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Right?”
    “‘If’? You mean you’re not sure?” Brooke leaned forward.
    “Of course I’m sure,” Lacey said.
    “That’s what Bluebeard’s wife said,” Stella added. “Just before she opened the forbidden door. And found the rest of Bluebeard’s wives. Dead, I might add. Totally dead. And blue.”
    “They were not blue!” Lacey sputtered. “You’re a comfort, you know that, Stella?”
    “I try.” Stella stabbed a piece of corn bread with her purple nails. “Gee, I wish I could come with you, Lace.”
    “If you’re so busy at Stylettos, how come you were able to meet us here? I thought you might have to work tonight,” Lacey asked.
    “I had to cut back my hours. I can’t stand a full shift on my leg until it’s, like, totally back in shape. Good thing I’ve decided to wear a long wedding gown.”
    “And you can always wear low heels if nobody’s going to see them,” Brooke pointed out.
    “Bite your tongue, Brooke Barton!” Stella was so aghast that Lacey laughed. “I am not wearing some nightmare orthopedic clodhoppers.”
    “Low heels do not mean orthopedic clodhoppers.”
    “Tell that to the jury, Miss High-Power Pumps,” Stella shot back.
    “You could always get some fancy lace-up, high-heel boots, maybe in white leather,” Lacey suggested.
    Stella nodded. “You’re talking about high heels, pointy toes, cute laces? That might be cool. Maybe some crystals, or pearls. Or at least rhinestones.”
    Of course they would have rhinestones
, Lacey thought. “And they’d support your ankle.”
    “But nothing orthopedic.”
    Lacey was pleased the conversation was safely back in the land of sugarplums and wedding gowns. Considering how sick she was getting of the whole wedding planning rigmarole, it was surprising how comforting it could be.
    Suddenly the memory bubbled up of Cole Tucker’s long-ago wedding proposal and what it might have been like to get married in Sagebrush, Colorado. In January. At forty below. A sudden chill went right through her, and she waved at their waitress for hot coffee. Stella and Brooke were still deep in Wedding Dress Land.
    At least I won’t have to explain what a jackalope is.

Lacey Smithsonian’s
FASHION BITES

    The Higher the Heel, the Harder the Fall
    Every shoe, like every woman’s dating history, has a heel. They may be tall, short, thin, thick, stacked, or see-through, chunky or stiletto, kitten or Cuban. But
high
heels are in a class by themselves.
    With the ability to lift you to new heights, to wound you, to pinch you, to squeeze you, and to bankrupt you, high heels are like a certain kind of man we all know, also known as a heel.
    Your foot has a heel. So has your shoe. A shoe may also have a tongue, a vamp, a sole, and a shank. But it is the heel that has seized the imagination, as it sashays through our thoughts and words. Has any other item of apparel achieved so much versatility in our vocabulary?
    When someone is “nipping at your heels” or “close on your heels,” you’re being pursued. You can be “head over heels” in love, but you may have to “cool your heels” and wait. Someone with “round heels” is said to be promiscuous. To be “down-at-the-heels” is to be shabby, and to be “well-heeled” is to be well-off. Basically, we all want our shoes to be well-heeled and keep us on our toes.
    And we want more. We are all subject to fashion fantasies and lies. And we might be foolish enough to believe that bows on the toes or bright red soles make all the difference.
    If only I had those powerful red peep-toe platforms, I’d win that job.
    If I had those darling pink slingbacks, I’d live a magical life.
    If I had those sexy glass slippers, I’d catch the eye of Prince Charming.
    But really, the most you can hope for in a pair of heels is that they complete your outfit, add sizzle to your figure, and won’t injure you by the end of the evening. Or cut your foot when that glass slipper shatters.
    Sadly, certain