Loren
SAYLA
FINAL CUT!
The file has individual images and video montages. Let me know what you think. EEK!
Not that my ego is at all invested. This project is about you two. But also a little about me.
Dex says 10 out of 10. No notes.
The barrage of texts dropped into our group thread while Bridger and I were at my apartment, picking up my car. Well, technically, we’re at the apartment I’m subletting from Dex.Moretechnically, we’re in the parking garage at the apartment building I was subletting from Dex—for free—before I got married and moved in with Bridger.
Would that make this a non-letting, now?
On any other normal day of my life, I’d come up with a better word to describe my situation. But my brain is currently emptier than my car’s gas tank. Because Bridger and I just watched the first of several montages Sayla whipped up, and I am flatlined.
Deceased.
Un-resuscitate-able.
And yet, I keep breathing while Bridger plays the rest of the videos. Then we scroll through the entire album, one image at a time. Somehow, she’s managed to make us appear to be the most in-love couple who ever lived in Harvest Hollow. An absolute miracle worker, my best friend.
When we finish, Bridger lifts his gaze to mine, lips parted. “Whoa.”
“Right?” I’m a little breathless. “She made us look amazing, didn’t she?”
“You should be on the cover of a wedding magazine,” he says. "Like,allthe wedding magazines.”
My cheeks flush, even though this is less a compliment to me and more a testament to Sayla’s talents. “Well, if we weren’t already married, I’d makeyouaudition forSurprise Brideimmediately.”
“That dumb show?”
“The very one.” I press out a chuckle. “Did you see the expression Sayla caught you giving me at the wedding, just before her little bee emergency?” His face was so sincere, my stomach actually swooped when we watched that clip. “You’d make some woman the happiest surprise wife on the planet.”
Bridger drags a hand over his hair. “I can’t even argue with you,” he says. “Everything she sent seems very—” He clears his throat. “Authentic.”
“Totally.” I nod. A lot. And there’s a twinge behind my breastbone. A tiny glimmer of something like hope. “Do you think …”
I let the question drift off. I’m honestly so overwhelmed by this week, I’m not even sure what I want to ask him. He waits for me to finish. But I don’t. So he finally prompts me.
“Do I think what?”
I swallow. “Do you think … your mom will buy it?”
“Ah. Yes. Operation Fool Margaret.” He squints down at his phone, quiet for another moment. “I’d have to say anyone with a pulse would.” He begins scrolling again, eyes peeled on the screen. Halfway through, a crease forms between his brows.
“Sayla said she’s open to feedback,” I remind him, concern flaring in my chest. “If there’s anything you want her to change. Personally, I don’t see anything that needs tweaking. But if you do …”
“Huh,” he grunts.
Huh?
My palms go clammy. The last thing I want is for Bridger to be disappointed in the pictures. Disappointed in my role as his wife. Of course I realize not everything’s about me. But honestly, I’m not used toanythingbeing about me. Until lately. Now I have so much of Bridger's focus, the feeling’s becoming familiar.
And I like that.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that these are all so great, I have no idea which ones to send.”