Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls #4) - Amber Kelly Page 0,4
pop at any second.
“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t sit in that house for another minute. Nesting kicked in over a week ago, and I have cleaned out every single closet and drawer and rearranged the furniture in all the rooms. I’m going stir-crazy. Besides, I can’t miss Sophie’s shower,” she says as she hands me the wrapped box she is carrying.
Sophia Lancaster Young is Dallas’s best friend, who happens to also be expecting. She is married to Elle’s brother, Braxton, and their bundle of joy is due in a few months in the fall. Her mother came into town this weekend to throw her the baby shower to end all baby showers. Elle called me last night and said that four trucks had pulled up to Rustic Peak—the ranch where she lives with her aunts and uncle—loaded down with party supplies.
I place the box into the trunk of my 1966 cherry-red Mustang. It was a graduation gift from Momma and Pop. I’ve always loved muscle cars, and Pop had this beauty up on blocks under a tarp in the old barn for at least two decades. It was his dad’s car, and he had been in the process of restoring it to its original glory when he passed away. While I was in Chicago, Pop had it moved to Jackie’s Garage in town, and he and Jackie spent the last couple of years finishing it for me. I love it.
“Can we take the top down?” Beau asks as he climbs into the backseat.
“If it’s okay with your momma,” I answer.
“Please, Mommy?” he begs Dallas.
“Sure. I’m already sweating like a sinner in church. My hair is going up in a messy knot anyway.” She gives in as she plops down in the passenger seat next to me and shuts the door.
I lower the convertible top, and we take off down the road as Beau throws his arms in the air and giggles.
We pull up to Rustic Peak and are assaulted by a barrage of pink. Pink, white, and soft-gray balloons line the long driveway to the house. A large dark wood arch—woven with gorgeous pink, white, and sage-green-colored peonies—stands to the side of the house, leading guests into the backyard.
“Wow, this is something else,” I say as I move into the parking spot indicated by the attendant.
“Vivian has outdone herself,” Dallas muses as she shakes her head.
Sophie’s mother tends to be extra in all things. She is a New York socialite, and she forgets—or rather ignores—the fact that Poplar Falls doesn’t really do extravagant.
Momma and I along with Dallas’s mom—Dottie Henderson—threw Dallas’s baby shower in town. Dottie and Dallas own Bountiful Harvest Bread Company and they had purchased the space beside their bakery in January and expanded it to include a small café, where they serve breakfast and lunch sandwiches. We had the celebration there after hours one Saturday evening. Our mothers did all the cooking, and my girls and I decorated in neutral buttercup yellow and brown because Dallas and Myer had decided not to find out the sex of the baby and just to be surprised when the time came.
It was simple and sweet, just what Dallas had wanted, which is the exact opposite of what we see when we round the house and walk through the flowery arch.
“Is that a pony, Mommy?” Beau excitedly asks as I lead him by the hand into what can only be described as a princess garden party.
Pink Chinese lanterns, softly glowing in the twilight sky, are strung on the trees. Underneath the trees are large tables, each one topped with a white tablecloth, a breathtaking centerpiece, and silver candlesticks along with white china and crystal wineglasses, and the chairs are covered in what looks to be pink silk. It’s magical.
“Yeah, it sure looks like one,” Dallas tells him.
He tugs his hand free of mine and races in the direction of the snow-white pony, wearing a huge pink bow around its neck.
“She bought a newborn baby a pony?” I ask in disbelief.
“Not a newborn. A not-yet-born baby,” Dallas points out.
A waiter walks past us with a tray and offers us a glass of pink champagne. I take a flute, and Dallas eyes the tray as she balances our gift on her huge belly.
“Really?” she asks him.
He meets her glare and scurries off.
We hear, “He probably thinks you’re just fat,” followed by laughter as Charlotte—Sophie’s friend and business partner from New York—comes sidling up next to us.