Free The Wedding Dress by Rachel Hauck

her ’Bama t-shirt, and thick socks.
    As she rounded the corner, she spotted her wedding invitations under the coffee table. Ah, there they were. She’d had Tim put them there to get them out of the hallway.
    But tonight, Tim was coming over to address the invitations to their guests.
    The ancient beams of the old-warehouse-turned-loft creaked as Charlotte moved the box out from under the table, as she changed her clothes, washed her face, and gathered her hair into a ponytail. The sounds of the loft comforted her, blanketing her heart.
    Pizza sounded good for dinner. She pulled a DiGiorno’s from the freezer. Then texted Tim.
    Pizza for dinner. You want salad?
    Waiting for his response, Charlotte picked up the Blu-ray player remote and surfed to the Pandora station labeled “Oldies.”
    She took her iPad from her satchel, swung by the fridge for a Diet Coke, and curled up on the sofa to go through e-mail. A new designer had contacted her, requesting a meeti Cstiel, swunng. But her designs were vintage and Charlotte knew without looking they wouldn’t fit the Malone & Co. contemporary brand.
    As the aroma of baking pizza filled the loft, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. Reminding her Tim had yet to contact her.
    Eight o’clock. Anytime now, Tim . She peeked at her phone sitting on the sofa next to her. Sometimes the signal didn’t reach the loft and she missed a call or text. But Tim’s silence was not from a cyberspace hiccup. She knew it.
    In the four months she’d known him, Charlotte had learned that Tim’s afternoons took on a life of their own—client calls, city planning meetings, and consultation opportunities filled the cracks in his schedule. But he always managed a quick text or fast e-mail.
    Running late .
    Pandora played John Waite’s “Missing You.” Charlotte eyed the screen. A shiver crept over her scalp. I ain’t missing . . .
    The oven timer buzzed and Charlotte shot off the couch, breaking away from the split moment of rising fear. She snatched up her phone on the way to the kitchen.
    T, where are you? I’m eating pizza. Don’t promise to save you a piece . She hit Send. Tim loved pizza. The boy lit up at the very word. He’d say the word over and over, teasing and buzzing Charlotte’s ear with a snaky “z” hiss.
    She took the pizza from the oven, listening for Tim’s instant, protesting reply.
    But two hours later Charlotte had eaten her pizza, put the leftovers in the fridge, cleaned the kitchen, stacked the wedding invitations on the dining table, scribbled her own guest list on a magnet pad—forty names—put the invitations back in the box, and slipped it under the table.
    Where was he and what was he doing? She considered getting angry, but if he was hurt then she’d feel guilty. So she’d just wait and see what he said when he called.
    But being delinquent wasn’t Tim. He planned and calculated just like Katherine had said. He scheduled his day in fifteen-minute increments. Even the spontaneous meetings that filled his schedule were organized.
    At five ’til ten Charlotte surfed her contact list to David and Katherine’s number. She took a deep breath before hitting Call and rehearsed what to say. Hey, I was wondering if Tim was —
    “Charlotte?” The front door eased open.
    Thank goodness. Charlotte exhaled and tossed her phone to the table. “Where have you been? I was just about to call David and Katherine. I made pizza—”
    From the kitchen, she gazed down the short hall toward the door. Standing just inside the loft, Tim looked sheepish in his mud-covered racing gear. Giving Charlotte a conciliatory glance, he bent to remove his boots.
    “Paul and Artie came over last night after my meeting and—”
    “Last night? When I called you said you were tired, wanted to go to bed.”
    “I was in bed when they showed up with Chase and Rudy.” Tim’s youngest two brothers were bigger daredevils and fun-lovers than Tim. “Next thing I knew