Page 1 of Finding Yesterday
CHAPTER ONE
I SLAM THEwine cellar door, and my veil snags, ripping the delicate fabric.
Great.
Running a finger over the tear, I groan, frustrated. But this is the least of my worries. I’m supposed to walk down the aisle—I check my phone—in sixteen minutes.
Sixteenminutes!
No one will find me in the wine cellar. Yes, I told my family I needed air, and it’s dark and musty in here, but in a good way, like Daddy’s best-selling Malbec. Plus, the icy floor feels good on my clammy bare feet. I abandoned my heels during my run down the gnarly steps to get here.
Oh, the irony. Today is a perfect day for a wedding. Outside is a cloudless sky and the Georgia Blues are in bloom, speckling the evergreen grounds with cool tints of lavender and indigo. The mountains are a stunning backdrop against the rolling vineyards in the distance.
Blue Vine, my tiny hometown in the sticks of North Georgia, is breathtaking in the spring.
So, what’s my problem? My fiancé, Hudson, is so understanding, letting us get married here. He’s more of a Ritz-Carlton kind of guy, but here we are, about to get hitched in a perfectly good barn.
Hitched. The word knocks my breath away. I fan my hands at my face, hoping that will help me inhale. It doesn’t.
This is just the cold feet everyone talks about. It has to be. Right?
It’s a weird thought since my bare feetareactually cold right now. My dress swishes around my legs as I pace the small room.
“Claire!” my sister, Emma, yells from the other side of the door.
Crap, crap, crap.
Emma is going to kill me. She’s always telling me I’m too indecisive. Being a runaway bride is theepitomeof indecisiveness.
She knocks before saying, “I know you’re in there. I found your shoes on the steps. What’s going on?”
I unhook the halter clasp of my wedding dress to free my neck. “I’m just getting some wine to calm my nerves. Be out in a minute.”
There’s a beat of silence before she replies, “Are you gettingdrunk?”
And this is exactly why I can’t talk to her, little Ms. Perfect. I’ve heard that many sisters sense each other’s thoughts and pain, but that’s not Emma and me. It’s the same with my brother, Nate. He’s pretty much the male version of her.
“Emma, no.” I let out a laugh that’s more of a squawk. “I’m just having a tiny sip.”
“Okay, but the photographer needs your help getting the bridesmaids lined up for the pictures. Our dresses are too poufy for us to stand close together.”
Hudson did have a few little catches with us getting married in Blue Vine. One was that he had me pick fluffy, apricot-colored bridesmaid dresses to match the fluffy apricot-colored logo of Tangz.
Tangz, the vegetarian restaurant Hudson and I run in Atlanta. We’re known for our sweet potato ravioli.
I wasn’t thrilled about a work-themed wedding, but since our photos will be featured inAtlanta Wedding Magazine, we agreed we should take advantage of the free publicity. Unfortunately, the bridesmaids are now walking marigolds.
“I’ll be up in a minute, I promise.” My own words kick up my pulse, and I rub my neck.
Emma groans. “Fine, I’ll leave your heels by the door. You need to get in place with Daddy. The ceremony starts in thirteen minutes.”
Thirteenminutes!
“Okay, thank you.” I bite my fist to stave off a scream. After the patter of her footsteps fades, I look at the crumpled piece of paper that caused me to head to the depths of the earth instead of down the aisle.
“The Golden Cow!” I pat the sweat beading on my makeup, but when I dab my eyes, a fuzzy strip falls on my finger.
There goes one of my “forever-stay” extended eyelashes.
