Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Betsy
You know how eating vegetables tastes terrible, but you know you should do it, and after you do it, you feel really good?
That’s how I feel about this Silas…thing.
I’ve been dragging my feet, not wanting to lean into all the sweetness he shows me, but then when I do, the payoff feels really fucking good.
Feels right. Feels like it’s what’s good for me.
So basically, my body and mind are at war with each other, both wanting what’s best for me, but unsure what that best thing is. With each passing day, I lean heavier on the side of Silas being my vegetables.
I roll my eyes at my own ridiculous metaphor and slam my car door shut. Oof. Not even the sleeveless top and short skirt I put on this morning will save me from this unrelenting humidity. Mr Barrett stomps by on the sidewalk, his usual frown in place.
“Good morning, Mr. Barrett!” I call out.
He glares at me, but he does take the time to answer. “Mornin’, worthless young thing.”
That makes me smile more than anything anyone’s ever said to me. I think he likes me too. When a little girl rushing by tugging on her mama’s hand accidentally darts in front of him, he doesn’t raise his cane and thunder at her. He just huffs under his breath. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.
I already have a sheen of sweat on my skin by the time I make it into Harp and Hemline.
Silas is straightening a blouse on one of the mannequins, but stops to greet me with a warm smile.
Goddamn, he’s handsome. And makes me not hate the mornings so much.
I almost look forward to coming into work now. Of course, I tell him none of this.
“I have an idea,” I say by way of greeting. Then I point to the fresh flowers in a vase by the register. “You bring those in every morning?”
Silas doesn’t even glance at them. “Mama always did, so I decided to continue the tradition.”
It makes my frozen, shriveled-up little heart melt just the tiniest bit. After I saw his bouquet on the dinner table at his house, it hit me that Silas is a man of many talents. How on earth his father could be disappointed is beyond me.
“So, what’s your idea?” he asks when I just stare at the flowers a little too long.
I blink. “Oh! So, I was thinking about how freaking hot it is here and how I can’t wait for winter.
And then I started thinking about that magical day in the early fall when the coffee shops in San Francisco would start making pumpkin spice lattes.
Which then made me think about the line around the building of Starbucks when they release their holiday drinks.
And I thought…we need something like that at Harp and Hemline. ”
Silas’s eyebrows start to wrinkle. “We need coffee? But we already have a coffee shop just across the square.”
I snort. “No!” I forget that sometimes people can’t follow my train of thought.
It’s less of a train and more like a bizarre squirrel path.
“I was thinking we need some signature thing to lure people in the door. Something we don’t give them any other time of the year. We need our own version of a PSL.”
Silas’s face clears and he walks toward me. “Like a giveaway for the first fifty customers or something? A raffle for clothing?”
I shake my head, really getting into the idea now that I have someone to talk it out with.
“No, not exactly. We want to train them to spend money on clothes, not get them for free. But! Everyone loves food. And women around here love their champagne. What if we did free champagne and some sweet treat for the first week of the fall rush?”
Silas grabs my hands, just as excited as me now.
“Yes! I can talk to Janie Brook. She was one of Mama’s best friends and she’s on the city council.
I’ll see if she’ll give me a temporary alcohol permit.
” Then he frowns. “But, Betsy, the fall rush starts the day after tomorrow. And tomorrow’s the Battle of the Boutiques.
We don’t really have time to do anything other than pick up store-bought cookies. ”
Another idea hits me and it’s as foreign as pink ruffles on bottle-tanned bodies.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I want this boutique to be a success, not for the bonus Silas promised me, but to shove it in his father’s face.
And, if I’m being honest, I want to see Silas happy.
I know how much his mama’s boutique means to him.
“You leave that to me.” I shoot him a wink and then rush to the storage room to fire off some texts. Silas doesn’t even blink an eye when I leave work an hour early that afternoon with a reminder called over my shoulder to get that liquor license.
“Betsy Sue, your house is lovely,” Mary London gushes, pulling Nana into a side hug as we invade her kitchen. “Thank you for letting us make a mess.”
The girls as Nana affectionately calls us, have come over this evening to help me. All it took was one text to Mary London and suddenly I had an army of women willing to drop everything. It’s a bit dizzying, to be honest.
I told Mary London my idea for Harp and Hemline, and that I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, and next thing you know, Anna Claire was picking up ten dozen strawberries from a farmer she knows just south of Heaven.
Mary London brought the dark chocolate and Darby Kate is sipping on a sparkling water as she regales us with the latest town gossip.
Nana pulls out a double boiler from the pantry and Palmer, well, Palmer said we had the snacks covered, so she’s brought the bleach and hair products.
“Stop fidgeting, woman,” she says with all the authority of a mama with multiple little ones.
I freeze, cape over my shoulders and hair already piled on top of my head with three clips in it.
Palmer used to be a hairdresser before she had her kiddos.
She intends to go back to work once the youngest is in school, but until then, she likes to keep her skills fresh.
I’m not sure what that means for my hair, but she said she has visions of a chocolatey brown with caramel highlights.
My stomach rumbled at the description, so I’m letting her do it. It’s just hair, right?
“You must have a million things to do before tomorrow, Mary London and Darby Kate,” I say, guilt eating away at me.
Here it is the night before the Battle of the Boutiques and instead of making sure all their model outfits are ready to go, they’re both in Nana’s kitchen making chocolate-covered strawberries for Silas’s boutique.
“Psh!” Mary London swipes a hand through the air, bracelets jingling on her wrist. “Don’t you worry ’bout a thing, darlin’. I’m happy to help make Harp and Hemline a success. Daddy’ll have to eat crow.”
She lets out a maniacal giggle that makes the rest of us laugh too. Even when she’s being mean, Mary London is charming as hell. Scratch that…charming as heaven.
“You know, you sure do seem to be putting in a lot of work for Silas’s boutique,” Darby Kate drawls before shooting me a wink.
“Oh you shush, you little matchmaker,” Anna Claire hoots from where she’s washing each and every strawberry in the sink before placing them on a towel to dry.
“That man is a good one,” Nana declares. The other ladies are quick to agree.
“We’re not…dating. But yes, I do want to see his boutique be successful.” There. That sounded pretty good.
There’s a pause in the conversation before each of them bursts out laughing.
“What?”
“Quit movin’!” Palmer tilts my head the way she wants it, then paints on her bleach and wraps it up in crinkly foil.
“Well, I, for one, would love to see you two date,” Mary London says diplomatically.
“Is that what we’re calling it these days? Dating?” Anna Claire hoots. “More like quickies in the break room, huh?”
My ears go hot. My nana is in the room!
“We are not—”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Palmer drawls, then tilts my head the other direction.
I fold my arms over my chest beneath the cape. Sheesh. It’s the storage room, not the break room. And how do they know about that?
Thankfully, the conversation turns in a thousand other directions as we spend the next two hours dipping each and every strawberry into chocolate and sliding it into the extra refrigerator in the garage that Nana cleared out for us.
Palmer washes my hair out in the sink and is ruthlessly pulling a round brush through it as she blow-dries it.
When she’s done, most of the cleanup is done too, which makes me feel guilty.
All I did was sit here and get my hair done while they did all the work.
“Well, what do we think?” Palmer says, stepping back and spinning me around to face the ladies.
Nana’s hand goes to her heart like she’s overwhelmed. Mary London claps her hands and bounces on her bare toes. Darby Kate snaps a picture on her cell phone. Anna Claire wolf whistles, hurting our ears.
“That’ll catch Silas’s eye,” Darby Kate declares with an eyebrow waggle.
Little does she know I already have. And that feels really good right about now. However, I’m more concerned about making the event tomorrow a success so we drive a ton of traffic to Harp and Hemline.
“Thank you, Palmer.” I go to give her a hug, and while it feels awkward to me, she flings her arms around my shoulders and hugs the stuffing out of me. “Oof!”
“Girl, you’re going to wow the men of Heaven and then burn up the cash register at Harp and Hemline.” Mary London rams into me as she joins the hug. Pretty soon everyone’s in on the hug, even Nana.
I should feel claustrophobic with all this touching and close proximity, but oddly, I don’t. I feel…warm and fuzzy.
Shit. What the hell is happening to me here?
“Time to go home and apply our self-tanners, ladies!” Mary London breaks up the hug.
I want to roll my eyes, but earlier she gave me a bottle and a mitt with instructions on how to apply so I’ll be a good Southern model for her boutique tomorrow.
The ladies around here don’t play around with their self-tans.
The girls are talking a mile a minute as they gather their things, slip their shoes back on, and talk about tomorrow’s festivities.
Nana flutters around them, promising to swing by their houses and boutiques soon.
It hits me, watching all these lovely women, that I’ve somehow missed this.
I never knew this kind of neighborliness was something to miss, but now that I’ve seen it, witnessed it, and participated in it, I don’t know that I can ever live somewhere else.
What the heaven has gotten into me here?
The door closes and the silence feels empty in their wake. Nana’s face is lit up, making her look ten years younger. She comes up and fluffs my hair, her arthritic fingers making me realize that she won’t be around forever.
“You look lovely, Betsy Mae. Palmer did a fantastic job.”
“Nana?” She quits fussing with my hair and meets my gaze. I pull her into a hug, surprising her. “I love you.”
She pats my back and softens into the hug. “I love you too, darlin’. Always have, always will.” She pulls back, holding my arms in her strong hands. “And those girls can be your best friends too. If you let them.”
I nod, but she’s not ready to let it go.
“I’m as serious as the King making a peanut butter banana sandwich, Betsy. You can trust those girls, and you can trust that young man. Let yourself be loved.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. All this isolation and grumpiness with people in general has made me lonely. I didn’t even realize it until I moved and spent time around quality people. ’Til I got hit over the head with the Southern-charm stick.
“I’ll try, Nana. I’ll try.”