Chapter 3 #2
We stand there staring at each other for a few charged beats. Then I nod and he turns to lead the way back into the shop. As he reaches the door, he tosses over his shoulder, “Maybe you can refrain from flipping me off now that you know I’m your boss.”
“Probably won’t. I tend to flip off and think later.” Might as well start this employment with full honesty.
“Heavens to Betsy,” he mutters so quietly I barely hear him.
He opens the door with one arm and steps aside so I can go in first. I frown at him, confused. He gestures impatiently with his free hand, so I step forward. All eyes have swung back in my direction.
I hold up my hand. “I’ve just recently learned to walk.”
Apparently my humor is lost here in Heaven, Mississippi, because they just stare back at me, not one chuckle in the bunch.
Silas puts his hand on my lower back and pushes me to the side of the store and through a curtained-off area in the back.
I notice we’re going rather quickly, like maybe he needs me to disappear so he doesn’t lose the potential sales.
Piles of clothes are in plastic, folded and lying on several six-foot tables. Boxes of fancy wood hangers, the kind that entwined with my hair, are next to the tables.
“If you can hang up all of this and put them on the racks in the back, that’ll keep you busy ’til lunch.” Silas rubs his hands together. “When it slows down, I’ll show you how to work the register.”
I nod, immediately turning to get to work.
I can do this. Having worked retail quite a few times to put myself through college, hanging up clothes is easy-peasy.
I dig in, humming my favorite songs just to keep my sanity while doing such mundane work.
Beggars can’t be choosers, so I refuse to complain about this job.
At some point, Silas calls my name, making me jump.
I put down the frilly dress I was working on and push through the curtain.
The air-conditioning is cranking nicely in this part of the store.
Silas is leaning against the register, a pretty brunette with makeup that looks like it’s been air-brushed on is leaning against the wall.
The two are laughing and enjoying their conversation.
“Yes, boss?” I instantly feel like a gremlin, hidden away from the pretty people.
This woman is everything I’m not. Curvy, dressed in colorful stylish clothes, makeup on point, and not a piercing in sight.
She fits in this boutique with the bright lights, excessive mirrors, and fresh flowers on every surface.
In my nana’s borrowed clothes, I certainly do not.
I try not to let the jealousy eat me alive.
“Betsy Mae. I’d like you to meet Mary London. My sister.”
Ah, his sister. Mary London extends her hand, her red lips splitting into a blinding smile. “So nice to meet ya, Betsy Mae! Betsy Sue has told us so much about you already. It’s like we’re family, don’t ya think?”
I blink, pasting on a smile in the face of such potent Southern charm. I could have sworn that thick of an accent was just a joke or a caricature, but here she is in the flesh. The embodiment of the Southern belle.
“H-hi. Nice to meet you too.” We shake hands, but then Mary London pulls me into an unexpected hug. God, she smells good too. Like lemons and flowers.
When she releases me, she keeps her hands on my shoulders, giving me the once-over. I have to give her credit, that smile doesn’t slip even one degree as she takes in my geriatric outfit.
“Silas asked me to come over with a few items for you, darlin’. Just a few little happies to get you settled in Heaven.”
I glance at Silas, confused. What the fuck is a happy? And why does he want me to have some?
Mary London releases me to grab a stack of clothing off the counter where the computer sits. She shoves it all into my arms, and I instinctively reach out to hold it.
“We have a bit of a dress code here, ya see,” Silas drawls, gesturing to the items. “This’ll get ya going.”
I look down at the stack of clothing in my arms and feel horrified. They’re giving me clothes, like the community charity case. And these still have tags on them. With prices I can’t possibly accept for free.
“Uh, well…”
“No arguin’! These oughta fit you just fine and bring out those gorgeous blue eyes.
” Mary London beams at me. Her blue eyes are like the turquoise water I’ve seen in pictures of the Bahamas.
Mine are that dull gray blue no one really gushes over.
Damn, this woman is a good salesperson. Maybe she should be working here.
“Well, thank you,” I mutter, cheeks burning. “But I tend to prefer black.”
There’s not one black item of clothing in this stack.
Mary London swipes her hand through the air. “Oh, honey, that’s for amateurs. You’re now a representative of Harp and Hemline. You gotta dress for success.”
“No black clothing allowed, Betsy,” Silas adds, not nearly as friendly as his sister.
Well, there goes ninety percent of my wardrobe. “Gray?”
Silas’s jaw clenches. “No black or any shade of gray, little storm cloud. This here is Heaven, Mississippi. We don’t wear…” He trails off as his eyes take in my full outfit. How is it that I can feel his gaze on my skin? “That.”
My jaw drops at the insult. With an armful of donated clothing, I still manage to flip him off.
Mary London’s shocked laughter is charming.
Of course it is.