“Shhh.” Savannah put a finger to her lips. “Secret, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m not supposed to tell him we picked out the perfect dress.”
Laurel burst out laughing, staggered into his mom, and hung on. “You’re like a vault, Cheryl.”
He turned to Savannah, who winced and evaded his gaze. “You picked out a dress? As in, bought it…already?” he added when he realized his incredulous tone sounded odd for a supposedly engaged man.
“Not a dress,” his mom scoffed. “The dress. You’re going to love it—and such a steal at just three thousand dollars.”
“Three thousand…” He couldn’t finish the figure. Speech failed him.
Savannah slumped against him and moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Him, too. But now he understood why she’d resorted to the Jose Cuervo. Clearly the afternoon of dress shopping had gone off the rails. “I think everyone’s had enough excitement for one afternoon. Let’s go inside and have some coffee.” He swept her into his arms. She draped her hands around his neck and buried her face against the side of his throat.
“Sorry.”
No, that should have been his line. He’d dragged her into this. He kissed her sweaty forehead. “Everything’s okay, Smith. I’ve got you.”
The moms sighed in unison, and then his said, “Remember the time Savannah fell off Beau’s scooter and skinned her knee, and he carried her home?”
Savannah’s mom nodded. “I always knew these two were destined to be together.”
“On second thought, this might require a lot of coffee,” he muttered, and led the way into his apartment.
“I’ll make it,” Sinclair offered, and walked over to the machine sitting on his kitchen counter.
He set Savannah on the sofa and eased one tall red heel off her foot. “Cabinet above the machine.” He slid the other heel off, rotated her ankle in a slow circle, and smiled at her appreciative moan.
“Got it,” Sinclair called from the kitchen.
Savannah’s mom grabbed a magazine from the coffee table, sat down beside her daughter, and fanned her. “How’re you doing, honey?”
She leaned back and her eyelids drooped to half mast. “Good. No.” She straightened. “Not good.” Then she leaped to her feet, scrambled around him, and hurried down the hall.
“Oh dear,” his mom said. “Poor Savannah. What a way to end such a wonderful day.”
Laurel stood, weaving a bit on her feet. “I better check on her.”
He gestured Savannah’s mom back to her seat. “Sit. I’ll take care of her.”
A short trip down the hall and through his bedroom brought him to the closed bathroom door. He knocked once and then walked in. Savannah sat on the tile floor, her back propped against the tub, arms resting on her drawn-up knees. She raised her head and gave him a terrified look. “Three thousand dollars.”
He hunkered down next to her and gathered her up onto his lap. “Don’t panic.” He stroked her hair and tried for a joke. “We’ll return it when they’re not looking.”
Sinclair appeared at the door and handed him a bottle of water. “Nope.”
He took the bottle and offered it to Savannah. “Hydrate.” Then he looked up at Sinclair. “What do you mean, ‘Nope’?”
“Dresses need altering. They’ve already done the first cuts.” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “That sucker is nonreturnable.”
Okay, it took a moment to choke the news down, but he managed. “That is…unfortunate, but don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.”
A combination of a sob and a hiccup erupted from the woman on his lap. “T-that’s not the w-worst part.”
There was worse? He glanced at Sinclair. “It’s an ugly dress?”
“Gorgeous dress. She’s upset because the moms paid for it, as a wedding gift. There was no talking them out of it.”