Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Silas
Betsy arrives at Harp and Hemline just minutes after I do Monday morning. She’s dressed in a floral skirt and light pink top that must have come from my sister. She paired it with her black boots and ten pounds of metal in her ears.
“Is your skin itching?” I ask by way of greeting.
She shuts the door behind her and walks to where I’m standing behind the register to drop off her backpack. “Skin itching?”
I point at her outfit, trying not to stare at the long length of leg that’s visible under the skirt. She’s so pale she’d give a ghost a run for their money, but I know for a fact her skin is silky smooth like porcelain. “You know, from all the pink and flowers?”
She flips me off, which makes me grin like an idiot.
Something must be wrong with my brain for liking her spunk.
I guess I’ve just never met a woman like her.
All the women I’ve dated, from high school on, have been true Southern charmers.
The type who’d smile through a root canal because frowning served no purpose except to cause wrinkles.
“I’ve got an order all ready to go. Want to take a look and see if it’s any good?”
Betsy pushes into my side to get a look at the computer monitor.
A waft of something sweet hits my nose, which confuses me.
I figured Betsy would wear a perfume that smells like motor oil and bad decisions.
I don’t move out of her way. I tell myself it’s because if I give her an inch, she’ll take a mile, but it’s mostly because I just like the way she feels pressed against me.
Her nearness makes my heart race in a way I haven’t felt in a long while.
In a way I’d given up hope of feeling ever again.
Now, the racing heart might be because letting her get close invites her to induce physical harm just as much as something along the lines of romance. She’s as liable to stab me as she is to let me kiss her. And whooey, that thought just revs my engine for some reason.
“I think everything but those jeans. They’re sick of high-rise and want mid-rise. Not low-rise where underwear shows, but a return to something more moderate.” Betsy points to the screen.
I quickly wrestle my thoughts back to business and delete the order for high-rise jeans.
Betsy swivels her head and locks her gaze with mine.
She’s so close I can see each individual lash on her wide eyes.
Belatedly, I realize she’s grimacing, not exactly the expression I was hoping for being this close.
“I’m nervous. What if I’m guiding you in the wrong direction?”
A smile lights up my face. Self-deprecation is my forte. “Have you seen what I bought? Believe me, nothing can be worse.” I point over her shoulder to the clearance rack that’s stuffed to the gills with items the mamas didn’t want from the spring season.
Betsy snorts and I find that attractive too.
Shit, am I obsessing over my employee? What the heck is goin’ on here?
She promised not to listen to my father and somehow that’s enough for me to feel like we’re close now?
That’s ridiculous, though it did feel damn good to know someone else sees through the polished front my father puts up around town.
“Even I know those are hideous,” she drawls, mouth turned up at the corners.
My mouth drops open. “Did I just hear a Southern accent out of you, Betsy Mae?”
She drills me right in the abs with her finger, making me jump back with a bark of surprise. The door opens at the same time, the little bell overhead ringing out. We both turn to see who’s arrived, smiles on our faces from our teasing.
“Well, now, don’t let me interrupt,” Effie calls out, a mother of two high school kids in town.
She bounces her eyebrows suggestively, which makes me drop the smile real quick.
You gotta watch out for these mamas around here.
They can start a rumor faster than a house fire in the middle of a summer windstorm.
“Come on in, y’all!” Betsy calls out, zero enthusiasm in her voice, but thick with an exaggerated drawl.
“I’s fixin’ to head to the back anyway.” She turns to me, sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth and crosses her eyes.
I choke over a laugh. Dear God, we’ll have to work on her accent. That was bad.
Effie shops around while I place the clothing order. I’ll add to it later, but I want to get the first wave of new clothing in to see how it does. She ends up buying a pair of linen pants and a stretchy tank top. While I ring up her purchase, she leans over the counter, gearing up for a chat.
“Sooo, date any nice girls recently?”
Warning bells are ringing loud and clear.
Being single at the ripe old age of forty, I’ve had my fair share of conversations just like this one with every busybody in town.
I know it’s coming from a good place, they just want to see me coupled and happy, but I don’t want to be the subject of a rumor.
Last time my name was tied to a woman’s in the gossip chain, I got slapped in the face.
Long story, but suffice it to say, I don’t want my name in gossipers’ mouths.
“Oh, you know. Just living my life while keeping my eyes open.” I gesture to the card reader and get busy wrapping her clothes in tissue paper before putting it in a logo’d gift bag and handing it over. Her credit card goes through, and I tuck the receipt inside the bag too.
Effie purses her lips and eyes me like she knows I’m not telling the full truth but she’s too polite to drag it out of me. She harrumphs, thanks me for the clothes, and heads out.
I find Betsy in the back, cleaning out the storage room so we’ll have room for the new clothes to come in and be hung. She’s sweeping the floor, officially making this the cleanest the room’s ever been. I fold my arms across my chest and watch her.
“You know you’ll need to learn the register at some point, right? And customer service?”
Betsy doesn’t bother to look up from her meticulous sweeping. “Really? I’m probably most effective back here. Away from people.”
I’m already shaking my head before she’s done talking. “No way. I need your help out there. Those women need to see another woman, especially when it comes to the fitting room. And besides, just look at it as personal growth.”
Betsy tosses the broom into the corner of the storage room with a clatter and faces me. She doesn’t look happy. I mean, she normally doesn’t look happy, but she really doesn’t look pleased by my news. She copies my stance and crosses her arms over her chest, frown firmly in place.
“I don’t need any personal growth.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Hard. When I calm enough to speak, she’s only scowling harder. “Seriously? Can’t see any room for growth?”
She marches past me, flicking my pec muscle. “Rude.”
“Hey!” I spin and follow after her into the front part of the boutique. “You can’t just flick me and run.”
We both stop short when we see two women perusing the racks. They both look up, watching us with little smiles in place, like they have a secret they don’t intend to share.
“Hi, ladies, welcome.”
Betsy stays silent. Shocker.
One of the women holds up a shirt. “Can I try this on?”
“Sure. Betsy would be pleased to help you.” I give Betsy a shove on her back to get her moving. I can hear her hard swallow, but she jolts into action, taking the shirt from the woman and leading her to the two tiny changing rooms on the far side of the shop.
I walk over to the other woman and help her select a few items for a PTO meeting coming up.
Just as I’m handing off her selections to Betsy for the other fitting room, the first woman comes out in her original outfit, the shirt in hand.
She’s running her thumb over it like she’s trying to decide if it’s soft enough to buy.
“Any chance you have a buy one get one today?” she asks Betsy.
Betsy steals a glance at me, but when I don’t jump in to help, she answers the woman. “No, I’m sorry.”
The woman is not deterred. “Are you sure, honey?”
Betsy stands up straighter and I’m about to walk over there to break up whatever she’s fixin’ to do. I probably should have specified that flipping off customers is heavily frowned upon.
“If I could change the policy, I’d be the boss, but here we are,” Betsy answers with a sickly sweet smile and the thickest accent I’ve heard outside the Bayou.
The woman pauses, but then relents, saying she’ll take the one shirt, then.
Her friend comes out of the fitting room with two of her selections and I use the opportunity to show Betsy how to work the register.
She wraps and bags their purchases while watching what I do.
The second I drop the receipt in their bags, Betsy slips into the back room again, the little scaredy-cat.
The first woman leans in and whispers, “Is that your new employee? The one you fancy?”
I frown. “She’s my new employee, yes, but I don’t fancy her. Where’d you hear that?” If I can get a name, maybe I can squash the rumor before everyone’s heard it.
The woman pouts, like I’ve stolen all her fun. “Well, Effie said she walked in on you two flirting with each other. That you were a couple.”
I give them a wide grin, even though that kind of thing pisses me off inside. “Effie has quite the imagination. I’m sorry to tell you there’s no flirting and no couple.”
The other woman sighs, clearly disappointed. “Well, shoot. I hear opposites attract, you know.”
I tilt my head graciously. “Understood. But still no.”
They both leave and I feel terrible, like I just told two little kids that Santa wasn’t real. But then that gives me an idea. Effie thought we were flirting and then two women came in, shopped, got the gossip, and made a purchase. Maybe I just need to flirt my way into a profitable boutique!
“Betsy!” I holler.
She comes clomping out from the back, looking irritated that I interrupted her excessive cleaning. “What?”
I scratch my chin. “You any good with acting?”
Her eyebrows are nearly touching in the middle as she looks at me with disgust.
I sigh and drop my hand to my side. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
“Why?”
I shake my head and turn away. “Never mind.”
“No, you can’t do that. Now I have to know.
” She comes around the counter and holds her arms out to the side like she’s going to block me from leaving until I tell her.
It’s hilarious. She barely comes to my chin and she might hit a hundred pounds soaking wet.
If I wanted past her, she couldn’t stop me.
But I tell her anyway. Hell, maybe she’ll give it a try and see what happens.
“Those ladies came in to shop because they heard from Effie that we were flirting. They wanted the gossip with a side of new clothes.”
Her nose wrinkles right along with her upper lip. “Wait. You want us to fake flirt? Fake date? To drive sales?”
I shrug like it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.
Betsy starts to laugh, though it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. When I’m sure she’s not having a seizure, I wait her out. She wipes at her eyes and her black liner smears. I grab a tissue off the counter and hand it to her. She swipes until it stops coming back black.
“Like one of those cheesy Christmas romance movies?” She starts laughing again. This time I join in.
“I know it’s ridiculous, but is the idea of flirting with me that repulsive?”
She takes one look at me and starts laughing again.
I roll my eyes. Jeez. I’ve gotten broken up with over text that has left me feeling more self-confident than this conversation.
Yesterday at church, she’d touched my arm willingly.
I’ve caught her looking at me before and figured she found me attractive. Maybe I’ve been way off base.
“Do you have a boyfriend back home?”
That sobers her quickly. She sucks in a deep breath, straightens her spine, and throws the tissue in the trash. “No.”
She spins on her heel and marches away, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Okay, I guess that’s a touchy subject.
“It’s fine,” I call after her. “We’ll make our goals the honest way, don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried!” she calls from the storage room.
Except, I am worried. And now that the idea is in my head, I can’t seem to let it go. Would it have been so bad to have to flirt with Betsy? As the hours creep by, I find myself watching her with a different perspective.
Deuce was right.
She’s hot.
In a dark and gloomy, Oscar the Grouch kind of way.