The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

taste in wine. Anyone fancy a celebratory Dylan-just-kicked-him-to-the-curb drink?”

Retrieving her empty glass from where she had set it on a bookcase, Dylan smiled. “Just think, Mom, when Mike and I get married, that could be your Christmas gift for the next thirty years.”

Bernice froze midpour to look at her daughter. Henry began to make small, strange sounds that alternated between joy and a cat caught in the dryer. Dylan counted to ten before letting her stoic expression crack. “And you two thought I couldn’t make a joke.”

Without waiting for her parents to finish processing, Dylan began laughing and grabbed the bottle. With a smile, she finished pouring herself a glass, certain that her parents would catch up on the joke and add a few of their own when they were ready.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was common wisdom among Seattleites that it only truly poured on special occasions. As Dylan nudged the car door open with her elbow and grabbed a fistful of slate chiffon, she had to admit there might be more than superstition attached to that belief. Her choice of dress had seemed so reasonable in the cool, dry comfort of an upscale boutique, but as she tried to wedge herself and an umbrella out of the car, she had second thoughts. Deep had convinced her that with her height, something floor length would be showstopping. Now, she wished she’d gone for a cocktail dress.

Dashing to the museum’s front entrance, she clicked the lock button on the key and listened for the horn’s telltale beep before forcing her way through the museum’s front door and letting her skirts fall to the floor. She marveled at the great hall, which had been transformed. The bright daytime fluorescent lighting had been replaced by jewel tones, carefully offset by playful pink, orange, and red uplights. Shimmering drapes hung over the usual posters and advertisements, giving the space a warm, magical hue.

“Thank God you are here!” The sound of Deep’s heels clicking against the marble drew Dylan’s attention away from the umbrella clasp she was doing battle with.

“You look amazing,” Dylan said, giving up on the snap and setting the umbrella in the holder as her friend came skidding to a halt in front of her. The dress Deep had chosen was a black-and-hot-pink color-blocked number that perfectly brought out the rich undertones in her skin. The dress was long sleeve but was cut short, and in true Deep fashion, she had paired it with sky-high bright-pink shoes that showed off her legs and matching pedicure. Even her lipstick matched the shade of pink running through the paneling on her dress.

“Of course I do. You clean up pretty nice yourself. I was right about that dress, wasn’t I?”

“It was a bear to get on. Not to mention getting in and out of the car.” Dylan shook the glamour wave out of her face as she said this, then smiled at her friend. “But yeah, you were right.”

“You look like a 1940s goddess. Very Black Katharine Hepburn. Now we just need Latin Spencer Tracy to show up.”

“You can’t call him Latin Spencer Tracy,” Dylan hissed at her friend.

“Why not?” Deep said, throwing her arms up. “He is Latino. Besides, brown Spencer Tracy sounds stupid.”

“Because other people will hear you. And then they’ll know about him and . . .” Dylan gestured to herself, checking to make sure her voice wasn’t carrying.

“You are acting weird enough. Whispering is a dead giveaway.”

“I never should’ve told you about him.”

“You’re right. But you did,” her friend said cheerfully. “Now, I need you in the room. We kicked the museum staff out a few days ago so it’d be a surprise, and I need all the extra hands I can get.” Deep hooked her arm through Dylan’s and began dragging her toward the sensory room.

“The thing starts in like twenty minutes. You’re not ready?” Dylan felt her heartbeat pick up, and she quickened her pace.

“Do I look like an amateur? Of course we’re set. Brandt just needs your opinion on the run of show.” Deep tugged her down the corridor that led to the sensory room. Dylan stepped onto a blue carpet that had been rolled out and roped off as if she were attending a Hollywood party, complete with dim lighting to add to the mystery of what lay behind the big wooden doors. “Now you get why I insisted on the dress.” Deep winked as she pushed on the heavy doors.

Members of the catering staff were hustling left and right, positioning event programs, arranging silverware, and setting out place cards. But the bustle of human activity was nothing compared to the electric hum of technology that touched every corner of the room. The walls and floors had been redone, and massive projectors hung from the ceiling, painting the room in the gray-blue light of a thunderstorm. Clouds and lightning crashed across the walls as the actual sound of pouring rain echoed around her, placing her right in the eye of the storm. The only thing missing was the water itself.

In the center of the room, Brandt stood holding a tablet and shouting instructions over the thunderstorm at Sobbing Frank from the admin team, who scurried over to the tech booth to remotely adjust the projectors a fraction of an inch higher. As Brandt stepped back to survey the progress, he caught sight of Dylan and waved broadly, dashing between chairs to get to her.

“I want a second opinion,” Brandt said, skipping the standard greetings, as Deep rolled her eyes. “Deep says start with thunderstorms, but given the weather, I think it has got to be the jungle theme.”

“First, this is amazing,” Dylan said, rotating 360 degrees. “I can’t believe you two pulled this off.”

“I didn’t sleep,” Deep said.

“This is just the prototype. Wait until we get the LCD screens, misters, and heat lamps in here. It’s gonna be killer.” Brandt’s enthusiasm was almost reckless.

“He didn’t sleep either.” Deep managed a deadpan before cracking up, forcing Brandt