Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Silas
Saturday morning dawns bright and early.
Today’s the day we’ve been planning for.
The clothes Betsy and I ordered for the Battle of the Boutiques, and for the fall rush of sales, will either flop spectacularly or succeed beyond our wildest expectations.
The truth of it is probably somewhere in the middle of those extremes, but my heart rate is currently only picturing the worst while my heart is hoping for the best.
In a nod to a day slightly more formal than any old day in the boutique, I’m wearing dress slacks and a black polo.
I already checked with Mary London, and she’s having Betsy wear a black, strapless formal dress with a large bow in the back.
I made sure to be dressed to match her. Because sometimes it’s about the little things.
I end up parking in the new garage lot they built a couple blocks from the square.
We want customers to be able to park up front, and I’m hoping there will be a ton of them today.
As I walk to the Square, I start to see the decoration the council put up last night: refreshed spots of red, pink, and blue flowers in the pots lining the sidewalk, a hand-painted banner advertising our first annual Battle of the Boutiques hanging across the gazebo in the center of the square, large fans set up around the lawn area which is loaded with white folding chairs, and gold ribbons wound around each banister along the walkway.
Food trucks are lined up on Saint’s Row, their generators already running.
A catwalk has also been erected, thanks to contributions by Deuce and Mary London’s boutiques that have been making money hand-over-fist for years now.
The catwalk is five feet off the ground and extends from the gazebo, across the lawn, and ends right at the street.
Chaos has already descended on the square.
Workers and business owners alike are hustling everywhere, getting everything ready for an early start to beat the heat.
“Silas!”
I spin just a couple doors down from Harp and Hemline to see Janie rushing down the sidewalk after me, a piece of paper waving over her head. I hustle over. No one should be running in this heat.
“I’ve got that alcohol license for you!” She gives me a warm smile as she hands me the paper.
I glance at it, marveling that she got it done so last minute. “Thank you, Janie. Pays to know people on the council.”
She pulls me into a hug. “Oh, Silas. It’s the least I can do.
Your mama would want me to help.” She pulls back and lowers her voice.
“And I overhead your father talking to my husband about calling the loan with the bank. Don’t you worry about a thing.
I told Richmond if he even thinks about doing that, he’ll be sleeping in the doghouse for the foreseeable future. ”
I give her a grateful grin. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”
“I think I do.” She winks at me. “Speaking of significant others, how’s that assistant working out for you? She’s pretty cute for a Northerner.”
“That was a not-so-subtle change of subject,” I answer wryly. I don’t comment on the fact that Betsy isn’t a Northerner. Everyone around here calls anyone from somewhere other than the South a Northerner. There’s no use arguing semantics.
Janie shrugs and points at the liquor license in my hand. “A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do to get the latest gossip. You know that, Silas.”
Considering what she did for me, I give her what she wants. I lean in and drop my voice too. “I’m sweet on Betsy Mae. I hope she likes me back just as much. She’s a hard nut to crack.”
Janie looks so excited about that news I start laughing. She squeezes my arm. “You just keep giving her that smile and she’ll fall for you, don’t you worry.”
“Thanks again, Janie.” I hold up the license and then we part ways, her to go gossip about me to her friends, and me to get our models ready for the show.
Betsy is already in the boutique, bustling around to get our models everything they need.
Perfume, hair spray, and excited voices hit me like a brick wall.
There’s so much estrogen in here, I’m not sure there’s room for me.
Betsy’s head pops up when she hears the bell over the door ring out.
She smiles hello, several strands of hair coming out of the messy bun on top of her head.
There’s something different about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I head in Betsy’s direction, ready to dive in and help out. I should have gotten here earlier, but this was the time we agreed on, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Everyone greets me as I pass. I give each and every one of them a compliment, along with thanking them for helping us out.
By the time I get to Betsy, there’s only twenty minutes until showtime. I wait patiently until she’s done pinning a hemline on the linen pants Palmer will be modeling. Palmer’s hair and makeup look gorgeous. I tell her so and she blushes.
“First time I’ve worn makeup since the baby was born. This is like a vacation for me.” She hustles off to get her shoes and matching handbag.
Betsy made everything so easy with each model’s clothes, shoes, handbag, and accessories in a single pile with their name written on a notecard on top. I imagine if we’d done it my way, it would have been exponentially more chaotic.
“Hey,” I say, catching Betsy’s attention. “Did I get the time wrong?”
She smiles up at me. “Nope. Right on time. You’re an owner, Silas. You just show up and look pretty.”
I frown, appreciating the work she’s put in but feeling badly for not being here to help. “You mean handsome?”
“Sure. If that makes you feel better.”
I grab her arm gently and tug her behind the curtain to the storage room.
The volume of the ladies out front is only slightly lower back here.
I push Betsy up against the wall and kiss her, melting into her scent, her lips, her excitement for the day that’s practically pulsating off of her.
I like seeing her lit up like this. I pull back way sooner than I want to, but I know now’s not the time.
Her grin is lazy as she tilts her head back to hold my gaze. “That was nice.”
I push off the wall and force myself to let go of her. I turn her around and spank her ass. She’s in jeans and a T-shirt, which I know is not what Mary London will be having her model. She yelps at the spank.
“Get out of here, honey. I know Mary London wants you all dolled up.”
She flips me off over her shoulder, then whispers, “Good luck!”
We push through the curtain and Betsy runs out of the store.
I mingle with the models, helping with any last-minute fixes.
They all look amazing. I just hope we’ve hit the mark with the fashion.
Right on time, I escort them to the backside of the gazebo, which is thankfully in the shade of a tall magnolia tree.
Betsy is nowhere to be seen, but I know she’s in good hands with my sister.
So many people have come out today, there’s standing room only.
The four streets lining the Square have been blocked off by our local police to allow adults and kids alike to wander freely and safely.
Heaven’s mayor starts off the event from a lectern in the gazebo, outfitted with a microphone that booms out his voice across the various speakers set up in the Square.
He welcomes everyone, explains this event is a fun way to ring in the fall season with a fashion battle between local boutiques, and welcomes any newcomers.
He then introduces a man who’s treated like a king around here, Oake Eddington, the head football coach for MidSouth University of Heaven.
The mayor steps back, and with thunderous applause, Oake takes to the lectern.
He doesn’t say much, but he isn’t expected to.
All our residents care about is his team’s winning streak, not his verbal talents.
He ends his short speech bellowing the usual question. “Heaven or Hell?”
The crowd responds all at once with the fight chant we learn before our ABC’s.
Once that’s done, the music starts and Darby Kate gives the marching orders to all the models backstage like Tyra Banks on her hit modeling show.
Mary London’s boutique is first, which one would expect.
Everyone loves the young sorority looks and those girls always put on a good show.
I catch my father’s eye across the lawn on the west side.
He’s standing next to Richmond Brook, the banker.
Dad doesn’t give me a smile, but he does dip his head in greeting.
I don’t like how engrossed in conversation he is with Richmond.
That doesn’t bode well for my loan on the boutique.
I try to swallow down my nerves and shift to the chairs on the east side of the lawn.
“Hey,” a voice hisses.
I turn to see Deuce wedged between a planter and a light pole.
He’s dressed in a full suit in a deep purple pinstripe, easily the fanciest-dressed person here.
Not sure how I didn’t see him or how he’s not sweating himself into heatstroke.
I slide in next to him, making sure I have a view of the catwalk.
I cannot miss watching Betsy model for my sister.
“See any possibilities?” I drawl when my best friend doesn’t even bother to glance at me.
“That girl’s purtier than new money.” He grins like the devil at the young lady currently strutting down the catwalk. “But way too young for me.”
I nod. “Thank God you aren’t getting all squirrelly for the college girls. Although Betsy’s in the group and she’s not too young for us.”
“Yeah, but she’s taken.” Deuce finally looks at me, but only to give me an exaggerated wink.
I can’t help the sigh. Swiping a bead of sweat from my brow, I explain. “Yeah, you say that now, but I’m not so sure. She’s easily the most difficult woman I’ve ever dated.”
“That’s good.”
“Huh?”
Deuce looks down his nose at me, which is funny because we’re the same height. “It’s about time you met a woman who made you work for it. All those aw-shucks smiles of yours have made the ladies flock to you. It’s healthy to have to put some effort into your wooing.”
“Whatever. Like you’ve ever put in the work.”
Deuce shrugs. “I’ve never wanted to before.”
I stand up straighter as the music changes and Betsy steps up to the catwalk.
Holy shit, she looks…amazing. I almost don’t know it’s her.
If it wasn’t for the glare on her pretty face, I wouldn’t.
She turns to face the crowd and instantly smoothes her expression into a serene smile that’s so over the top she looks a bit insane.
I chuckle, but my gaze is locked on this magnificent woman.
Deuce whistles and my elbow finds the space between his ribs.
Betsy walks slowly and demurely in a confident strut that looks damn good on her, one heeled foot in front of the other as she models the clothes.
She’s wearing a black dress with an A-line skirt that ends two inches above her knees.
It’s strapless but its most outstanding feature is a two-foot bow in the same material on her low back.
The tails of the bow flick against the back of her legs as she walks.
Her skin is the tannest I’ve ever seen it, which I couldn’t tell earlier because she’d been covered head to toe.
A double-strand pearl necklace lies against her chest and matching pearls peek through on her ears.
“Bigger the bow, the closer to Jesus,” Deuce mutters beside me.
It’s her hair that mesmerizes me. It’s down, curled gently into waves that match the sunset golden hour of a beach.
She must have had her hair colored last night.
The lighter color makes her look softer, like her rough edges got sanded down just a touch.
There’s still some darker brunette pieces in there.
She wouldn’t look like Betsy without them.
She looks like herself…but like Betsy Southern Barbie version.
She’s fucking hot.
Betsy gets to the end of the catwalk, shifts her hip out, plants her fist there, gives one over-the-top moody glare to the audience, then turns and heads back. I know the minute she sees me. Her moody glare falters for a second before she pulls it back into its full glory.
“Is it weird that I like her glare better than her smile?” I ask under my breath.
Deuce doesn’t answer, but he does laugh. “You’re so gone for that woman.”
I watch her until she disappears down the steps and under the magnolia tree. “Fuck yeah I am. I love her.” I look back at Deuce, who’s watching me with pure amusement on his face. “And don’t you dare tell her that.”
He holds his hands up and backs away. “All I’ll say is good luck, brother.”
Even my best friend knows I’m traveling a tough road most men wouldn’t choose to take. And that’s okay. I’ve always swum upstream.