Or how perfect Kyle was, either.
For a little while, at least.
She closed the trunk and set it to the side, vowing to take it into her shop when she left tonight. She lived in Blue Harbor now, and she owned a bridal shop. This belonged with her more now than it did inside a dusty attic, even if it hurt too much to look at it.
The trunk felt heavy as she moved it to the side, heavier than its contents should weigh, at first glance. Curious, she opened the lid again and carefully slid her hand under the skirt of the dress, her fingers finding something leather. Her wedding album.
She knew she could close the lid again. Shove the entire trunk back in its place. Pretend she’d never sought it out, never found anything related to her past.
Instead, she carefully set the dress on an old armchair and pulled the album free. She ran her fingertips over the ivory cover. The date of their union was embossed with gold, and as she turned it open to reveal the first page, she felt a lump form in her throat at what she saw. Two smiling people, holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes. It was a black and white shot, but even still, she could see the radiance in her face, the joy in Kyle’s smile. The promise of so much ahead of them.
Until it had all taken a turn.
She swallowed back the tears that prickled her eyes, not wanting them to fall and ruin the still-capture. The proof that once upon a time all that she had needed to make her happy was Kyle.
That he had been enough.
And that she couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled like that again, since leaving for New York. Or coming back.
There was more in the trunk, too. Yearbooks with yellowing pages, a plastic box containing her senior prom corsage, now so dried out and brittle she was nearly afraid to handle it. Loose photos were scattered in a shoebox and she leafed through them, smiling at the memories of long summer afternoons on the water with her sisters, and crisp fall days at the orchard with her cousins.
But there was more. A napkin from the ice cream parlor with a date scrawled at the bottom. She held it closer in the dim light, trying to discern the handwriting, not recognizing it as her own, until she realized that it wasn’t her handwriting, but it was equally familiar all the same. It was Kyle’s. And there, in black ink, was the proof of their first date.
At Harborside Creamery.
She remembered now. She’d ordered the raspberry ice cream, and he’d bought her the largest size, even back then, making her self-conscious, but happy all the same because it meant it would take longer to eat, and that meant more time in his company. And she’d wondered if he’d thought of that too. If it had been part of his plan.
If it had been part of his plan last time they’d gone, too.
Quickly, she looked through the rest of the souvenirs: movie ticket stubs and strips of photos from the booth at the bowling alley of her and Kyle in silly poses, looking so happy that it made her laugh out loud.
And there, under a trinket he’d won for her at the Summer in the Square festival one year, was another napkin. This one from the café, before it was owned by Amelia, back when going to a restaurant on their own felt like a big deal. And there, in the corner, was another marking. Another date, only it was blurred out, and the paper was stiff, as if it had been caught in the rain.
She closed her eyes, remembering now. Their first kiss had been in the rain, right after their first dinner at the café. It had come down while they were walking down Main Street, and they hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. They’d run for Kyle’s car, shielding themselves with what little they had on them until they’d given up, standing at the corner under the streetlamp, their hair drenched, the rain falling into their eyes. And he’d told her she’d never looked prettier. And she believed him. Because that was the thing about Kyle. He always made her think of her best self. He’d always made her reach for her dreams.
She set the two napkins to the side, knowing what she would find next, because it was all there now, every small piece of their history. She remembered. And as she picked up the napkin for Fiorre’s, she knew that he did too.
That he hadn’t just asked her out on six dates.
He’d planned them.
“You up here?” There was a knock at the open door, followed by heavy footsteps. It was Gabby, already climbing the wooden stairs to the attic.
Brooke quickly set everything back in the chest and wiped her eyes, but there was no time to hide the evidence.
“Memory lane,” Gabby observed, coming to stand next to her. She sneezed, and then sneezed again.
“I was up here looking for old furniture I might use in my apartment,” Brooke explained.
Gabby didn’t look convinced. “And you happened to find your bridal trunk, complete with your wedding album and every other high school memento that Mom can’t bring herself to toss?”
Brooke looked down at it. “I’m sort of glad she didn’t.”
Gabby reached out a hand and took the album, smiling as she turned the pages. “I forgot how beautiful that dress was.”
“I did too,” Brooke admitted, letting her gaze rest on it. “I was so busy dreaming of bigger and more exciting things, I don’t think I realized how wonderful I had it.”
“Are we talking about the dress or something else?” Gabby asked, giving her a look of suspicion.
Brooke ran
