Taking the Leap Read online

  Taking the Leap

  A Bridesmaids in Love Story

  Megan Hart

  Copyright © 2018 by Megan Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Also by Megan Hart

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Sam Donovan and Jenna Monroe have never met, but when both are asked to be bridesmaids in the wedding of Sam’s sister to Jenna’s brother, the electricity between them is immediate. Fierce. Electric. Sam’s been out for a while, comfortable with the fact she dates women exclusively even if being queer makes her mother crazy. Jenna, on the other hand, has always felt that it’s never been her family’s business to know about who she’s dating, whether it’s a man or a woman.

  Still, their attraction to each other is undeniable, and it’s Jenna who starts off determined to get to know Sam as something more than a fellow bridesmaid. Trying to keep a low profile so they don’t upstage the wedding is important to each of them, but soon it becomes clear that moving forward means coming out – for them both.

  Love is love, but sometimes you don’t know it until you find yourself taking the leap.

  One

  Sam

  * * *

  “Just try the dress on,” my mother says impatiently. “You’re going to look fine.”

  My younger sister Abby is getting married in six months, and I’m her maid of honor. Abby says she doesn’t care if I wear a tux instead of a dress, but our mother is having a fit about it. So I try on the dress, which is frilly and pink and does not look fine on me. Not at all.

  I come out of the dressing room to show her, hoping against hope that she will see the light of reason, but all my mother sees is, in her own words, “your adorable little pixie cut. But you have time to grow it out.”

  “It’s called a butch cut, Mom. Not a pixie cut. And I’m not growing it out.”

  Her frown is deep and wide. I love my mother, and I know she loves me. At least…I think she does. I hope she does.

  I also know this is killing her. Me, being me. The torn overalls and frogs in my pockets as a kid could be played off as being a “tomboy,” but now that I’m twenty-seven, there are no more excuses for the jeans and boots and leather jackets. No more excuses for the fact I don’t look so much like a girl, but I sure do like to kiss them.

  “Turn around,” she says, which is not a response to my correcting her about my hair. She’ll ignore that and pester me about it forever. She waves her hand in a circle. “Let me see the entire thing. Oh, you look gorgeous.”

  I do, dutifully, knowing it will not make a difference in how I feel about myself in the dress. “I did look at myself in the mirror before I came out here, you know.”

  “You won’t be wearing combat boots with it,” my mom says.

  I have to laugh at that and shake my head. “They’re not combat boots, Mom. They’re Dr. Martens. And Abby’s wearing Converse.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Mother.” I wait until she looks at my face. She hardly ever does. She usually lets her gaze skitter past me, as though the brutally short hair and total lack of makeup beyond my daily moisturizer are a physical affront to her psyche. She manages to focus on me now, and I continue, “Whatever Abby wants to wear for her wedding is what she gets to wear. And whatever she wants me to wear, I will wear, because she’s my sister and I love her.”

  “So, it’s settled, then. You’ll need to have it taken in a bit on top.” My mom waves a hand at the bodice of the dress, which is meant to be filled with more than what I’ve got going on.

  “If Abby wants me to wear this, I will.” I stopped hollering at my mother a long time ago. It never worked. Now I just repeat myself over and over until she gives up.

  I have a sinking suspicion that this time, she’s not going to give up so easily. This wedding is a do-over for my mom, who apparently didn’t have what she wanted when it was her turn, so she’s making damned sure my sister doesn’t, either. Only our mother won’t come out and say so, and I’m sure she’s convinced herself that isn’t what’s she’s doing. She’s just so determined to steamroll every decision my sister makes that doesn’t suit Mom’s idea of what a “real” wedding should be.

  “If Abby wants you to what?”

  Thank God, there’s my sister. I gesture at the dress, but say nothing else. Abby takes a step back, both eyebrows lifting.

  “Umm…this is not…” she waves both hands in my direction but seems to have lost her ability to speak.

  “We’re having it taken in, and she’ll get a pretty pair of flats.” Mom says this defensively, so it is obvious she knows how awful I look, even if she won’t admit it. At least she conceded, even without coming out and saying it, that I won’t wear heels.

  Abby shakes her head. “Sammy, I thought you were going to wear a tux.”

  “She can’t wear a tux! She’s a girl!” My mother whisper-screams this, hissing like a snake. Her voice drips as much venom as a serpent, that’s for sure.

  Her voice turns heads in the tiny bridal shop. Abby looks embarrassed. I know better than to say a word. I just go back into the dressing room and take off the bridesmaid’s dress. When I come back out with it on the hanger, my mom and sister are having a full-blown argument under their breaths.

  “…there’s not a damn thing wrong with that dress!” My mother says as I come up to both of them.

  “No, Mom. There’s nothing wrong with the dress. But everything is wrong about me. Right?” The words sound calm, but I’m not.

  She doesn’t say anything, and she’s back to not looking me in the face. It hurts, even now, even still, when it’s been years and years of this from her and I have stopped expecting it to get better. One of the bridal shop attendants shows up to take the dress from my hand; if she means to ask us any questions, the sight of the three of us sends her off without a word. She’s probably used to meltdowns. Abby has started to cry, and I feel like doing the same but I won’t give myself the chance. Not here. At home I’ll curl up in the shower and sob for awhile until I feel better, but I won’t do it in front of them.

  “If Abby wants me to wear the dress, I’ll wear it.” I repeat this calmly, looking at both of them even though neither will meet my gaze. “But I’d like it much better if I wore a tux.”

  The waterworks have started up with my mother now, and she mutters something I can’t make out but sounds mean. She gathers her things and leaves the bridal shop without another word, leaving us to stare after her. My sister swipes at her eyes and offers me a watery smile.

  “That went well,” she says, but doesn’t reassure me that she’s not going to force me into a frilly pink gown for her wedding.

  So, what can I do? I hug my sister, and she clings to me hard for a minute while I pat her on the back and tell her not to worry. It’s all going to be okay. And I’m sure it will be, one way or another, even if next six months are going to be hell on earth.

  Two

  Jenna

  * * *

  Al