EW YEAR’S DAY, PARKER THOUGHT AS SHE SETTLED DOWN AT HER desk to catch up with paperwork. The holidays, the parties, the events, Mac’s wedding, had all combined to put her a little behind.

Add her own engagement, she mused, and held up her hand so her pretty diamond ring caught the wispy winter sunlight, and there was no wonder she’d slipped a bit off schedule.

She had all afternoon to take care of it, to reset the clock, so to speak. And to turn the calendar on a very eventful year.

What a difference twelve months could make.

Four engagements and a wedding.

A year ago, she hadn’t known Malcolm Kavanaugh existed, and now in ten months they’d be married. God, she had a ton of planning and work and research to do.

She was going to marry the man she loved, and the wedding was damn well going to kick some serious ass. She studied her ring again until her eyes went dreamy. She’d ended and begun her first year with Malcolm. It was just the beginning.

And this, she reminded herself, was why she wasn’t getting any work done. She already had Bride Brain Syndrome.

She booted up her computer.

She’d work in a quiet house, she thought, uninterrupted.

Mrs. Grady should be finishing up her packing for her annual winter vacation. Mac and Carter would be doing the same for their honeymoon. She imagined Del and Laurel, Emma and Jack, would all be cozied up in their own spaces, lazing the day away.

And Malcolm—her Malcolm—had already left for the garage where he planned to catch up on some work.

Tonight, they’d have a farewell dinner to send the three travelers off in style.

Then she and her Malcolm could take a few days—Vows always slowed down after the first of the year—for a quick winter break at the beach house. Just the two of them.

“So buckle down, Parker,” she muttered. “You’re not the only bride who needs attention.”

She managed nearly an hour before the invasion.

“Why are you working?” Laurel asked as she walked into Parker’s office with Emma and Mac.

“Because it’s what I do. Why aren’t you packing?”

“Packed.” Mac made a check mark in the air. “Florence, here we come. But right now... ”The three of them moved forward, pulled her right out of her chair. “You’re coming with us.”

“Do you know how far behind I am—”

“Five minutes, if that,” was Emma’s estimate.

“We may not have an event for two weeks, but—”

“Last night’s went great, and I know damn well you’re already packed even though you’re not leaving for two days. You probably packed for Mal,” Laurel said.

“I did not. I simply gave him a list of suggestions. Really, I just need another hour. We’re all having dinner later anyway.”

“We have more important things to do now than work.” Mac kept a firm grip on Parker’s arm as they steered her toward the stairs.

“You may, but I... ”The light dawned as she realized the direction. “You picked out a wedding dress for me.”

“It’s a women of Vows tradition.” Emma patted Parker’s butt. “We ordered the men to make themselves scarce this afternoon. We’re going to have a Parker’s wedding dress party.”

“With the qualification, as always, if it doesn’t suit you, no harm, no foul.” At the door of the Bride’s Suite, Laurel turned, blocked the door. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I am. Wait.” Parker laughed, laid a hand on her heart. “Wow. I’m having a moment, a really good moment. I’ve helped pick out so many of them, and now I’m going to try one on.”

“And you’re going to look beautiful. Open the door, Laurel, I’m dying here,” Emma ordered.

“Here we go.”

With her hand still on her heart, Parker stepped in. And her hand simply slid down to her side.

The bride-white silk flowed from the strapless, sweetheart bodice, down the narrow torso to a full skirt. The classic ball gown style shimmered with intricate beadwork and embroidery, sparkling on the bodice, trailing down the side, circling the sweeping hem and train.

Its lines, its style, would, unquestionably, suit her. But that wasn’t what blurred her vision.

“It’s my mother’s wedding gown. It’s Mom’s.”

“Mrs. G got it out of storage.” As she spoke, Emma rubbed her hand up and down Parker’s back.

“She was slim like you, and she was nearly as tall.” Mrs. Grady dabbed at her eyes. “You may want to pick out your own, something new, but we thought—”

Parker shook her head, unable to speak, and simply turned to wrap her arms around Mrs. Grady.

“I can’t take pictures if I’m crying.” Mac grabbed at the tissues always on hand in the room.

“Here, everybody, drink some champagne, and suck it up.” Laurel swiped a hand over her damp cheek before she poured.

“Thank you.” Parker kissed both Mrs. Grady’s cheeks. “Thanks, all of you. Yes, God, give me that.” Parker took a flute of champagne from Laurel, a tissue from Emma.

“It’s beautiful,” she managed. “Absolutely beautiful. I’ve only seen it in pictures, only seen how wonderful she looked in it, how happy she and Dad looked. She married my father in that dress, and now I’ll have both of them with me when I marry Malcolm. It’s the best gift you could give me. The best.”

“Well, for God’s sake, try it on. Strip down, Brown,” Laurel ordered.

“Okay. Here goes.”

“Back to the mirror,” Emma reminded her. “No looking until you’re done.”

They helped her into the gown, as she had helped each of them.

“Turn around, but close your eyes. I want to fuss with the skirt and train.” Already thinking bouquets, Emma spread out the hem, swept the train. She glanced at Mac, got the nod as Mac positioned herself and her camera. “Okay, take a look.”

In the mirror Parker saw on her face what she’d seen on so many other brides’. The thrill, the wonder, the glow.

“This was my mother’s wedding gown,” she murmured. “And now it’s mine.”

“Parks.” Mac repositioned, pressed the shutter again. “You look spectacular.”

“Happy’s what you look.” Mrs. Grady beamed at her. “Happy and in love. Nothing fits a bride more truly.”

“I’m a bride. I’m happy and in love, and I look spectacular.”

“Put that camera down, Mackensie.” Mrs. Grady lifted her own. “I want my shot of the four of you. Don’t step on the train! There. Now, think Wedding Day.”

When they laughed, she snapped.

“Let’s have a toast. Everybody get their glasses. Emma, you lush,” Laurel accused. “Yours is empty.”

“It helped me stop crying.”

Refilled, Emma lifted her glass with the others.

“To a monumental year,” Laurel began.

“Oh boy, howdy,” Mac put in.

“To our men,” she continued, “who are lucky to have us. To our mom.”

Mrs. Grady teared up again. “Don’t start.”

“To friendship.”

“And to Vows,” Parker added. “And the women who run it. We marry you with love, with style, and with exquisite attention to detail. Especially when we marry us.”

They laughed, clinked. As they drank, Mrs. Grady stepped back and took another picture. They began to talk of headpieces, of flowers, colors for the gowns the other girls would wear.

Her girls, she thought, all happy and in love, and all spectacular.

To my girls, she thought, lifting her glass in a solo toast. To the Brides of Vows, and their happy ever afters.

THE END