She shook her head, amazed at this woman. “Yes. What’s that have to do with anything?”

“I’m making sure my gaydar still works.”

“That’s not a thing,” Janet said. “Straight women don’t get gaydar.”

“Uh, they do, too!”

As they continued to argue, a little lift of something like hope rose in Ryann’s chest. She’d been dreading this more than she’d realized. Not this moment, specifically, since she hadn’t known about it until last night, but dreading moments like it, personal moments with people she didn’t know. But she found, as they laughed and joked and teased each other, that she didn’t feel left out or awkward. They’d made her part of it.

Once they’d finished their lunch and drinks, Joan led her into a small dressing room near the office. She was asked to step onto a small circular dais on the floor, and then Joan began taking measurements.

“What kind of dress am I going to be wearing?”

“It’s a nice red and white in Regency style.”

“Excuse me?”

Joan laughed. “That’s why the guys asked me to do this—not just because I can squeeze you in before the wedding, but because I do this style all the time. I already have the dresses made for a show from last summer, so it’ll only take some alterations for everyone’s measurements. You’re in red, Maddie’s in red, the guys are in white, and the rest of us ladies are in pink.”

“But why Regency?”

“Oh, gosh, of course you don’t know. My brother has like a real thing for Jane Austen—the books, the adaptations. He’s been nuts about her since he was a kid. He and Stuart are going to England for their honeymoon to see her house and her grave, places where the movies were shot—that kind of thing.”

She hadn’t thought to ask about the honeymoon and could hardly believe her ears. It was the very last thing she could imagine Stuart agreeing to go along with.

“Really?”

“Yep,” Joan said, jotting something down. “And don’t worry—the dress is really nice. It won’t seem like a costume at all. And you have the figure for it. You’ll look great.”

She let her mind wander as Joan continued to take measurements, writing things down in a little spiral notebook. Stuart had described exactly the kind of wedding he’d envisioned—she had the dream book in her suitcase to prove it—and it didn’t include anything like this.

“What are they wearing—the guys?”

“Same era, only in men’s styles. Jackets, waistcoats, white leggings, buckle shoes, the whole shebang. Maddie, too.”