Chapter 8: The Fitting Room

Warner's POV

The tailor's shop called me Tuesday at ten.

"Mr. Stancliffe, your tuxedo is ready for the final fitting," the assistant said brightly. "We have you at two o'clock."

I held the phone away from my ear.

"I'm not getting married on Saturday."

"Oh." There was a pause. "I'm so sorry. The order is paid in full, sir, and the groom is already here. We have him in the chair now."

I looked up at Erin, who was pouring coffee at my counter in one of Maggie's sweatshirts.

"I'll come pick up my tux," I said.

We took my car.

It was a narrow shop on a quiet street, with a bell on the door and three mirrors in the back.

Dean stood on the little round platform in front of them in a black tuxedo with the sleeves still pinned.

It was the one I had picked out in July and paid nineteen hundred dollars for.

It fit him perfectly.

Brooke sat on a velvet bench with her phone in her lap, and Marlene stood by the rack of ties.

Two other customers, a father and his teenage son, froze with a cummerbund between them.

The bell was still ringing when Dean saw me in the mirror.

"Warner." He didn't turn around. "Come to pick up what's yours?"

"That's mine," I said. "The one you're wearing."

"Glad you noticed it fits. Take it off me, then." He spread his arms and grinned at the room. "Go on. Take it off me in front of everyone."

The teenager laughed out loud and got elbowed by his father.

Erin stepped through the door behind me and the grin came off Dean's face.

She had her gray coat on and her hair in a knot, and she stopped beside me with her hands in her pockets.

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