Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Betsy
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I mutter under my breath coming down the stairs from the catwalk. My heart’s pounding right out of my chest and my ankles are screaming at me to take off these sky-high wedges.
“You were amazin’, my girl!” Mary London squeals, pulling me into a perfume-and-hairspray hug.
I’m careful to keep my face off her gorgeous one-shouldered white dress.
Lord knows I have five pounds of makeup on my face right now, along with false lashes, fake nails, and enough self-tanner to look like I’ve spent all thirty-four of my years living on the beach.
I’m not sure how much about me is even real at this point.
“Did you see the way my brother was staring at you?” Mary London has that twinkle in her eyes, the one that spells trouble. She’s got an idea in her head about Silas and me, and there’s no shakin’ her loose.
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress a small grin at the way Silas was looking at me when I walked back across that catwalk.
His handsome jaw hung slack and his eyes were practically eating me up in a way that would make all the ladies in Heaven blush.
Can’t say I don’t appreciate having that effect on the man I’m sleeping with.
“Did you tell Silas my dress was black?”
Mary London suddenly appears like she’s too busy to chat. “I may have mentioned it.” She says it so quietly I’m not sure I heard her correctly over the music.
A false lash flutters into my eye due to all the fans set up around the space.
I have to blink a thousand times to get it back in place.
Despite the way he was looking at me and despite the fact he seems to be doing some crazy thing like coordinating our outfits all of a sudden, I don’t think I can keep wearing this get-up. Not even for Silas.
“Go find your man, girl!” Mary London pushes me toward the crowd and away from the catwalk. The music is changing and Darby Kate’s models are lining up to go on. There’s more than one model with a cane, so I take Mary London’s encouragement and hurry to get out of the way of the geriatric group.
I’m looking for Silas’s golden-brown hair peeking out over the crowd.
He’s no longer standing by that pole with Deuce, and with all the people that came out for today’s event, it’s hard to find him.
When I finally do, my stomach bottoms out.
Silas and his father are deeply engaged in conversation out by the backside of the food trucks.
If I had to guess by the broad gestures of his arms, Mr. Winthrop is not happy about something.
I stomp through the crowd to make my way across the lawn, saying a quick hello to all the people who smile, wave, and call out to me.
Lordie, that Southern kindness, the pull to have a conversation with everyone you pass in public, is something I’ve come to love about Heaven, but right now it’s just a pain in my ass.
It takes me forever to make it over to Silas’s side, during which I’m fuming.
How dare his father choose today, the big boutique event, to harp on his son?
“Rich said the mortgage is paid up, but you and I both know how much the outlay is for buying all the clothes before the season starts. This PR stunt doesn’t work, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt, son.”
I slide my hand into the crook of Silas’s arm. He startles, looking down at me with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. His face is turning red and the fact that I can’t tell if it’s from the sun or the embarrassment of his father treating him this way just pisses me off.
Mr. Winthrop gives me a head nod of acknowledgement but just keeps on talking. “I’ll say it again—”
“Oh, don’t worry, we all heard you, loudly and repeatedly,” I say with the fakest, drippiest Southern twang I’ve ever heard.
Mr. Winthrop’s gaze darts to mine, confusion lining his aging face. Damn him, the Winthrop genetics are good ones. He might be older now, but he’s still handsome. I know exactly where Silas gets his good looks.
“Excuse me?” I hear the warning in his tone.
Silas straightens his spine and faces his father, trying to keep me out of his father’s line of fire. “This is not the time nor the place to discuss this. We can talk next week, but frankly, the financials of either of my businesses are none of your concern.”
The implication is clear: I’m a successful business owner and you look like an idiot to question a grown man. I just about have to tuck my hands in my pockets to keep from clapping to hear Silas stand up to his father.
“Your mother’s legacy was—”
“Left to me. In her will.” Silas’s voice is low, but his tone sends a chill down my overheated back.
I hear the music change again and I know it’s almost time for our models to do their thing on the catwalk. Silas should be seeing this. I lean around Silas.
“You’re more than welcome to keep yelling about nonsense, Mr. Winthrop.
Everyone in town knows the boutique is thriving.
” I toss my hair like I saw those college girls doing this morning and give Mr. Winthrop the brightest smile my facial muscles can muster.
“It must be such a relief to be so…unburdened…by logic. But right now, Silas needs to be watching his models on the catwalk.”
Silas uses that opportunity to turn us around and starts maneuvering our way through the crowd. Away from his father.
But I find myself not quite done with this asshole. I twist my neck and call over my shoulder. “Wait ’til you hear the way the crowd cheers for your son!”
His father’s scowl is one for the record books.
The thrill of telling off his father fades with each step. I worry I overstepped, but the second we find a shady spot to watch the models displaying our clothes, Silas puts his hand on mine.
“Thank you,” he says simply, not looking at me.
I snuggle a little closer to his side, even though it’s still hotter than blazes outside and I’m pretty sure I’m going to ruin this dress by sweating right through it.
We watch our models strut their stuff, and while the boutique’s not mine, I have a sense of pride that threatens to overwhelm me.
More than one of our models has a baby or toddler by their side.
The Battle of the Boutiques ends with all the models from each boutique filling the catwalk and waving to their friends and family.
“You want to get up there?” Silas asks me.
“Nah, I’m good right here.”
The mayor walks back out and asks the crowd to use their cheering to show which boutique they think won the battle.
He stands by Deuce’s dapper models and the crowd is loud.
I look around, thinking there’s no way they could get any louder.
The mayor then heads for Darby Kate and she gets the same applause plus some wolf whistles from the old men who got bussed here from the senior facility on the edge of town.
Silas laughs, which is a good sign his father didn’t ruin his day.
The mayor then heads for Mary London. The crowd is downright crazy for the college girls, and I can see why.
They’re gorgeous both inside and out, vibrating with such good energy it’s contagious.
Pretty sure that’s Deuce leading the wolf whistles this time.
Last but not least, the mayor heads for our models, the mothers of Heaven, Mississippi.
The crowd absolutely loses their shit. The kids are rowdy, husbands are wolf whistling, and several of the moms curtsy and ham it up for the crowd. The mayor swipes his forehead with a handkerchief and gets back on the microphone.
“We have ourselves a winner! For the inaugural Battle of the Boutiques, our big Heaven, Mississippi, winner is Harp and Hemline! Get on up here, Silas Winthrop!”
I’m jumping up and down in the grass, so excited and proud of Silas—and partly myself—that I have hot tears prickling the back of my eyes.
Silas gives me a lopsided grin and then bounds up onto the catwalk.
The man doesn’t even need the stairs. He joins the mayor, who hands him some kind of certificate, which Silas holds up in the air.
I snap a photo of him, with plans formulating in my head to blow the picture up and tape it to his father’s windshield.
The mayor hands Silas the microphone. He waits until the cheers die down and then he’s his charming self.
“Thank you, Heaven. As you know, Harp and Hemline was my late mother’s brainchild.
Good fashion was her passion. She often told me that most women don’t even know who they are or how they want to dress until they reach middle age, and that’s where she came in.
” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat to continue.
“I’m proud to continue her legacy, providing all the fashion pieces you ladies love, but certainly don’t need, to be the finest women in the whole South! ”
The crowd cheers again and Silas only speaks when it starts to die down again.
“Could I have all the boutique owners up here?” He waits for Mary London, Deuce, and Darby Kate to join him on the stage.
“I couldn’t have won this prestigious honor without these three upstanding business owners right here.
Let’s give it up one last time for the boutiques of Heaven! ”
As the cheers finally settle down and people begin to pick up their things, Silas adds one last thing before handing over the microphone.
“The boutiques are open right now if you want to buy any of the items you just saw.”
I put my phone away, certain I got at least a dozen great photos, and turn to head for Harp and Hemline to open the place back up and get that cash register dinging.
I want to maximize sales as much as possible because as much as I can’t stand him, Mr. Winthrop is not wrong.
I know Silas maxed out his credit card to buy those racks of clothes wholesale.
“Betsy Mae!”
I hear Silas calling from behind me. I turn, darting around various adults and kids to find him.
He’s cutting through the crowd, hollering my name and garnering all kinds of attention.
His face is lit up with the kind of smile money can’t buy.
His blue eyes are sparkling with pride. That line between his eyebrows, the one his father put there earlier, is gone.
Just before he reaches me, he has to push a rowdy teenager out of the way, and then he’s there, his arms wrapping around my waist and lifting me off the ground.
The next thing I know, the Square is spinning around in a circle and I’m caught up in Silas’s happiness.
Giddy laughter flows between us and we’re both breathless by the time he puts me down.
I know we’ve created a scene and I can’t seem to find one bit of me that cares.
“We did it!” he says, eyes focused solely on me.
It’s the we that does it for me. Here he is, finally getting recognition for something that matters so much to him and he’s including me in the success.
Silas hasn’t been lying this whole time when he says men here are different.
That they treat their women with respect, treat them like a queen. He’s proven it to me every single day.
So when he gets that look in his eye, his head lowering to mine, I melt into him. He dips me clean over his arm, my one leg flying in the air and hopefully not flashing the entire Square. And then he kisses me.
His lips part mine, his tongue a welcome balm in this heat.
It’s the kind of kiss that unravels your best-laid plans and leaves you open to new dreams. His arms hold me tight, no danger of letting go when I need him to stay on my feet.
Hoots and hollers greet my ears and still I kiss him back.
It’s not proper and not at all in alignment with our agreement, and yet I don’t stop him.
Won’t stop the best kiss I’ve ever had with the nicest man on the planet, who also happens to have the hottest body east of the Mississippi River.
He pulls me upright and plucks calmer, more appropriate kisses from my lips while we both breathe heavily and smile at each other like lovestruck teenagers. The world slowly comes back into my awareness and my ears burn as whistles still ring out.
“I couldn’t help myself,” Silas whispers against my lips. His hands leave my hips to cup my face. “Did I tell you how amazing you look? And more importantly, how much I appreciate you?”
I’m grinning from ear to ear. “No, you did not.”
“I do apologize, honey.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks. His gaze skims over me, picking out all the differences in my appearance. “Though I have to say I think I like you better with all your piercings still in.”
“You’re quite the sweet-talker,” I drawl, though his words light me up on the inside.
I took out all my piercings to look proper for this event.
To know Silas likes me better with all that metal makes my heart do something it’s never done before.
It practically melts at his feet. And it’s not due to this unrelenting heat.
“I want to reward you later tonight for all your hard work.” He lifts a suggestive eyebrow and that Mr. Nice Guy veneer cracks, showing me the secret dirty side I love so much.
I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “How about we sell the hell out of these clothes first?”
He puts his arm around my waist and steers me through the crowd. “You mean sell the heaven out of them.”
So…we do. A line of customers has formed outside the boutique.
Silas lets them in, telling them stories about his mama and why we ordered the clothes that we did.
I slip back into my Doc Martens—they match my dress, okay?
—and get to work handing out champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries in between getting fitting rooms ready.
My poor out-of-shape smile muscles get a workout.
We don’t get a single break in the mad rush before it’s closing time.