Free Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel by Janice Thompson

eyes and realized it wasn’t Brock at all . . . it was Drew Kincaid. Weird. Then Drew morphed into a horrific-looking sea creature that bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacquie Goldfarb. The sea creature chased me around my studio, eventually crawling up the high brick walls and slithering into the attic space above. Creepy.
    I awoke Saturday morning feeling confused yet, at the same time, strangely invigorated about the day ahead. I slipped on a pair of jeans and a lightweight green sweater and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Wearing tennis shoes made perfect sense. No point in ruining a good pair of heels for an outdoor shoot in a garden.
    Deciding to forego too much makeup, I applied a little lipstick and mascara and I stepped back to examine my reflection in the mirror. As always, I fought the desire to sigh as I took in the freckles. Who had freckles at twenty-six? My reddish-blonde ponytail was a little lopsided, but it didn’t really matter. I’d been through enough of these photo shoots to know that the family members wouldn’t be focused on the appearance of the photographer. Likely the parents would be far too preoccupied scolding the children.
    Another quick glance in the mirror reminded me to stand up straight. I could almost hear Grandpa Aengus calling me his little pixie. Sure, I was petite. Five feet two if I stretched. And yeah, my size 6 jeans were a little loose. Still, pixie hardlydescribed me. Besides, I packed a lot of punch in this tiny little frame. I would show the competition what was what. I would fight to the death, wield my bloody sword, and—
    Hmm. Well, I’d keep my eye on the prize, anyway.
    I bounded down the stairs, my grandfather’s words flitting through my mind: “As you ramble through life, whatever be your goal, keep your eye upon the doughnut, and not upon the hole.”
    “I’ll do it, Grandpa Aengus. I’ll do it.”
    Thinking of doughnuts made me hungry. I headed into the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar, all the while humming a happy tune.
    As I passed through the living room, my father looked up from his morning paper. “You’re chipper this morning.” His gaze narrowed. “Very suspicious.”
    “Nothing suspicious about it. Just have a feeling this is going to be an amazing day.”
    “Carpe diem, Shutter Speed.”
    “Seize the day!” we said in unison.
    I felt like dancing, so I did a little jig down the hallway, stopping only when I landed in the kitchen.
    Mama looked up from the soapsuds in the sink and stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Hannah?”
    “Yes?”
    “You’re dancing? Practicing your cha-cha in case Cheryl Burke sprains her ankle or something?”
    “Nah.” I giggled. “Just in a great mood today, that’s all. I’d dance on the moon but don’t have time to get there. I’m excited about the photo shoot at the Rossis’ house. I think it’s going to be good for my business.”
    “Ah, that’s right. Well, wrap it up as quick as you can, honey. I’m dying to hit the malls.”
    “I’ll do my best, but I can’t rush, okay? I need to do a good job.” I turned to grab a breakfast bar from the pantry, but something on the countertop caught my eye. “Mama, what’s this?” I pointed to a stack of mail shoved under an empty oatmeal bowl.
    She turned to face me and shrugged. “Yesterday’s junk mail, I think. Grocery store fliers and such. Meant to toss it.”
    Something in my gut told me to go through it. I scrambled through the stash until I landed on a familiar magazine. My heart went into a tailspin, then roller-coastered up into my throat as I clapped eyes on Texas Bride .
    “I . . . I . . . I . . .”
    My father walked into the kitchen, a perplexed look on his face. “Hannah, you’re as white as a ghost. Never knew ad sheets had that effect on you.”
    “This isn’t an ad sheet. It’s—it’s my article!”
    And Mama almost threw it in the trash!
    I released a slow breath and peeled dried oatmeal off the