Free The Wedding Dress by Rachel Hauck Page A

we’d talked Dave into playing hooky and planned a racing road trip.”
    “Why didn’t you call?” Something about his tone, his demeanor, formed a cold rock in her belly.
    “I meant to, Char. But it was midnight by the time they left my house. I went into the office at six to get some work done. We left around eleven to drive over to Albertville.” He pulled off his racing jersey. Dried mud rained on Charlotte’s clean floor. His white t-shirt strained across his chest and his cut, sculpted arms stretched the hem of his sleeves. He motioned to his dirt. “I’ll clean it up.”
    “Shop Vac is in the closet.” She motioned to the door beside the fridge. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t call or text.”
    Tim motored the hand-vacuum over his mess. “I kept thinking I’d call you, but I never did. You said you had appointments all afternoon so I figured you’d be busy.” He shut off the vacuum and returned it to the closet, then stood against the wall, peering mostly at his stocking feet. “I thought we’d be back before dinner.”
    “It’s ten o’clock, Tim. And you do know if I’m busy you can still text me or leave a message.”
    “Yeah, I know.” He angled to see the stove through the dim kitchen light. “Any pizza left?” Tim smiled—slow, shy. Handsome. Winning.
    “In the fridge. There’s salad in the blue bowl.” Charlotte backed away, letting him fend for himself, her own pizza dinner churning in her stomach. It was his way. To win her over so simply. So easily. But not tonight. He had yet to explain himself. “Did you bring the guest list? Maybe we can address some of the invitations. We have an hour or so. Unless you’re too tired and need to go to bed.” There, got in one barb. Did he know how he hurt her with his silence? Charlotte retreated to her seat at the dining table and stared absently at her iPad.
    “No, I’m not too tired.” Tim dropped the leftover cold pizza on the plate he took from the cupboard. He took a bite without heating the slices first. “I don’t have the list. I’m sorry, Char. I didn’t get by Mom’s this week.”
    “Okay, but we have five hundred invitations to address in the next few weeks.”
    “Can I ask why we’re not paying someone to do it?” Tim opened the fridge for a Diet Coke.
    “I can’t afford it.”
    “You spent a thousand on a beat-up old trunk, but you can’t afford someone to do our invitations? Ever think maybe I can afford it? Or we can afford it?”
    “I’d rather use the money to upgrade the reception food or buy those platinum chains I wanted for the bridesmaids.” Since their engagement, Tim spoke in the plural. Us. We. They could afford whatever kind of wedding they wanted.
    But Charlotte struggled, fighting the idea that Tim and the Roses would pay for all of the wedding. Her family must pay what they could. Right? Even if her family was . . . Charlotte alone.
    Now the conversation stalled. Tim walked to the dining table, sitting with a glance at the invitations, then toward the living room.
    “Is that it? Your thousand-dollar trunk?”
    “That’s it.” Charlotte reached for his Diet Coke and took a sip. “Think you can do something with it?”
    “Maybe.” Tim stared at his uneaten pizza. Sitting back with a sigh, he ran his hands through his matted but thick hair. “Charlotte, I forgot about tonight.”
    “Just . . . forgot? Forgot the invitations? Forgot me? What did you forget, Tim?”
    “I didn’t forget you.” He got up and tore away a paper towel to use as a napkin. “I forgot we wanted to go over the guest list and address the invitations.”
    “And plan the reception. Figure out the rehearsal dinner, the flowers, the cake, the tuxes. You were planning to do that this week too. Pick out your tuxes. But tomorrow’s Thursday already.”
    “Yeah, I had tuxes on my calendar, but it kept getting pushed to the next day.”
    In that moment Charlotte knew . The ping of revelation resonated and