16. Chapter 16
Daria
An exhausted groan leaks out of me as I pick up yet another fallen shirt from the department store’s floor. Why can’t people just pick up the things they knock off the hangers? It’s a simple courtesy to those of us tasked with keeping this place neat and tidy. Which feels impossible most days.
I arrange the sky-blue top on the hanger, and an idea for an off-the-shoulder version forms in my head. Maybe something with ruffles…
“Daria?”
I turn at the sound of my boss’s voice. “Hey, Rhonda. What’s up?”
“Can you come here for a sec?” She turns toward the front register, and I follow, wondering if I did something wrong.
Did a customer complain about me again? I’m usually able to brush off people’s rudeness with a fake smile, but there was an instance earlier today where I might’ve been a little snippy with a woman who gave me grief about not giving her a discount on a new item.
Like I even control the prices around here…
The only thing I could chalk up my edginess to is the anticipation of tonight’s dinner. I have no idea how things will go with Dane and his family. Admittedly, it’s made me a little short with people today.
Rhonda steps behind the counter and reaches for a flyer. “There’s something I wanted to show you,” she says. “Found this hanging on an announcements board at the chamber of commerce.”
I glance down at the flyer that reads Port Durham Small Town Fashion Show . “What’s this?”
“I only know what’s on the flyer,” Rhonda says. “My guess is this is a new thing. But it says here it’s being sponsored by Paris Dawson. You know, that beauty influencer? She’s from these parts.”
“Yeah, I remember.” A burst of excitement sparks in my belly. Paris Dawson is somewhat of a local celebrity around here. Jamie even had the rare opportunity to interview her for the paper last fall. From what she said, Paris was amazing and so down-to-earth. I would love to get to meet her.
I take the paper from Rhonda, absorbing every detail.
“And right there it says that some beauty and other fashion-related brands will be there,” Rhonda adds, pointing to the highlighted section at the bottom.
“But the best part is they’re looking for local designers to showcase their work.
Says they’ll be counting votes from the public and the designer with the most voted for designs wins ten grand. ”
I meet Rhonda’s eyes. “Rhonda, I’m not—”
“Let me stop you right there,” she says, her hard-as-stone tone contrasting with the smile on her face.
“You’re talented, Daria. As talented a designer as I’ve ever seen.
The clothes you make are not only unique, but functional and beautiful.
The ones we sell here don’t hold a candle to them. And the quality is exquisite.”
An uncharacteristic swell of emotion builds behind my eyes. I blink it away and hand my boss the paper. “I’ll look into it.”
She pushes the flyer back toward me. “Take it with you. Give it some thought. I think your designs would steal the show. And the prize money would certainly help start that business you keep talking about.”
She’s right, but to win something like that takes a ton of planning and effort, not to mention superior sewing skills. Still, I nod and neatly fold the piece of paper and stick it in my back pocket.
“By the way,” she says, “your shift is almost over. We’re dead here, so clock out early and enjoy the rest of your night.”
“Rhonda—"
“Wasn’t a request,” she trills, waving me off and turning to fold the pile of shirts on the back counter.
I sigh and do as she says, clocking out on the computer.
Once I’m alone in my car on the drive back to the apartment, my mind whirls with all the possibilities for this fashion show.
The flyer said each designer will need to have ten different looks—five feminine designs, five masculine. And we need to bring our own models.
Dane and his perfect physique pops into my head, but I quickly shove it right back out. Maybe Parker will model for me…I could definitely ask Jamie. She already has a few of my designs. Maybe I could tweak them to be more on point with this season’s trends and voila , I’d have a new piece.
The more I consider going through with this fashion show, the more my excitement builds. It has been my lifelong dream to design and create clothes for women, clothes that not only make them feel beautiful, but look beautiful. Clothes that inspire creators like me.
But it’s also intimidating when I think of putting myself out there like that so soon.
My designs are a huge part of who I am. It will take time to get them just right.
And if people hate them? It’ll probably feel a lot like they’re hating me .
Not that I’ve ever been one to care what people think, but when you’re trying to win a big pot of money based on votes, public opinion kind of matters.
Past designs I’ve made that could work for the show flit through my mind as I park on the street in front of Dane’s building.
The empty shop space on the ground level catches my eye again.
It really would be a perfect place for a little clothing shop.
The brick exterior, though painted a drab gray, is clean and well-kept and could easily be updated.
Two potted planters full of soft green shrubs sit on either side of the bright blue door that leads inside.
I turn off the engine, grab my purse, step up to the large shop window, and peek inside.
It’s completely empty except for the long counter that lines the left-side wall.
My imagination kicks into overdrive, envisioning shelves full of folded tops against the opposite wall, along with racks draped with colorful dresses peppered around the space.
I could easily see myself standing behind that counter, checking out people’s purchases. Or back at the imaginary dressing rooms, helping someone pick out the perfect outfit. An outfit that was first dreamt up in my brain before it was crafted into an original Daria Dantez piece—
“Looking for something?”
I startle at Dane’s voice and whirl around to slap him.
“Ouch!” He grips his bicep like my hand is made of steel. “Was that necessary?”
“Was it necessary for you to sneak up on me like that?”
He drops his hand and readjusts the gym bag strap slung over his shoulder. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you, I was walking up to the apartment and saw you standing there. Next time I walk by, I’ll pretend not to know you.”
I roll my eyes and stalk past him toward the door. “I wish you would.” Whether or not he heard my murmured quip, I don’t know, but he hangs behind me while I tromp up the steps. By the time I reach the top, I still haven’t found the key.
“Here,” Dane says, sidling up beside me. “Let me.” Coming way too close into my personal space, he reaches past me and unlocks the door.
I mumble a thanks and bolt to my room for a few minutes of peace before I need to get ready for dinner with his parents.
I desperately wish Jamie and Parker were back in town for this.
I’m counting down the days, especially now that I know I’ll need Jamie as a model.
At least I’ve got her measurements memorized.
I smile to myself as I toss my purse onto my bed and shut the door.
Guess I have officially decided that I’m going to do the fashion show.
It only makes sense if I want to further my career in fashion.
And not only would I have a chance at winning the prize money, I’d also potentially gain the notice of Paris Dawson.
There’s no telling what kind of connections I could make in the fashion and beauty industry through someone like her.
Maybe Jamie would be able to introduce us.
Again, my mind snags on all the possibilities this show could bring as I file through my closet and try to pick something to wear to the Kent’s home.
I settle for a floral wrap skirt that I designed with a plain white tank top, jean jacket, and brown sandals.
It’s warmed up enough I can wear open-toed shoes, but cool enough that adding a jacket is a smart idea.
I’m just tucking the tank top into the skirt when a knock sounds on my door.
“Yeah?”
“Just wanted to let you know we’ve got ten minutes until we need to leave.” Dane’s deep voice reverberates through the door. I glance at the time on my phone.
“I thought it was only ten minutes away from here?”
A pause, and then, “It is.”
“So…” I pull the door open. Dane stands on the threshold looking way too good in his dark jeans and collared shirt. I involuntarily drink him in, along with his freshly showered scent.
“So, what?”
I blink my eyes back up to his face. “Um. So. If it’s only ten minutes away, and dinner starts at six, wouldn’t we actually have twenty minutes?”
“No.”
That’s all he says. Just no . “Why not?”
“Because we need to be five minutes early. And we also need to leave a five-minute buffer in case traffic slows us down.”
“You do know this is Treemont, right?” He stares at me, his features taut. “There literally is no traffic.”
His nostrils flare a bit, like he’s trying to either take a deep breath through his nose or he’s inwardly fuming. Probably the latter.
“That’s not true. One time, I got caught behind a bus on the way to work.”
I roll my lips inward to keep from laughing. “Okayyy, that tracks.”
“So. Ten minutes.” He turns, but I catch his wrist to stop him.
“But what if there’s no traffic and we end up arriving ten minutes early instead of five?” I have zero interest in getting there super early, especially with the inevitable inquisition we’ll be forced to undergo.
His gaze lowers to where I’m touching him, and I drop his wrist. “Then we’ll wait in the car for five minutes,” he says.
My eyebrows lift all on their own. “And do what?”