was smiling, he hadn’t hugged her or kissed her cheek. In fact, he was looking at her with a strange, watchful gaze. Her own smile dimmed. “What are you doing here, Brad?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I need to talk to you. I was going to call again, but I realized that this is too important to tell you over the phone, so I decided it would be better to come and see you in person.”
Too important to tell her over the phone? Sam stared at him uneasily, Jeanette’s words popping into her brain.
Brad was in love with you.
Sam tried to banish the foolish thought. He’d barely spoken to her in the past eight months. That was hardly a sign of love.
But the thought refused to go away. Could Jeanette have been right, after all? Had Brad come to propose? “You’re wearing a suit,” she said, trying to hide her uneasiness. “Very nice. Are you trying to impress someone?”
“You, I hope.”
Her hand tightened on the doorknob. “I’m duly impressed,” she said, as lightly as possible.
“Are you?” The watchful expression in his eyes turned into something even more obscure and unreadable. “May I come in?”
“Oh, of course.” The pitch of her laughter a bit high, she stepped back and allowed him to enter the shop.
He looked around with interest, his gaze taking in the forest-green sofa and the pine table littered with catalogs and pattern books, the peach-colored wallpaper with its tiny white flowers and the rainbow of dresses hanging on one wall. His eyes lingered on the mannequin with Miss Blogden’s dress.
“Did you make this, Sammy?”
She nodded, unable to prevent a small welling of pride at the admiration in his voice. She’d done most of the sewing herself, endured thousands of pinpricks. But the result was worth it.
“You always did have a talent with clothes,” he said. “Remember that outfit you gave me one Christmas? A pair of baggy shorts, a black T-shirt and silver-rimmed sunglasses—along with a little note suggesting that I grow a goatee.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, so maybe I wasn’t very subtle. I still think you would’ve looked great. You could have at least tried the outfit. You never wore it even once.”
“Not my style.” He glanced at the row of gowns against the wall. “Do you make all the dresses for the shop?”
“Good heavens, no. Most of them are off the rack,” she said. “I only make a dress once in a while when a customer requests something unique. Usually, I just help Jeanette with whatever needs to be done. She’s doing very well. She only started a year ago, but she’s already close to making a profit. She had six weddings in June, and has at least two scheduled every month for the next year. I just assisted her with a wedding at the Arboretum in Arcadia with ten bridesmaids and ten groomsmen, a harpist, programs, the works. It was beautiful, we released 10,000 Monarch butterflies after the ceremony—”
She stopped, suddenly aware that she was babbling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble on.”
“I enjoy listening to you. I remember Jeanette talking about starting a bridal shop ten years ago.”
“I didn’t think she’d ever actually own one. She hit a few roadblocks.”
“That’s normal. The important thing is she didn’t give up.”
“Mmm.” She glanced at him. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Jeanette’s shop?”
His mouth quirked. “You always were direct, Sam. To tell you the truth, I came here for another reason. There’s something I want to ask you.…”
She stiffened, unable to prevent herself. “Oh?”
His gaze traveled over her face. “Yes,” he said gently. “I want to apologize for my behavior over the last several months. I was…disturbed about a certain situation and I allowed that to affect my friendships.”
“Oh, Brad!” The tension flowed out of her. She touched his arm lightly. “Have you been able to fix the situation?”
“No, but I’m working on it.” He smiled down at her. “In the meantime, I wanted to ask if we could be friends again.”
“That would be wonderful.” She smiled back at him, absently noticing that the angle of his chin seemed more pronounced than she remembered, the texture of skin at his jaw a little rougher. A few lines in his forehead were now permanent. “I’ve missed you.”
“Have you?” He reached out and brushed a curl off her forehead, his fingers lingering on her skin. “I thought you’d forgotten about me completely.”
“I could never do that.” His touch was friendly, the warmth from his fingers penetrating her skin and deep inside her. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever known. I’ve always thought of you as my best friend.”
Abruptly, his hand dropped to his side. For an instant, she saw something in his eyes, a spark of emotion she couldn’t identify. He grinned. “I’m glad to hear it—it will make my next question a lot easier.”
Her tension returned. Had she relaxed too soon?
He laughed, but his eyes still had that spark. “Don’t look like that, Sammy. It’s nothing terrible. At least, I hope you won’t think it’s terrible.”
Oh, dear heaven. “Brad, I don’t think—”
“Please, Sammy. Just listen. I’ve wanted to get married for a long time—”
Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. She couldn’t believe it. He really was going to propose. Her stomach churned. “Oh, Brad.…”
“And I’ve finally found someone who will have me.”
“I’m afraid—” She stopped, blinking in confusion. “What did you say?”
He smiled broadly. “Congratulate me, Sammy. I met the girl of my dreams and she has agreed to marry me. Her name is Heather Lovelace. And she’s the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman in the world.”
Samantha couldn’t speak. She felt dizzy for a second. Brad was getting married? She had never thought…that is, she couldn’t quite imagine…
“And we want you to design the dress. And Jeanette to arrange the wedding. Will you do it? Sammy? Sammy? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She shook her head, trying to clear away the unaccountable vertigo that had made everything in the shop tilt sideways. She forced herself to smile and say, “Of course I’ll do it. And I’m sure Jeanette can handle the wedding. If she can’t, I’ll do it myself,” she promised recklessly.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you, Sammy. Heather’s waiting out in the car right now. She wants to meet you. Will you come to dinner with us?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Her refusal was automatic and instinctive. She didn’t feel very well. Maybe she had
