I square my shoulders, run a hand over my braid, and turn to my best friend, Courtney. I give her a crisp nod. “Today’s the day.”

She pumps a fist and utters a quiet but victorious yes.

“Try not to get too excited,” I tease.

“I can’t help myself. I’ve been waiting for this moment for, oh, the last eight months and three days.”

“Some things take time,” I acknowledge, as a soft summer breeze blows by. I run a hand over my leopard-print skirt, which hits several inches above the knee. Like a leopard, I’m tough, and I’m fierce. That’s what I tell myself, at least. Surely leopards give themselves pep talks too. “But when you’re ready you’re ready.”

She squeezes my arm. “And you’re ready. You’re so ready.”

I fashion my hand into a fist. “We’ll seal it with a vow.” I cringe at my last word, then I shake it off. A vow between friends is different. “No matter what, today is the last day we see that dress.”

Courtney squeaks, knocking her fist with mine. “Nothing you say could make me happier. Well, you dating again could.”

I scoff. “One step at a time.”

“I know, but the prospect of it makes me want to jump up and down and set you up with all the hot, sexy single men I know.”

I arch a brow. “The men you know are hot?”

Laughing, she waggles her hand like a seesaw. “That’s debatable. Maybe only a few are hot.”

“Let’s deal with the dress first.”

I reach for the door handle and pretend I’m heading into an interview, dealing with a CEO who’s been trying to stonewall me or with a biz-dev guy who doesn’t want to give up the goods for an article.

When I open the door, bells chime.

They sound like wedding bells.

Damn it.

With a hand on my back, Courtney gently but ever-so-firmly pushes me over the threshold. Not exactly the threshold I thought I’d be crossing eight months ago.

A cute teenager with ringlet curls and combat boots rushes over to us. “Hi, there! Can I help you?”

I look her square in the eye, saying words out loud that were once far too painful. “I’m Sabrina. I have a wedding dress I never wore. I dropped off the unused dress this morning and was told that Sasha would appraise and have a price for me this afternoon.”

The teen offers a sympathetic smile. “It’s all for the best,” she says, and I wonder how often she says that and if she means it. I wonder what questions she asks the other once-upon-a-time brides who never were.

I wonder if they’re anything like the questions this dress has asked me every day for the last eight months and three days.

Would you like to turn me into drapes?

Would you prefer to slash me with a knife?

Would you like to sell me to the highest bidder on eBay?

“It’s completely for the best,” Courtney cuts in. “And I’m sure Sasha can find it a good home.”