Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Betsy
“Good morning, storm cloud,” Silas drawls the next morning, unlocking the door to the boutique and gesturing for me to go in first. I’ve finally gotten used to him holding doors for me.
It irritated me at first, this idea that I needed a man to open a door when I’m perfectly capable, but I’ve grown to appreciate it for the kind gesture that it is.
Silas knows I can open my own freaking door.
The quintessential nice guy just does it to be nice.
He’s wearing a button-down shirt with a collar today, which throws me for a loop.
It’s still paired with shorts, though today’s pair looks like some fancy material you’d find on a pro golfer.
The sleeves of the shirt are that perfect amount of tight, where it hugs the bulging biceps but doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard.
I gape at him from inside the air-conditioned boutique while he gets busy opening up the store. He must feel me watching him because his head pops up and he lifts an eyebrow in question.
“Oh my God! You’ve grown up, Silas Grey! I can’t call you frat boy now.”
He glances down at his outfit like he forgot what he put on this morning. When he lifts his head back up, he looks sheepish. “You seemed to like Deuce’s suit the other day. Figured I could level up a little from frat boy.”
My face goes warm at the intimate smile on his face as he looks at me. It’s like I can see his brain dipping back into what I’ll forever dub the incident yesterday. He’s picturing me half naked, I can just tell.
I’m about to flip him off—my default gesture whenever I’m feeling uncertain, or angry, or tired, or not properly caffeinated.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I flip people off due to practically anything these days.
Every time a Southerner calls someone honey, I feel the middle finger itching to be unleashed.
But he’s saved by the bell, more specifically, my phone ringing.
I dig it out of my purse and see it’s Mary London calling. I pick it up, wondering if there’s an emergency. Surely a text could have sufficed for anything else.
“Hello? You okay?”
Mary London’s tinkling laugh blasts my ear. “’Course I’m okay, darlin’. I’m fixin’ to take you to lunch today. How’s Burgers & Blessings sound at one? A couple of my friends will be there and I want to introduce you around.”
I grimace at the offer—not that she can see it. Silas chuckles from right beside me where he’s shamelessly listening in on my conversation. I twist away from him and try to come up with an excuse.
“Oh, that’s so…nice. But I’m working straight through lunch today.”
“It’s all good, storm cloud. I can cover for ya,” Silas says loudly.
I twirl around to glare at him, which only makes him laugh.
“Oh good! See you there at one, darlin’!” Mary London hangs up before I can come up with yet another excuse.
I shove the phone in my purse and flip off Silas with both hands. “I don’t want to go to lunch with a bunch of chicken-fried Southern girls!”
Silas isn’t fazed in the slightest. He just hands me some go-backs and tells me the list of things we need to accomplish today. When he’s done, I’m still pissed.
“I could get a lot more than that done if I wasn’t gallivanting off to lunch today,” I growl.
Silas shakes his head, patient smile in place. He really does look nice in that button-up. It’s a slate blue, which matches his eyes. “The Betsy Mae I know isn’t capable of gallivanting.”
“Exactly!”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, which seems to be his favorite method of getting me to simmer down. “It’ll be good for you to make some friends, Betsy. Just smile and keep your thoughts inside your head. Oh, and don’t, under any circumstances, flip any of them off.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the fluttering in my belly with him leaning in so close, muscular forearms in my direct line of sight. “This is going to be hell.”
His grin is so bright I feel it down to my toes. “Nah, honey. This is Heaven.”
“You’re here!” Mary London squeals, jumping up from her chair at a large rectangular wooden table at the burger joint.
I see trays of food already delivered and wonder if I’m late even though it’s one on the dot.
She pulls me into a lung-squeezing hug and then releases me.
“Girls, meet Betsy Mae. She’s Betsy Sue’s granddaughter. ”
That’s one thing I’ve had to get used to here in the South. Everyone is introduced by who they’re related to, not their job or where they’re from.
Three women sit around the table, all with beaming smiles and two with various children hanging off of them.
One woman shoves a chair out from the table in invitation, a throw over her shoulder and a lump in her arms. I realize quickly she’s breastfeeding a little one under there.
I take the seat gratefully but try not to stare.
What’s the etiquette for talking to a breastfeeding mom?
Do I make eye contact or is that inappropriate with a human being attached to your nipple?
“Hey, Betsy Mae. I’m Darby Kate.” The woman sitting across from me saves me from shaking the baby’s foot in greeting or some other awkward move that’ll have them disliking me already.
She isn’t breastfeeding, nor is there a child attached to her hip.
She holds out her hand and I shake it over the table. “I’m Birdie’s grandniece.”
“Oh!” My face brightens. “Yes, I met Birdie at Nana’s the day I got here. She got me my job actually.”
“Darby Kate owns Blessed & Dressed,” Mary London interjects helpfully.
Our server, a cute blonde teen, comes over and asks if I need more time.
I glance at the menu on the tabletop and just ask for a cheeseburger.
They have every type of side you could want, including a few I’ve never heard of before (hush puppies?), but I choose the sweet potato fries.
I thank her and turn back to Darby Kate.
“I’ve heard of your shop. You’ll be participating in the Battle of the Boutiques, then?”
Her painted lips stretch into a warm smile. She’s gorgeous, just like Mary London, just with different coloring. Her long dark hair is clipped back on one side with a sparkling clip and the caramel highlights throughout her hair are exquisite. She must pay a fortune to keep them looking so fresh.
“You bet! I can’t wait for the runway show. I have every little ol’ lady in Heaven locked in to walk for me.” She points at me. “Betsy Sue even said she’d show off some game day outfits for me.”
Nana didn’t tell me about that, but then again, we have so much to catch up on since I rarely saw her growing up. “I guess I should ask Silas if he’s picked out his models.”
“If I can get this baby weight off in time, I’ll be one of your models!” The mom next to me shifts closer. “I’m Palmer Collins, by the way.”
Mary London gasps, dabbing her napkin at her mouth. “I’m so sorry! Palmer, this is Betsy Mae.” She then points to the other woman at the table, the one with a toddler in her lap, mixing salt and ketchup together on a small plate. “And this is Anna Claire with her gem of a daughter, Ruby.”
I wave hello to both women feeling as awkward as I feared.
As much as I want to brush this all off as silly, Silas is right.
I should try to make some friends. I intend for Heaven to be my new home for the foreseeable future.
Though I don’t trust men right now, I should open myself up to making true friends.
Doesn’t hurt to have someone in your corner when you’re homeless and need a shoulder to cry on.
Mary London looks wistfully at Ruby as she forgets about the mess on the table and kisses her mama on the cheek.
Tears fill Mary London’s eyes, though she blinks rapidly and tries to hide behind a smile.
I’m getting the sense that she wants to be a mother herself.
She’s gorgeous, sweet, and a successful boutique owner.
I can’t fathom why she hasn’t married by now, but I also feel like we’re not close enough for me to ask that question.
Maybe if we become friends, I can gently pry for specifics.
I look over at the breastfeeding mom, staring somewhere around her collarbone. “I don’t think you need to lose the weight. I’m sure Silas would be grateful for your services as a model.”
“He most certainly will,” Mary London adds. “Betsy Mae said she’d model for me.”
Well, crap, she hasn’t forgotten about that. “I’m a little old for your demographic…”
“Wait, how old are you?” Darby Kate asks, then tosses a French fry in her mouth.
“Thirty-four. Much too old to show off sorority outfits.” It’s not my age I’m worried about. I just can’t see myself applying enough self-tanner to fit in with Mary London’s crowd.
“Got a husband? Boyfriend?” Anna Claire asks, then grabs a smooshed fry between little fingers before it ends up in her hair.
“No,” I say simply. The server returns with my meal, giving me a much-needed distraction from this line of conversation. The burger is huge, one of those patties made from fresh gourmet ground beef onsite, never frozen. The fresh blue cheese on top is to die for.
“Oh!” Palmer whisks a baby from under the blanket and throws it up on her shoulder, patting its back with gusto.
A little raisin of a face stares at me over her shoulder, as if pleading for an escape from its mama’s hand.
Then it releases a belch so loud my head rears back in case projectile liquid comes next.
Instead, a rumble emanates from its cotton-covered backside. “You should date Silas!”
I blink, turning my attention from the burping, farting baby next to me to the women all staring at me expectantly. “Huh?”
Mary London looks like she might levitate off her chair. “Yes! I can totally see you two together!”
I’m shaking my head, but everyone talks right over me.
“That man needs to find a good woman. I can’t fathom how he’s still single!” Anna Claire declares. Quick as a snake, she pulls Ruby back from the back of the booth where she was about to climb over to our neighbor’s table.
“He’s so darn picky,” Mary London groans. “I’ve set him up with all of my friends at one time or another. Just never found a woman who turned his head.”
Darby Kate starts giggling. “You even set him up with me right out of college. Boy, was that a disaster of a date.”
I wrinkle my nose. I see what they mean about Silas being a catch.
After all, I’ve seen him shirtless and I’ve witnessed firsthand how gentlemanly he can be.
The man emanates goodness. And he’s even working on the frat-boy look!
It’s just the idea of him and me making a try at things that has me losing my appetite due to nervous energy.
Darby Kate turns to me, an evil glint in her dark eyes. I have to put down my burger in case I need to run right out of the restaurant. “You should flirt with him and see what he does.”
“You totally should,’” Palmer agrees.
“I don’t know…” I hedge. “He’s my boss.”
It’s not that the idea of flirting with Silas is off-putting. It’s the fact that it’s very on-putting. I wouldn’t mind sliding my hands across that broad chest of his. Finding out if he smiles even when he’s kissing.
Mary London swipes my excuse away with a flick of her hand. “Boss, schmoss. You think he’s cute, doncha?”
“I mean…” I flap my mouth, unsure how to answer that. Sadly, my cheeks answer for me.
“Oooh! I see that blush, girl!” Darby Kate hoots.
I scoot my chair back, ready to make a run for it. Forget friends. Too much trouble anyway. “No way. I’m done with men.”
Mary London practically lunges across the table to grab my hand and hold me in place. “Yeah, you think that now, honey, but we all love having a man around. Don’t you lie to me, girl.”
Flirting? No, I’m going to kill Silas for making me come to this lunch. I could not fit in any less, even if I tried. It’s time they realize I’m not like them. “Nah, that’s what a vibrator is for.”
All three women go library-quiet for half a beat and then explode into uproarious laughter. I take a huge bite of my burger—I’m leaving, but the food is just too dang good to leave on my plate—and stand up.
Palmer somehow juggles the baby while also tugging me back down into my chair. Damn, she’s strong.
“We need to teach you to flirt. I may be a little rusty, but I think I can remember what worked on Jefferson.” Palmer’s eyebrows bounce. “How you think I got three kids, honey?”
Mary London’s laugh is as beautiful as she is. “We need to teach you to flirt with a Southern man. It’s different here than out west.”
I hate myself for asking, but inquiring minds need to know. “How so?”
Darby Kate cages my other hand, her entire torso leaning across the table. Pretty sure the ends of her gorgeous hair are in her fries right now. The gleam in her eyes is practically rabid. “You gotta smile real big.”
“And touch his arm. Repeatedly,” says Mary London.
“They love it when you call ’em sugar.” This is from Anna Claire. Ruby starts chanting for sugar.
“Definitely need to have some cleavage on display. These girls practically mesmerize my hubby.” Palmer points to her milk-engorged breasts that are each bigger than my head.
“We have a slight problem there,” I mutter, a bit overwhelmed.
Mary London cackles and even that’s cute. “No way. Just show off your assets, girl. Not all men are boob men, you know?”
Palmer looks at her watch and starts collecting all the baby accoutrements on the table. “I’m fixin’ to pick up the older kiddos, but let’s meet back here next week. You can report back how things turned out, Betsy Mae.”
They all give me a hug and wish me luck on my flirting journey, automatically assuming I’ll do it.
As I walk back to Harp and Hemline, I think about Silas seeing me in my underwear yesterday. I didn’t like how that put me on the defensive. Maybe knocking him off guard with my flirting is exactly what I need to tip the scales back in my favor.
It couldn’t hurt, could it?