EMMA

I'm a bad friend, I think to myself while shoving my arms through another sea of pale green lace. As the gemstones scratch the soft skin over my ribs, the older woman at the bridal boutique, Paula, pulls at the material with deft hands, straightening the gown out once and for all.

"Very nice," She murmurs, her accent just heavy enough to sound sophisticated and posh. She appraises me from behind her librarian glasses, giving me a curt yet approving nod before ushering me out of the dressing room and onto the podium.

Gemma squeals with delight, immediately joining me on the raised platform and inspecting the detail work. Laney does the same, feeling the material between her fingers, instructing me to twirl and shimmy under the bright overhead lights.

I do as I'm told, twisting this way and that to show off the bodice and the sway of the skirt. A sheen of sweat coats my forehead under the bright florescence as worry builds in my chest, making my head feel wobbly on my shoulders.

"Look how it catches the light," Laney murmurs, eyes wide in admiration. I'm starting to feel woozy, and it has nothing to do with the champagne I not-so-gracefully passed on earlier.

"Well, maybe if we take it in a bit here," Gemma pulls at the waistline, stretching the fabric tightly over my hips, and looks to Paula, her other hand lazily swirling her champagne flute. "See, that's just like the one in the magazine."

"Hm." Paula mumbles to herself, pushing Gemma's hands away and using her own practiced fingers to pin the dress back. Once she's finished, she takes a step back and smooths her black blazer neatly. "Like this?"

"That's just beautiful." Gemma clasps her hands together in front of her chin, an ear splitting grin across her face as she spins me around another time.

"It's just what you were hoping for in a Maid of Honor gown," Laney quips, still a bit sour that she was overlooked for the position.

"What do you think Emma?" Gem asks, big brown eyes wide on my face as I take in my reflection in front of me. I watch as they fuss over the details, patiently waiting for my opinion, but I'm unable to say much at all. I look fine now - the dress, a light shade of green, heavy with crystals and lace work, is truly a work of art. I stumble as Paula adjusts the corset back again and feel tears prick my eyes as she ties the laces impossibly tighter.

"It's beautiful." I squeak, doing my best to avoid eye contact with Gemma.

Lace. Gemma has wanted lace gowns at her wedding since we were only five. We spent many hours on the floor of my parent's lake house, staring at the ceiling but seeing ourselves dancing the night away with our future husbands on the walls. Her gown would be a show stopper, of course. Her parents would buy her a ball gown made of the finest lace money could buy and she'd look like a princess from the fairy tales we'd always read. Her best friends, she'd say, would match her but look just a little less pretty.

It always made me laugh. But now, all I want to do is cry. The fabric tightens over my abdomen and it's all I can do not to scream at them that this gown just won't work.

Lace isn't forgiving. I nearly lose all control as my eyes fall on my belly, already just a little fuller than it was before. Gemma's perfect day and here I am messing it up by not wearing the gown she's always wanted. And by being a complete buzz kill, if I'm honest, I groan internally, eyeing the fizzy champagne sitting in the ice bucket across the room.

"Okay." Paula mutters to herself, carefully undoing my dress without touching any of her meticulously placed safety pins. As she steps back into the changing room with me, she purses her lips. "You are not happy?"

I press my palm against the cool wall of the fitting room for balance, trying my hardest not to stumble and rip the gown. Flushed and overwhelmed, I take a moment to steady myself before slipping into my own pair of leggings.

"It's complicated." I sniffle, glaring up at the ceiling. The tears have been nonstop lately - in my office at work, at home watching TV, but especially during wedding planning and definitely any time I see a baby - in person or otherwise. No matter how overwhelmed I've ever felt, I've never cried so much. You'd think there'd be no tears left at all.

"It looks beautiful on you." Paula smiles for the first time and it only sets me off again with a new wave of emotion.

"I need to go," I shake my head and excuse myself from the fitting area. "Gem? I don't feel well. I'm going to have Adam take me home," I avoid eye contact as I grab my cell phone and wallet from the plush sofa positioned just in front of the podium.

I feel Gemma's eyes on my back as I rush from the boutique, already hearing the low hiss of Laney telling her how flaky I am yet another time. The thought crushes me and not for the first time, I wonder if I should let Laney take over. I'm not doing Gemma any favors.

I burst through the shop door to find Adam leaning against his car, a coffee cup in hand. His face brightens into a full smile when he sees me, and I feel my chest get even tighter. It might just be me, but it seems Adam only gets happier and happier to see me these days. His face falls as he takes in my expression and I instantly feel bad, grateful to have a friend as great as him.

"Emma?" He cocks his head to the side but steps out of my way to open the passenger door for me.

"I feel sick." I tell the truth. Well, half of it, anyway.

The key is already in the ignition. "I'll take you home?"

"Please." I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. "How was tux shopping?" I try for some distraction that so easily happens whenever I'm with Adam.

"Not bad. Wait till you see me at the wedding." He winks at me.

"That good, huh?" I chuckle but feel even worse for how I behaved at the boutique. Poor Gemma.

"Yup. What about you, any luck?" He mutters while adjusting the volume of the radio.

"Maybe. I'll have to go back, I think." I hope my tone sounds casual. "Hey, Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind staying with me awhile?" I open my eyes to read his expression, hoping he'll agree. I don't want to be alone right now and with Adam, I can push everything else to the back of my mind. He makes it so easy.

"Of course, Emma." He pats my knee before stiffening slightly and refocusing on the road.

As we drive back to my condo, I drift to sleep, thoughts blurring into faint images of a nursery and crib, a little dark haired, green eyed baby in blue staring up at me.

***

A pounding at the door startles me awake. Groaning, I sit up in my sofa and rub the knot forming in my neck. I've been passing out on the couch more and more the past few weeks, but this is the first time I've done it while working. I grab the sticky-note from my coffee table, reading that Adam left around four-thirty. Another new habit - Adam's been by for dinner a few nights a week the past couple of weeks or so. I try not to dwell on what that might mean. Squinting at the clock, I let out a yawn and stumble down the front hall, wondering who it might be.

I'd requested some samples from an artist for Gemma's wedding invitations, but I'm not expecting them for a couple of days. Not sure what else it might be, I peek out my peep-hole and find no one there.

I open the door cautiously, scanning the sidewalk in front of my complex but seeing no traces of anyone left behind. It's not until I take a step forward that I notice what's been dropped off.

"Ouch," I inhale sharply, picking my foot up to reveal the rose I'd nearly squished. A drop of blood forms on my heel where the thorn pricked me and I wipe it away with my thumb, bringing the rose to my nostrils. A subtle sweetness fills my lungs.

No note, I notice curiously. Taking one last look around the condos, I duck back inside and lock my door.

Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I'm careful not to drip any blood on my carpets before I get a bandaid on my foot. Once that's finished, I twist the rose in my fingers, watching it intently as if staring will reveal any answers.

Who left it?

The door bell rings and my heart stops, mind already rushing to the scariest scenarios possible. "Seriously?"

Chewing my lip, I quietly return to the front hall, dropping the rose in the bathroom trash, and take another look out of the peephole, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up straight.

This time I can't open the door fast enough, my clumsy fingers fumbling miserably with the lock. When I finally get it, I'm nearly breathless, heart beating as fast as if I'd just run a marathon.

Stupid girl, will I ever learn my lesson?

"Beau?" My frantic breathing tells me that I haven't.

"Emma." He says at the same time, voice full and loaded but firm and serious at the same time.

For a moment, I don't say anything, too stunned to even think clearly. He's here - shouldn't he be in rehab in California? My eyes narrow as I inspect his face, noticing clear eyes and healthy skin. My mind flashes to the red rose, limp in my trash bin, and guilt passes through me quickly.

I flush as I realize he's inspecting me the same way, his eyes landing finally on my stomach. Luckily the slight change isn't even noticeable in my sweats, but I cross my arms over myself shyly anyways.

A million questions run through my mind but I know I'm not the only one looking for answers this time so I hold my tongue.

"Come in," I take a step back and let him through the door.

As he passes by, I breathe in his smell and feel a deep ache in my chest. He halts just in front of me, green eyes intent on my face, only a few inches from his, and I want more than anything to lean forward and press my lips to his, to bury my head in his neck and to let him hold me. To let him fix this way I'm feeling. To let him make everything okay.

But we can't. It still stings when he takes a step back though, eyes guarded and somber. We're both quiet as he sinks into the sofa where I'd been asleep, long legs bouncing rapidly as he reaches into his jacket pocket. Pulling my letter from his pocket, he lets out a deep sigh.

We both just stare at the envelope, I think wishing that it would just spill its contents out before us, so that neither of us has to be the one to break the silence. It's Beau - talking to him shouldn't be this hard, but I'm too nervous to speak.

I knew seeing him again would be difficult but I didn't think it would feel so cold to be near him and to not be with him. Everything about this feels wrong and awkward.

Raising my letter in his hand, he meets my gaze finally, brows raised in a classic Beau expression. "Seems like we've got a lot to talk about."

"Yeah," I hug my torso tighter, feeling the color rise in my cheeks. "I guess we do."

Thanks for reading loves! I hope you enjoyed the chapter - let me know whatcha think in the comments! My heart feels sad. ):

Next question from TheLittleLees :
When did you know this was more than a one-book story?

Oooph. When I started I really planned for it to end after book 1! I intended to simply leave it with Beau and Emma agreeing to go to Nadine's for coffee - can you imagine? We were going to have to fill in the blanks ourselves, with the ending open to readers interpretation. But towards the end of Closer to You, I just realized that I loved Beau and Emma and their story and I felt like there was more to tell. In my head, it was clear they'd be together again, so why not go with that and tell the story of what happens when they get back together? Plus, I ended with the first ever Beau POV chapter and I can't say how much I love writing Beau pov. He's so different from Emma, so amusing and sad, and he has so much more story that deserved to be told. I decided I wanted readers to know the Emma back story & the Beau back story that wasn't able to be told in book 1. From there, a third book just felt right. ❤️