Georgia on Her Mind(64)

“I’m sad,” I say.

“Darling, don’t fret.” Adriane grabs my hand and gives it a concerned squeeze. “Your man will come.”

“Not about that, Adriane. About the end of the SSS.” I look at each of them. “The end of a great era.”

“But a better era is before us,” Lucy says. But by the look in her eye, I know she feels what I’m feeling.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, then Tamara pierces our gloom with a vivacious “Let’s see that ring of yours.”

Adriane lifts her left hand, where an enormous diamond sparkles on her ring finger.

“You’re joining the HEA club,” I say, gripping her fingers for a better look.

“It’s over a carat.”

I gaze at her pretty, radiant face. “It’s beautiful.”

The conversation around the table is about diamond rings. Adriane promises up and down that she didn’t want one, but how could she turn Eric down when he proposed with such a gorgeous princess-cut diamond set in platinum?

I’m jubilant and cheery at first, but when Lucy and Tamara gush about Jack’s and Sam’s latest romantic moves, I sulk in my chair.

A few short months ago Adriane practically despised all men. Now she’s going to share a bed with one.

“Adriane, how’d Eric win you over?” I ask my dark-headed friend with the bright eyes.

“He just did.” She sounds matter-of-fact, hand cupped around her coffee mug instead of propped for an imaginary cigarette. Her expression is dreamy.

“Did he do or say something?” I can’t believe love happens in a vacuum.

“Yes, I suppose he did.” Adriane sips her coffee. “He loves me. No matter how rude or trite I am, he loves me.”

“Sam makes me feel so at ease, like my worst day is nothing to him,” Tamara says, all smiles. “God knows what we need.”

“He does,” Lucy agrees. “Jack is my quiet strength. When he’s around, I feel safe.”

“That’s how my dad is,” I interject, not zeroing in on the fact they are talking about their future husbands and I’m talking about my dad.

But Tamara’s comment gets me thinking. What do I need? Not what do I want, but what do I need? I don’t think I’ve ever asked that before.

Now the couples chatter starts. How often can they get together? Jack is this, Sam is that. Eric just did such and such. Blah, blah, blah.

What I need is a double mocha with whipped cream. I leave the table to order. I’m the last-standing single of the Single Saved Sisters, and I’m standing in the valley of decision.

Everything is changing. The Sisters are moving on with life while I run around in the backfield trying to recover a fumble. I have the Chicago offer, and Dad’s. But is moving to Beauty and taking over Moore Gourmet Sauces the same as settling for a field goal when I could punch in for a touch-down on fourth and goal?

I drop my head to the café counter. “Macy, your double mocha.” Zach nudges me.

“Thanks.” I rejoin the ladies.

Lucy tosses me a bone and asks for a Macy Moore update. “What’s the skinny on Chicago?”

I can’t help but smile. “Well, the offer is amazing.” I give them the high-level details, to which they ooh and aah.

After they settle down, I tell them about Dad’s Moore Gourmet Sauces offer, to which they umm and ohh. Finally I tack on the news of Drag’s identity, at which they utter nothing. Just stare.

“Unbelievable. What are you going to do?” Tamara asks.

“Beg God for wisdom,” I say with a pound of conviction. “But there’s more.”

“Do tell.” Lucy prods me under the table with her pointy shoe.

“When you all were gone that first weekend in June, I drove up to Georgia. It’s Saturday In The Park month…” I pause while Lucy explains the Beauty Days tradition.

“I ran into Dylan after he won the pie-eating contest.”

“And?” they chorus.

“His face was covered with whipped cream.” I look around the table. “He walked right over to me and kissed me. Cream and all.”

Lucy slaps my arm. “You waited this long to tell?”

“What did you do?” Adriane gushes, leaning my way. Now that she has this romance thing bagged, she’s into everyone else’s stories.

“I said I’m moving to Chicago.”

“Oh, now wait a minute.” A debate over my life starts, which gives me a rip-roaring headache.

“You can’t give up on Dylan. Not after all these years,” Lucy says.

“I can’t give up on Chicago. Not after all these years.”

Then Tamara turns to me. “Tell me, was it a good kiss?” she asks, as if the question might help me determine an answer.

“The best.”

“This is unbelievable,” Adriane says. “I have to turn this into a book. But Macy, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, even if they were thousand-dollar Pradas.”

“It’s not that bad,” I protest. “Look, really all I have is two solid offers. Moore Gourmet Sauces and Myers-Smith.”

“And Dylan?” Lucy kicks me under the table again.

I glare at her. “No, not Dylan.” I kick her back. “I can’t make my decision based on a simple kiss. He’s, well, fabulous. But he’s the past, not the future.”