Always the Designer, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker Page A

braided belt and buckle at the ankle. "Nope," she replied. "I'll bet they're pretty though."
    "They are. They're prettier than yours." And with that, the miniature fashion police girl wobbled away to continue walking her beat around the waiting area.
    Thanks for sharing.
    The large glass door slid open and Emma walked in. "Kat found a place that will clean the dress, and she's on the phone with them now," she announced before taking the empty seat beside her. "Any news yet?"
    "Not yet."
    "Have you ever been to a wedding like that one?" Emma asked.
    Audrey glanced over at her, and Emma's amused smile ignited a laugh from deep down inside. "No," she said between chuckles. "I never have."
    "I've seen a lot of weddings," Emma told her. "And I can tell you I've never seen a groom puke on his bride before. That's a new one."
    They both hopped to their feet as J. R. appeared and headed toward them. He carried the jacket of his tuxedo over his arm, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, vest unbuttoned, and the bow tie hung loose around his collar. Just looking at him gave Audrey a little quiver.
    "He's going to be okay," he told them as he approached. "It's his appendix."
    "What?"
    "Yeah. His appendix burst just as the ceremony concluded. They're taking him into surgery now."
    "You're sure he's going to be all right?" Audrey asked him.
    "The doctor seemed very confident. I guess they do this surgery all the time."
    Audrey noted the glimmer of doubt in his eyes, and she ran her hand along his arm. "Then I'm sure he'll be fine."
    "I know."
    "Listen, Sherilyn texted and said they went ahead with the reception for all the guests. She and Carly's dad are keeping it all together. I'm going back to see if they need help," Emma said. "Do you want a ride, or are you staying here?"
    Audrey glanced at J. R. before answering. "I'm going to stay here in case Carly needs me."
    "When her heart starts beating again, tell her I'll put the cake into the freezer and we'll figure it all out later, but they'll still have a celebration when he's up to it."
    "Thank you."
    "Sure." She grinned at J. R., and he nodded. "You take care. Call if you need anything at all."
    Once Emma had gone, Audrey let out a heavy sigh and deflated into an uncomfortable upholstered chair. A few sec onds later, J. R. did the same thing, and the two of them sat there, wilted and glazed, staring straight ahead.
    Finally, Audrey broke the silence. "So. Your brother's appendix bursts, and you blame it on fast food hamburgers."
    "If you'd seen what he ate, you would have blamed that too."
    "I've never really seen someone get that sick from a food binge."
    J. R. turned sideways in his chair, but just before he spoke, the little blonde girl appeared between them.
    "Yes?" J. R. prompted, but the girl just stood there staring at them. "Do you have something to say, young lady?"
    "She probably wants to tell you that my boots aren't as pretty as her pink ones."
    J. R. leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee, and asked, "Is that it? You want to discuss high fashion with me?"
    She giggled. "Nooo."
    "Then what can we do for you?"
    "I wanted to ask you something," she admitted.
    "Yes. This, I figured out. What would you like to know?"
    "Did you just get married?"
    J. R. smiled and cast a glance at Audrey before replying, "You mean because of my tuxedo?"
    "Yeah. Except for that on your arm—" She tapped a finger on J. R.'s tattoo. "—you look like Ken. 'Cept you need a haircut."
    "Who's Ken?"
    The little girl huffed and placed her hand on her hip.
    "That's Barbie's boyfriend," Audrey informed him.
    "You know Barbie?" the child asked.
    "Oh, yeah. Barbie and I go way, way back. I've designed a lot of wedding dresses for her."
    "You have?"
    "Yep. And dozens of red carpet gowns."
    "Wow."
    "Wow indeed."
    Finally. She'd surpassed the stigma of un-pink boots.
    "What's your name?"
    "Roslyn."
    "Roslyn," she repeated with a nod. "That's a very pretty, grown-up name."
    "What's