Every Bride Needs a Groom Read Free

right?”
    Ugh.
    â€œSo, I think you’re okay to enter,” she said. “I honestly do.”
    â€œYou really think I stand a chance?”
    â€œYep. It won’t hurt anything to try. You can write a compelling essay. Give it a title. Call it ‘Small-Town Wedding, Big-Town Dreams.’”
    â€œâ€˜Small-Town Wedding, Big-Town Dreams,’” I echoed. Sounded about right, though I certainly had no aspirations of becoming a big-town girl.
    â€œWhat have you got to lose?” Lori-Lou asked. “Wouldn’t you like to win a gown from Cosmopolitan Bridal?”
    The idea of wearing a designer gown on my big day seemed like something out of a fairy tale, not something likely to happen to a girl like me. Still, what would it hurt to write an essay? Maybe I could play around with the idea a little.
    After having an Oreo Blizzard with my sweetie.
    I waved at Casey and then said my goodbyes to Lori-Lou, promising her that I would at the very least pray about it. No harm in that. Surely the good Lord would show me what to do. And maybe, just maybe, I could throw in a “please let Casey pop the question soon” prayer while I was at it.
    After all, what was a potential bride . . . without a groom?

2 D on’t Mess Up a Good Thing
    Everybody wants you to do good things, but in a small town you pretty much graduate and get married. Mostly you marry, have children, and go to their football games.
    Faith Hill
    I n the Fisher family, we celebrated traditions that went back dozens, if not hundreds, of years. Springtime tea at Queenie’s house, Christmas Eve service at the Baptist church, reinventing the front window display at our family’s hardware store with the change of every season, and canning local peaches from Cooper Farms. These were the things I’d grown to appreciate.
    The tradition I loved most took place every Friday night when the whole Fisher clan gathered at Sam’s Buffet, the best place in town for good home-style cooking—outside of Mama’s kitchen, anyway. I’d never known a finer location for barbecue, salad, home-style foods like macaroni and cheese, chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and more. And the pies! Coconut meringue, milk chocolate, deep-dish apple, lemon meringue . . . Sam’s always had an assortment guaranteed to make your mouth water. In the South, grazing around a buffet was something of a religious experience, and we Fishers were devout in our passion for yummy food.
    Our weekly dinner routine usually kicked off with Queenie and Pop arguing over who’s going to treat who—or would that be whom?—to dinner. Queenie always won. Pop, never one to offend his mother, sighed and conceded, then proceeded to order the buffet. We all ordered the buffet. Well, all but Mama, who, under doctor’s orders to lower her cholesterol, ordered the salad bar. That happened one time, and one time only. From that point on she ordered the buffet and made healthier choices. Mostly. There was that one time when, stressed over losing her top soprano from the choir, Mama ate her weight in lemon pound cake. But we rarely spoke of that anymore. In front of her, anyway.
    Not that anyone blamed my mother for giving in to temptation. Who could go to Sam’s and nibble on rabbit food with so many other flavorful offerings staring you in the face? Not me, and certainly not my three brothers, who all chowed down like linebackers after a big game. The poor employees at Sam’s probably cringed when Jasper, Dewey, and Beau came through the door, but they never let it show. Instead, they greeted our family with broad smiles and a hearty “Welcome!” then told us all about the special of the day.
    As much as I loved Sam’s, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I awoke on Friday morning. I’d tossed and turned all night as I pondered Lori-Lou’s suggestion that I enter the contest. Should I