Chapter 24 #2
“If you do change,” she added, more carefully, “make sure it’s either your idea or something you believe in. Otherwise, it’s a costume. And eventually, the seams will split.”
“One hundred percent agree with everything Francesca just said,” Evelyn chimed in, appearing beside them. “Now, as for any material alterations, you’re going to need the sewing machine for that,” she said, waving toward the back.
Frankie blinked. “You sew?”
“My grandmother had a rule when I spent summers with her. For every hour I spent watching TV or scrolling online, I had to spend another hour learning a skill. She was a gifted seamstress, so she taught me.” Evelyn’s grin was pure pride. “Made this jacket myself from the remnants of an old quilt.”
Rae’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Evelyn beamed. “Seriously. One stitch at a time. Nothing fancy. Just patience, a seam ripper, and a vision.”
Rae ran her fingers along the hem of the jacket like it might hum with magic. “I didn’t think regular people made stuff like that.”
“We do,” Evelyn said. “And so can you.”
Frankie watched the moment settle over Rae like a second skin…fragile, but real. That shy resistance she always wore like armor shifted, just slightly.
Evelyn and Rae disappeared into a swirl of thread and fabric, chatting like they’d known each other far more than an hour. Frankie let them have the space. She was just glad Rae had found someone else in town. Someone who might still be around after Frankie returned to Naked Runway.
While they worked, Frankie restyled a mannequin and rearranged a jewelry display, her version of patience.
Rae cleared her throat from behind the makeshift curtain. “Are you ready?”
“Absolutely,” Frankie said, resisting the urge to issue a command about speaking with confidence. Growth.
Rae stepped out slowly, as if she wasn’t sure the floor would hold her. She turned toward the mirror.
She wore the altered jeans and the soft floral top Evelyn had called a “non-negotiable yes.” The outfit wasn’t perfect. The jeans still needed one more tuck, and the shirt still looked slightly unsure of itself, like it was trying to remember how to be loved. But Rae? Rae stood taller.
The smile that bloomed across her face cracked something in Frankie’s chest. It wasn’t big or loud. It was quiet. Private. Like Rae was seeing someone in the mirror she hadn’t expected to meet and wasn’t quite ready to introduce to the world.
Rae turned toward them, and in her eyes was a flicker of something new. She didn’t just look different. She believed different might actually be possible.
“This looks…like something from a fancy boutique,” Rae said. “Not a thrift store reject.”
Frankie crossed her arms, a proud smile tugging at her mouth. “You look like the girl who belongs in that boutique’s window display. Own it.”
Evelyn grinned and handed Rae a scarf from the counter. “On the house. Every transformation needs a finishing touch.”
“Thank you.” Rae launched herself at Frankie, arms flung wide, wrapping her in a hug that came out of nowhere. Then she did the same to Evelyn, clutching the scarf like it might anchor her to this new version of herself.
Frankie blinked. She didn’t do hugs. Not often. Definitely not from kids. And yet, her arms had wrapped around Rae. Traitors. She’d be questioning them later.
She glanced at her watch. “Time for you to head home. If I’m going to keep you as my bookstore assistant, I can’t be the one getting you grounded.”
Rae grinned one last time and dashed out, hugging her bag of treasures like it was runway couture.
As soon as the bell jingled behind her, Frankie turned to Evelyn.
“I don’t have all the details yet, but I’m starting an Operation Small-Town Chic Club.
I’d love for you to be a part of it. I’ll teach haute couture to the older crowd.
You can teach boho chic for the ones still discovering their vibe. ”
Evelyn’s eyes lit up. “I’m in.”
“I’ll loop you in once I’m ready to roll it out.” She glanced through the window and spotted George’s truck idling at the curb. “Looks like my ride’s here.”
Evelyn walked her to the door. “We should grab lunch sometime.”
Frankie paused with her hand on the knob. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had invited her to lunch without an ulterior motive. “I’d like that.”
Maybe this friendship thing wasn’t as impossible as she thought. Maybe Frankie Peterson actually had it in her to be someone worth befriending.
She slid into the truck and flashed George a smile. “You’re a peach for picking me up.”
He turned pink. “Marcus said to tell you he’d fetch you at eight.”
She blinked. “For what?”
George shrugged. “Didn’t say. Maybe a drive-in movie night date? There’s a new one playing tonight.”
Her stomach twisted. Apparently, Marcus had deputized George as his own personal assistant, complete with vague message and zero context. Part of her wanted to march straight to the manor and give him a refresher course in basic human decency.
But the other part…
The other part had a better idea.
If she was serious about this whole likability experiment, why not start with the least likely candidate?
Marcus Grant: friendship crash-test dummy.
If she could win him over, strictly platonically, no swooning, and absolutely no thoughts of what his tongue was capable of, then she could win anyone.
And if she just so happened to look spectacular while friendship-seducing her new nemesis?
That was just good branding.