The shop is closed today, on account of all the employees and most of the patrons will be at the wedding, so we get ready in Nick’s office. It’s almost painful to think of him sitting at that desk, all the times I’ve insulted him and poked at him until he was forced to banter back. I run my fingers over the keyboard, imagining that his fingers have touched it.

“Hey, creep, stop lovingly caressing Nick’s keyboard,” Annie says, then puts a hand on her face. “Sorry. Wedding stress is turning me into a bitch.”

I laugh. “If this is your idea of being a bitch, then I think you’re all good.”

Since Annie didn’t do the traditional wedding party thing, it’s just me back here. Tyler’s popped in a few times to give us updates from Don, and she’ll let us know when we need to walk a few buildings down the sidewalk. I did Annie’s makeup (impeccably, I might add . . . thanks, YouTube tutorials from talented thirteen-year-olds!) and she looks stunning in her dress. It has lace sleeves to her elbows and an extremely low neckline, which manages to not be overly distracting on her because she has no boobs (we’ve often joked that I got all the boobs in our friendship). The dress cuts in right at her tiny waist (it’s so early in her pregnancy that she’s not even showing yet), then flares out into a relaxed but glamorous skirt. Basically, she looks like if Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle combined their styles, then made it even more romantic. Her curly hair is pinned into a loose updo, and my style mirrors hers. A few artfully natural waves spring free, and the rest of my hair is twisted up.

And while I know that all eyes will be on Annie . . . I love my dress. If I wanted to get married, I’d get married in this dress. The sparkliness, the fluttery sleeves, the blush pink color that makes me feel ultra-feminine.

“You look so pretty,” Annie says, and I look up to see her staring at me, her eyes welling with tears.

“No, no, no!” I shout, reaching into my bra for a tissue and then lunging at her. I hold a tissue under each eye, then whisper, “No tears. We are not messing up your eyeliner.”

She laughs. “I’m emotional. A wedding and pregnancy hormones . . . it’s too much for me to take.”

Sensing that she’s stable, I remove the tissues. “Also, I’m the one who should be telling you you’re beautiful. And you are. Annie, you’re always gorgeous but today you’re something else.”

She beams. “You think Drew is gonna like it?”

I snort. “Um, good luck getting through the ceremony without him whisking you off to a closet somewhere to do it.”

She frowns. “Not exactly the vibe I was going for, but I’ll take it.”

I pull out a compact and touch up my own lipstick.