Chapter 3
CHARLOTTE
Afternoon sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow.
I adjust the aperture, checking the exposure on my camera.
The natural light in this tiny studio space near Rory’s hometown has served me well this past week, but I can’t wait for the floor-to-ceiling windows displaying breathtaking views of a snowy mountain backdrop at the cabin. To call some place home.
Rory steps out of the changing room wearing her final outfit. She adjusts the black bows on her red satin corset and tugs her Santa hat into place, then she resumes telling me the ridiculous saga that is her life. I appreciate how much fun we have during shoots. Clients do too.
“Damn porch pirates, always stealing my packages. This is the third vibrator they’ve taken.
It’s like they mock me for being single.
” She tosses her phone aside and lies on her side on the bed.
Her long box braids cascade over the red silk sheets.
“My future wife is getting one hell of a Christmas present. Thanks for squeezing in this last-minute shoot. I know you’re leaving for the cabin tomorrow.
” She flashes me a red lipstick smile and poses.
“World’s best assistant perks.” I position myself for a rare low angle shot.
My hair falls in my face for the third time in five minutes.
I should’ve braided it this morning instead of my usual messy bun.
“Plus, you know I’m a sucker for sexy holiday pictures.
You make that Riley Davis corset look hot. ”
I snap another round of photos. As if Rory reads my mind, she leans onto her elbows and tilts her head back for an aerial shot. The lens blinks.
“Perfect. You’re a goddess, Rory,” I murmur and mean it.
Rory’s lipstick still looks brand new. Mine’s long gone, wiped away by caffeine hours ago.
She’s all corset and command; I’m jeans, boots, sleeves pushed to my elbows.
We work well as a team, but she’s the glue—session planner, social media manager, allowing me the space to hone my craft. That’s always been our rhythm.
“Speaking of.” She somehow holds the next pose while talking. “When’s the last time you had photos done?”
I snort a laugh. “I’m behind the camera. Where I belong.”
On second thought, it has certainly been a while since being on the other side of the lens. With building Bed & Boudoir to launch next summer while taking clients, I’ve had my hands plenty busy.
“I still dream about that pin-up shoot we did in Argentina. I’d want Charlotte Harrington on my wall, no doubt. Any lucky man or woman out there would too.” She winks and performs a playful growl.
Chuckling, I wave her off and snap more pictures.
After divorcing Eli, I realized I had spent years trying to fit inside someone else’s life instead of living in mine.
I’m not ready to compromise that by entering another relationship.
I’m thirty-seven. My twenties were spent chasing many wrong things.
I’m not wasting my final years in my thirties doing the same.
Rory arches her back. Gold and amber waist beads shift over her mahogany skin. She’s stunning—all curves and confidence, owning every soft inch of herself.
It’s hard to believe this is the same woman I met in Lisbon five years ago, fresh off a plane with no job, no plan, and a story that sounded a lot like mine.
I was pathetically sunburned, butchering Portuguese like I did my marriage, while she fluently asked a man for directions to the location I was headed.
When we realized we were from the same state, I confessed I needed help with managing social media.
She said she could figure it out. I hired her on the spot. Best decision I ever made.
This is what I love. Showing women what’s already there, buried and burdened by earthly expectations.
Creating spaces where we can shed the armor and just exist. A luxury getaway.
Wine and dine. Rainfall showers. Plush Egyptian bedsheets.
Safety. That’s what Bed & Boudoir is. Warmth spreads through my chest. That’s what the cabin on Mistletoe Mountain will be.
I’ll need to load the car with more boxes tonight. My idea of holiday cheer is getting a head start on setting up the changing room. Crops, lingerie, angel wings. Clients love themed shoots, especially the honey goddess one. I’ve ordered so much manuka honey, the delivery woman gives me looks now.
“I can touch my own damn vagina,” Rory says, after expressing her disdain for the (in her words) “bum ass masc” that asked her on a date and made her pay for both meals and the one she ordered to go.
“I need a woman who can touch my soul. Which is why I booked the trip to Sapphire Isle. I’m bound to find what I’m looking for there. ”
A snort escapes before I can stop it. “A woman who can touch both at the same time?”
We burst into laughter. Minutes pass and silence stretches between us. She gazes at the floor, appearing deep in thought.
“Feels a little strange not traveling together, huh?” Finished with the session, she slips into the robe draped over the chair beside me.
“You just want my Delta cookies,” I tease to mask the twinge of sadness in my chest.
I was transparent when I hired Rory about my long-term plans for Bed & Boudoir and that my pop-up boudoir days would end eventually.
Years flew by faster than expected. And when the perfect cabin two hours from where I grew up went up for sale, I couldn’t pass on the chance to buy it.
I’ll be close enough to home without being suffocated by family, and far enough from any ghosts of the Christmas past.
Then I remember the surprise.
“Actually…” My voice trails off after handing her a small box. “Before I forget. Since we’ll both be gone for the holidays…”
She lifts a brow. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Paper tears, the sound sharp against the R&B music humming in the background. She holds up the homemade key-shaped Biscoff cookie.
“For the cabin,” I say. My palms press flat against my thighs, steadying me. “Symbolic, of course. I wanted you to have it because…I want you to be my business partner.”
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
“We’ve been working together for the last five years.
I know the original plan was for you to continue to travel and I would put down roots, but would you like to co-own Bed & Boudoir with me?
You’re more than my assistant, Rory. You’re family.
” She’s the little sister I always wanted.
My voice fills with emotion. “And this isn’t just another pop-up. It’s a permanent location.”
A place to really pour love into. I fish my phone out of my purse and swipe through images of the property. Rory looks on with wide eyes.
I go on excitedly. “It has a prime view of Mistletoe Mountain. There’s a pond. It’s even partially furnished. You can have an office.”
She pinches the screen with two fingers, zooming in. “This is gorgeous. No wonder you were in a bidding war.”
“And won.” I beam with triumph. She returns my phone, and I continue my heartfelt spiel.
“We’ve traveled the world together. You’ve helped me build the boudoir business—nine countries, countless shoots, every pop-up studio.
You supported me after my divorce. I supported you through yours.
You get my vision. You believed in this before I even knew what ‘this’ was. ”
“That cabin is like something out of a fairy tale.” Her eyes glisten. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You're overqualified to be an assistant, you know that right?”
Rory shrugs. “I needed a break from the corporate world. As much as I enjoyed aspects of the job, the stress of being an architect was crushing my soul.”
“No pressure.” My heart’s in my throat. “Just think about it while you’re on Sapphire Isle. But I meant what I said. I want you in this with me.”
She looks down at the key, then back up. “You’re serious?”
“As serious as the time you almost got me sent to a Thai prison when you snuck a vibrator in my bag because you were too embarrassed to go through TSA with one.”
“For the last time, I didn’t know they were illegal!” Rory gives me a playful glare as I laugh. “And you’re going to have to let that go if we’re going to be business partners.”
“So, that’s a yes?” I ask when she wraps her arms around me for a tight hug. “I watched twenty YouTube videos to get the recipe right. That one didn’t burn.”
“It’s a maybe.” She laughs, brushing at her watery eyes. “You really know how to bring a woman to tears in a bedroom.”
“It’s a gift.”
Releasing me, she takes a bite out of the key with a crunch. “When I get back, let me see how big my office is before I make a decision.”
I match her wide grin. “Deal.”
Merry goddamn Christmas to me.
It’s the next morning. I left before sunrise, ready for my fresh start. That optimism didn’t last long.
I groan, staring at my rental car lodged in the ditch, front tire shredded beyond saving.
Being stranded on Mistletoe Mountain thirty miles from the cabin was not on my holiday bingo-card.
What even was that back there? Raccoons?
Possums? Doesn’t matter. At least they get to live another day, unlike my nervous system.
For the third time, I lift my phone toward the morning rays, desperate for a cell signal. Still nothing. Over the years, I’ve learned I can fix just about anything with Wi-Fi and a little heart, but right now I’m lacking both. So much for a fresh start.
Lovely. Just lovely.
A chill runs down my spine as the mountain air stings my cheeks, despite the agitation simmering beneath my skin.
I tighten my puffer jacket around me and take in my surroundings.
The road stretches empty in both directions.
Nothing but dew-covered loblolly pine trees for miles, chirping songbirds and my shallow breathing.