Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Willa
I stood outside the shop, adjusting the chalkboard near the door that read: Your ex was wrong. You are, in fact, the whole damn package .
Smiling, I stared at the words “Curated Chaos” painted in sweeping, hand-lettered script across the front window in metallic rose gold. It was slightly imperfect, which was how I wanted it—a little uneven, whimsical, and bold.
Warm string lights draped throughout the shop, and glass shelves were surrounded by stacked pastel boxes tied with different ribbons. Upon the wall, behind the counter, the words Heartbreak Welcome. We’ll Handle the Rest was proudly displayed. Various quotes I created were printed and hung on the walls: We Ship Rage and Recovery. Burn It All Down, But With Glitter. To name a few.
The bell above the shop door jingled. Turning around, I saw Damien step inside, take his sunglasses off, and look around the shop.
“I’m happy you’re here.” I smiled, walking over and hugging him.
“This looks amazing, sweetheart.” He grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you. It’s pretty cool, right?”
“Very cool.” A handsome smile graced his face.
“I’m scared, Damien.” I rested my head on his shoulder.
“Why are you scared?”
“What if I fail? What if Curated Chaos is a flop and we go bankrupt?”
He chuckled. “We’re not going to go bankrupt, and you are not going to fail. Put your hormones away, sweetheart. Speaking of.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against my belly. “How is my baby today? Is that so?” He grinned. “She just kicked me in the mouth.” He looked up at me.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “It was an excited kick. She’s excited to hear your voice.”
“Seriously, sweetheart. Stop worrying. This is your world, and I’m in for life.”
“I love you.” Her lips pressed against mine.
“I love you, too.” I clapped my hands. “What can I do?”
“What do you mean?” My brows furrowed.
He glanced at his watch. “Your grand opening is in one hour. What can I do to help?”
“Um, nothing. Everything is done and ready. Don’t you have to get back to the office?”
“Not today. I’m here to support my beautiful wife, and here is where I’ll be all day.”
* * *
I inhaled sharply as I signaled for Damien to unlock the door. Instantly, the bell above the door jingled as two women stepped inside—one clearly trying not to cry, the other dragging her by the hand. Reaching into the “Emergency Chocolate” bin behind the counter, I grabbed a couple of pieces and handed them to the two women.
“Welcome to Curated Chaos. Someone either dumped you, ghosted you, or said, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ but meant, ‘it’s you.’ What are we working with here?”
The crying woman breathed out a laugh. “He said I was too much.”
“Too much what? Personality? Heart? Intelligence? Ovaries?”
Her friend snorted. “All of the above. He was garbage anyway, and now she finally sees him for who he really is.”
“But I loved him.”
“Follow me. I have just the box for you.”
I led them over to the shelf labeled You Are, In Fact, The Whole Damn Package , and picked up the pastel pink display box.
“This one has a rage candle, breakup bingo, a revenge playlist, a bath bomb labeled Let That Man Go , filled with rose petals and emotional detachment. A Scrub That Man Off You loofah , and a tiny bottle of champagne labeled He’s Gone. Let’s Glo Up .”
Out of nowhere, the crying woman threw her arms around me. “I think I love you.”
“Aw, I love you, too. So, get in line, babe. There’s a whole wall of women I’ve emotionally revived, including myself.” I smiled.
Nestled in the shop's back corner, between the Scents of Closure candle shelf and a wall of more breakup boxes, was the Self-Love Snap Spot—made for healing and flexing. It was a floor-to-ceiling wall covered in shimmering pink tinsel and bold vinyl letters that read: Cried Less. Looked Hotter, with a neon heart in blush pink and the handle @CuratedChaosShop.
“Thank you for stopping in, committing to heal yourself, and your purchase. If you’d like to show the world you’re handling the breakup like a queen, you can step over to Self-Love Snap Spot and take a selfie with your box. Don’t forget to tag me.” I grinned.
“How fun!” her friend said. “Come on, Ruby. Let’s go take a selfie.”
I glanced at Damien, who stood there with a bright smile on his face. The bell above the door jingled several more times within ten minutes. Women were flocking into the store, one by one, and taking their time, looking at the merchandise that would probably change their lives.
“Oh God.” Damien gripped my arm. “I’m going into the back room.”
“Why?” My brows furrowed.
“See that woman over there in the black pantsuit?”
“The blonde?”
“Yes. That’s Marissa McMann. She’s the editor for Page Six. I hate that woman and don’t want her to see me.” He walked into the back room.
“Willa Blackwood?” Her heels clicked along the tile as she walked over to me.
“Yes? Hello. Welcome to Curated Chaos.”
“This place,” she said. “Smells like lavender and feelings.”
“Well, we like our healing sparkly.” I grinned.
“I’m Marissa McMann, the editor of Page Six. I came to check out your shop and to see what it’s all about. There’s quite a buzz all over the internet for your boxes.” She stared at the stack of Thanks For The Trauma boxes. “This—is what all the buzz is about?” she asked, examining the box's contents.
Her tone was snotty, but I was unbothered. “Yep. Breakups, emotional instability, meltdowns, broken hearts, and minor identity crises. All boxed up and hand-curated by yours truly.” I grinned, reaching into a glass bowl and pulling out a pink bath bomb labeled Blocked and Bathing. “Here, this is for you. A sample of what Curated Chaos has to offer.”
“And you’re the one married to Damien Blackwood?”
“I am.”
“People seem to be obsessed with your story and him. But everyone knows Damien all too well. His recklessness, the excessive notches in his bedpost, the women he tempted with expensive dinners and champagne, ending with a one-night stand and broken hearts. These people are not rooting for love. They’re watching and waiting for the fallout.”
I reached over and grabbed a bottle of Better Off & Buzzed champagne and held it up.
“Let them watch. We toast either way.” I grinned.
Marissa’s eyes blinked twice, almost as if she were impressed.
“No comment,” she said, looking around the shop and taking pictures.
“Sweetie, that was a comment.” I smiled, walking away to help other customers in the store.
She finally left, and Damien walked over and stood beside me, watching her hail a cab outside the window.
“I have to say, sweetheart. You handled that bitch very well. I would have had to restrain myself and not slap her like I’ve wanted to for years.”
“She’s unhappy, that’s all.” I smiled. “I don’t care what she thinks about the store or us.” I lay my head on his shoulder.