I turned and looked her over. We had the same brown hair, but that was where our similarities ended. Where I was short, she had five inches on me. I had trouble finding bras that fit well and looked pretty. Amy didn’t even need an underwire. She weighed a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and flaunted a size two figure. My thigh was that size.

She wore a slim dress that fell to just above her knee. The bright yellow made her hard to miss, but with her strappy high heels, she looked elegant and sexy. The huge diamonds in her ears and in the engagement ring on her finger made her look expensive. A guy could take one look at her and know she was high maintenance and costly to keep happy.

I could tolerate her being taller and prettier. I’d been used to that my entire life. It was her grand attitude she carried around like a designer purse that drove me bonkers. She didn’t even notice how the flowers perfectly matched the photo of what her bouquet would include, which she’d been adamant about. Or the color, a slightly deeper shade of off-white to match the “bone” color of her dress.

Mother looked equally elegant in her blue dress, but it wasn’t sexy or flashy. She went for understated, except for her jewelry which was big, shiny, and plentiful.

“You wouldn’t want a cake to overshadow the bride.”

At the sound of Thatcher’s voice, Amy and Mother spun about on their three-inch heels.

I bit my lip at the look on their faces. Amy’s eyes widened to saucers and my mother’s mouth dropped open like a fish.

Thatcher definitely had that effect on women. Young and old. And in crisp jeans, a white snap shirt and cowboy hat, he was… devastating.

“You’re Astrid’s date?” Amy asked, as if the idea couldn’t be possible.

I bristled worse than her passive aggressiveness about the cake.

“From what Astrid has told me, you’re her sister, Amy,” he countered.

I thought about everything I’d told him about my sister, which wasn’t much.

“Astrid, dear,” Mother said, talking to me but eyeing Thatcher. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Thatcher tipped his hat. “Thatcher Manning, ma’am.”

I winced as Mother hated being called ma’am since it reminded her she wasn’t twenty-five any longer. His effect was clearly strong on her since she didn’t say a word.

A woman approached, a big confident smile on her face. She was in simple black pants and a white blouse. Subtle and understated. “Hey there. I’m Kit Lancaster, the wedding planner. I saw your van and can’t wait to see the cake.”