How to Make a Wedding: Twelve Love Stories
Rachel Hauck & Robin Lee Hatcher & Katie Ganshert & Becky Wade & Betsy St. Amant & Cindy Kirk & Cheryl Wyatt & Ruth Logan Herne & Amy Matayo & Janice Thompson & Melissa McClone & Kathryn Springer
To Becky Philpott and Ami McConnell, two of my favorite editors. I’ll meet you for breakfast anytime!
Although spending an entire Saturday manning a booth at the Boise Bridal Extravaganza might not be most women’s idea of fun, Hope Prentiss was enjoying herself. It helped that Amity Carter had the next booth.
While Hope was at the October event promoting Harmony Creek, a popular Idaho venue for weddings and receptions, Amity specialized in helping brides plan nontraditional weddings.
Although both women were in their late twenties and were the best of friends, they couldn’t have been more different. How her friend had chosen to dress for today’s business event was a perfect example of her unorthodox approach. While Hope had picked black pants, a simple white shirt, and pulled her auburn hair back from her face with two silver clips, Amity breezed in looking like a windblown gypsy.
She had disheveled dark curls tumbling down her back, a boho-chic dress of purple gauzy cotton, and gladiator sandals. Amity’s eyes were the color of exotic spices, and her effective use of makeup made her eyes the focal point of a striking face. Though Hope usually received compliments on her sea-green eyes, next to Amity she felt like a brown wren beside a bright peacock.
Hope sighed when Amity handed her a cup of cappuccino “borrowed” from one of the vendors touting their mobile coffee bar.
“I can’t believe we’re friends,” Hope murmured, bringing the cup to her lips.
A sardonic smile lifted Amity’s lips. “Love ya too, Chickadee.”
Dragging her chair over to Hope’s booth, Amity settled in with her cup of gourmet hot cocoa. The fashion show was under way in another part of the Boise Centre, which gave the vendors a chance to relax.
Hope took a long drink and let the caffeine jolt her mind. “I meant you’re adorable and so much fun.”
“All true.” Amity flashed a grin, then blew on the steaming cocoa. “Though I prefer mysterious to adorable.”
“You’re beautiful and mysterious while I’m average and forgettable.” Hope’s lips lifted in a self-deprecating smile.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Amity drawled. “You have a few redeeming qualities. You’re a nice person. And a most excellent friend.”
“I’m not exactly spontaneous.”
“Are you referring to the incident last week when you refused to go to a concert with me so you could stay home and watch your pears grow?”
“I needed to pick pears,” Hope clarified. “Anyway, the cost of the ticket for that show was out of my price range.”
Amity’s eyes twinkled. “What range is that?”
“You know. Under twenty.”
Amity’s laugh sounded like the tinkling of a hundred mini wedding bells. “Darlin’, those prices went out in the last century.”
“I believe in being careful with my money.”
“A word from the unwise to the wise.” Amity took another sip of cocoa. “Can’t take it with you.”
Hope lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. Even after all these years, the memories of her parents arguing over money, the worry over almost losing the only home she’d known, remained with her. So she was conservative—being fiscally responsible wasn’t a crime. But she wouldn’t win this argument. Not with spendthrift Amity.
“I brought you something.” Hope rummaged around and found the box she’d stashed under the table. “Asian pears from my aunt’s orchard.”
“These look fabulous. They almost make me forgive you for the concert thing.” Her friend snatched the box, mouthed a quick ‘thank you,’ then abruptly narrowed her gaze. “Are you still hanging with Chester the molester?”
“He’s not a molester and his name is Chet,” Hope reminded her friend for the zillionth time.
Gold nails glimmered as Amity waved a dismissive hand. “Some names just seem to conjure up certain words. Hannah . . . banana. Fatty . . . Patty. Dirty . . . Debbie.”
“Hey, my mother’s name was Debbie.”
Amity only smirked. “Last, but certainly not least, Chester the molester.”
“Chester, er, Chet Tuttle, is from one of the most prominent families in Harmony,” Hope said, alluding to the small town just outside Boise where they resided. “He’d never molest anybody. He’s as upright as they come. The guy has never even had a parking ticket.”
“Am I supposed to applaud?”
Hope had to chuckle at her friend’s dry tone before her smile faded. “Chet would like for us to be exclusive. But I’m not ready to make that commitment to him.”
“Smart girl.” Amity nodded. “Why tie yourself to Mr. Super Boring?”
“Chet isn’t boring.” Hope rushed to defend the conservative banker. “He’s sensible.”