongs to the Women’s Fiction Writers Association. Jessica lives in Western New York with her husband, daughter and one ancient cat.

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Dani

OVER THE RAINBOW

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner! I don’t know how do you do it, Danica James.”

“Easy,” I replied, handing the garment bag over the counter and into Bree’s waiting arms. “I say yes, spend money I don’t have on a dress I don’t want, sashay down the aisle in it, and then I donate it to you.”

“The only hard part for Dani being a bridesmaid,” Laney added, “is not showing up the bride. Otherwise, it’s a piece o’ cake, right, Dani?”

I watched as my best friend selected M&M’s from the candy dish Bree kept on the counter, using a vintage pewter salt spoon. Laney was just as picky about the brown M&M’s as David Lee Roth backstage at a Van Halen concert.

She had to go and mention cake, didn’t she?

I thumbed the tiny silver charm that hung at the hollow of my throat and wondered how the term cake came to mean easy.

Bree laughed. “See? And the hard part for me is not showing up as the bride!” The shop owner held up her hand, fingers splayed to emphasize not only the number, but her latest rock as well. “Let’s hope the fifth time’s the charm, ladies.”

Bree’s habit of “falling in marriage” earned her spots on the local news and was the impetus behind the former fashion model falling into Diamonds & Fairy Dust, her bridal attire consignment business. The tiny Cornelia Street store carried everything from your suburban strip mall off-the-rack dress to the custom couture Vera Wang, which hadn’t moved in the five years I’d known Bree. But once annually, she initiated Operation Fairy Dust, a dress drive for local high school girls in need, and accepted donations of gently used bridesmaid dresses to give away during prom season.

“It’s gorgeous, Dani.” She ran her hand over the ruched bodice and sweeping handkerchief skirt of the brilliant green gown. “We’ve still got a few schools in the area with prom approaching. You are going to make someone’s dream come true.”

Laney popped an M&M about the same hue as the dress in between my lips. “So what does she win?”

“Whatever it is, it had better be small enough to fit in my backpack. Unless it’s a car, which I would totally accept,” I laughed.

“According to my little black book of details, you have managed to donate a dress in every color of the rainbow . . .”

“And don’t forget the ones she brought in that weren’t colors found in nature,” Laney reminded, turning to me. “Like that Creature from the Seafoam Blue Lagoon dress my mother made you wear at her wedding.”

Bree laughed. “Earning the Rainbow Award is no easy feat. For that”—she rummaged under the counter and came up with the fluffiest rainbow Afro wig I had ever laid eyes on—“a picture on my Wall of Fame, if you will.”

“You want me to wear that? I don’t know where that thing’s been!” It looked like a relic from New York’s Studio 54 disco era.

“Trust me, it’s new. No one but you has achieved rainbow status,” Bree assured with a grin. “You take ‘always a bridesmaid’ to a whole new level, Dani.”

Always a bridesmaid and never a bride worked just fine for me; marriage required commitment. Of course, so did insanity. Coincidence? I think not.

Laney just about choked on her last M&M as I stuffed my mass of blond curls under the synthetic skullcap and mugged for Bree’s Polaroid. Then she threw on a wig from the nearby display so I wouldn’t have to go through the humiliation alone. Laney was good like that.

“How do I look?” she deadpanned. The long, black Cleopatra wig was just shy of covering her poker-straight fiery red bangs.

“Ridiculous and lovely. Like Cher.” I plopped a nearby tiara on the crown of her head, and we pressed our cheeks together for one last photo.

“Yeah, you should talk, Rainbow Brite. I think you used to have leg warmers that matched that hair.”

Bree waved the developing print. “For your travels.” She traded me the photo for the Afro, placing the small square into my hands as the image appeared, eighteen years of best friendship rising to the surface and solidifying like magic.

“I’m going to miss your visits, Dani. This one, though”—she reached to smooth Laney’s fake bangs—“I have a feeling she’ll be back. Just as soon as that new man of hers proposes.”

“Hey, slow down there, Five Time’s the Charm.” Laney twined her own tresses with the long hanks of synthetic hair until it resembled a red and black candy cane. “Noah just finished paying off his non-wedding.” The lovebirds had recently celebrated his near miss with Bridezilla by throwing a huge charity event in place of the already-booked reception, and were still recovering. “We’re not in any hurry,” she assured, but her mossy eyes blinked bright with the possibility.

Bree winked, more for my benefit. “Have fun. Be safe.” Smiling, she moved on to help a customer.

Laney pouted and pulled off the wig. “I can’t believe you’re leaving, Dani—again. Just after I got you back. You tease.”

“It’s just for the summer, Hudson. Suck it up.”

Despite all we had in common, Laney’s homebody habits mostly confined her to the tri-state area without complaint. My wanderlust since meeting Mick, on the other hand, had grown insatiable.

As had my sweet tooth.

“For someone who loves to live out of a duffel bag, you certainly held on to that dress from your sister’s wedding for a record length of time. I was getting ready to call the Guinness Book,” Laney ribbed knowingly.

Posy and Patrick were about to celebrate their first anniversary, and I was nowhere closer to figuring out just what the hell had happened to me that night of their wedding in New Orleans. Or why I couldn’t let go of its memories . . .

I stole one last look at the dress as Bree hung it in the store window. Its opulently embellished halter and keyhole neckline had been perfect for the discreet touches and stolen kisses Mick had lavished upon me in public; its wisps of tiered chiffon held every whisper leading us out of the reception and back to my room.

“A wise woman once told me never to let a dress rule my life,” Laney murmured.

The serene girl who stood before me was a far cry from the hot mess who’d been appointed dress bearer for her mother’s cross-country nuptials this past winter. The one who had frantically texted, asking WWDD—What Would Dani Do?—every step of the way, until she had found her own footing. With a hand on my back, she pushed me over the threshold and onto the quaint, one-block city street. “What would she tell you right about now?”

“I’m not as well-adjusted as you think I am,” I mumbled.

“You are wonderful.” Laney dropped a kiss on my cheek and an arm across my shoulder. “And I, for one, will always look up to you from my perch on your invisible psychiatrist’s couch. As well as pay you in brunch food. What do you say?” She nodded toward the red-and-white-striped awning of the Cornelia Street Café. I knew tea and sympathy waited inside, as well as a willing ear if I was ready to talk about my...