Chapter One Sneak Peek
PEYTON
Starting a line is my painfully niche talent. But is it technically a line if there’s only one person standing in it? I take a swig of water and give it some thought during my thirty-first minute of waiting alone.
Just as I’m about to enter minute thirty-two, a passerby pauses next to me. “Excuse me, can I ask what you’re waiting for?”
It’s a valid question. Why am I waiting in an imaginary line, on the city sidewalk, in the middle of the hottest September Ohio’s seen in the last five years? Trying to pretend I’m having the time of my life and not sweating my ass off, I grin as I turn to face her.
“Oh! I’m actually waiting for the grand opening of this clothing boutique. I love their online shop and can’t believe they’re finally opening a storefront.” My tone is rehearsed perfection, genuine enthusiasm without being overly excited.
Leaning closer to her, like I’m about to share the coordinates of Bigfoot’s lair, I add, “You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard they’re giving away freebies to the first twenty people in the shop.
They open in a half hour, and I just know the line’s about to get crazy. There’s so much buzz about it.”
Inner thoughts play out on her face, and I watch her expression shift from curiosity to resolve in under five seconds. Then, she steps behind me to join “the line.” God, I love when the first person joins me—it’s such a rush. Definitely one of my favorite parts of the whole charade.
She pulls a phone out of her purse. “I should call my sister to get over here. Ginny’s a slut for giveaways.”
I nod encouragingly, reassuring her that she’s made the right choice. A good choice. A choice heavily influenced by me, a secret professional. Curating a line is a special skill. And, as the owner of Good Taste, I’m excellent at it.
Over the next twenty minutes, several more people join us—including Ginny, who does in fact love freebies. I glance at my watch. Less than three minutes until 10:00 a.m. The door should be opening in ten, nine, eight…
Ginny gives a small squeal. “Someone’s opening the door. It must be time!”
I pat myself on the back for another flawless execution of what I call The 120 Second Rule. Every shopper is unique, but one thing about them remains universal: they fucking love when the doors open two minutes early.
Internally, I preen for immaculately orchestrating sweet Ginny’s excitement.
Externally, I join her squeals of happiness, bouncing on my toes.
My client, Caitlyn Langston, cracks open the door and grins when she spots me.
She flips her long copper waves over one shoulder, and the dainty diamond stud on the side of her nose glints in the light as she steps out of the doorframe.
When she spies the long line of intrigued customers wrapping around the corner, her jaw drops slightly.
“Oh my God,” she mouths. A smile blooms across her face as she takes us all in. She stares, eyes bright, for a few moments before clearing her throat.
“Well, hello everyone! I’m thrilled to see your smiling faces this morning.
This boutique is a labor of love. The clothes are hand selected by me, the jewelry is locally made, and everything is ethically sourced.
I’m so grateful to be opening my shop right here in our community.
Thank you for shopping small, and, without further ado, welcome to Waterton Threads! ”
Caitlyn steps back and wedges the stopper underneath the door. “Don’t forget to snag a complimentary gift for being the first to arrive! There are a couple of us ready to help you with whatever you need. Enjoy!”
At the mention of freebies, the line cheers.
Even though I walk in first, I step to the side, discreetly letting real customers go ahead of me.
Caitlyn follows behind the line and makes her way toward the cash wrap.
She motions for me to join her beside the counter, and I casually saunter over, snagging a bracelet on the way.
She nudges my shoulder and speaks at a low volume. “You’re a miracle worker. How did this even happen?”
A combination of posting on social media and a willingness to risk sun poisoning.
“Oh, a little bit of this and that.” I set down my water bottle and scan the merchandise, appreciating the timeless fashion pieces she chose.
Tailored dresses, neutral slacks, and functional tops line the walls.
“You really did the heavy lifting with your incredible brand. Everything is so chic. The dresses could be inspired by Dior’s A-Line collection. I will absolutely shop here.”
Caitlyn glows under my praise and tosses her hair over her shoulders, revealing the flush painting her pale skin pink. “That’s quite the compliment. It sounds like you know a lot about fashion.”
I shrug. “I used to work in haute couture, back in New York, up until a year or so ago.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. Were you a supermodel?”
And like I always do when people ask me that, I avert my eyes, feeling the heat already rushing up my cheeks. “Um, not so much anymore. I was a junior designer for Haus of Lamont.”
“A designer? I thought for sure you were going to say model. Not to make this weird, but you’re like, one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen up close.
” Caitlyn leans back to study me before smiling and snapping her fingers.
“You look like that filter I use on my selfies when I want to feel bad about myself. Your cheekbones are so high, they’re at risk for altitude sickness, girl. ”
I breathe out a laugh, and my curtain bangs fall to the center of my forehead, sticking to the light sheen of sweat still clinging to me from the heat outside.
While I enjoyed modeling to an extent, I try not to think about my looks too much.
Remaining neutral about them is best for my mental health.
“So what brought you to boring ol’ Ohio then?”
Exhaustion from the crushing, constant rejection of my designs. A terrible work environment. The shittiest ex-boyfriend there ever was.
Shockingly, none of those feel appropriate to share with a new client.
Nobody wants to hear about my demons during small talk.
I push them down and offer a polite smile.
“I don’t think Ohio is boring at all. I grew up in New York, but spent summers here as a child with my grandparents.
They had a small lake house near Put-In-Bay.
When I realized the fashion world wasn’t for me, I moved here to open my own business. ”
The genuine smile she’s had on her face since the store opened stays put. “Well, I’m lucky you chose to set up shop here. Today’s turnout is larger than I ever expected, all thanks to you.”
A mixture of pride and relief buzzes through me as the cool air vent in the ceiling dries me off a bit. “That’s very kind. If you’re satisfied with my service, leaving an online review would be appreciated.”
“Of course I will.” She pauses. “I know your website says, ‘and other custom services,’ at the bottom, but I’m throwing a party in a couple of weeks, and I just want more people to fill the room. Is that something you do?”
I nod. “Tastemaker work covers a wide variety of occasions. Last weekend, I was hired for a wedding. They wanted someone to be the first one on the dance floor to break the awkwardness.”
Caitlyn’s lips part in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It’s one of my most popular services.”
“You don’t mind just dancing by yourself, in front of a bunch of strangers?”
I shrug. “Not really. Although, I didn’t care for the song this time. It’s one thing to dance to a classic by yourself, but setting the tone with Bohemian Rhapsody? If they would’ve chosen literally anything else, they wouldn’t have needed to hire me.”
Caitlyn makes an audible “yeesh” sound. “Did you…?”
“Do all the parts?” I wince. “Yeah. No one joined me until the third ‘mamma mia.’”
“Oof. That’s tough. The universe must’ve forgotten to bestow me with your particular brand of confidence.”
I gently shake my head. “Trust me. From one small business owner to another, it takes plenty of confidence to do what you’re doing.”
She blushes but nods in agreement. “True. I still don’t know how you pull it off, though.”
“Honestly, after years on the pageant circuit, showing up with confidence is basically a survival instinct at this point.” I set my purse down on the counter and pick up my water bottle, taking a sip.
“Plus, not all of my gigs are like that. I’ve also worked as a seat filler and a bridesmaid-for-hire.
This past Tuesday, I attended an amateur comic’s performance as a planted laugher, and he was actually pretty good.
Only one misogynistic joke, if you can believe it. ”
Caitlyn’s laughter lights up her whole face. “Only one? What’s his name? I could use a date, and the pickings are slim around here.”
I pull out my cell phone to show her a picture of the comic. “If you’re into guys who still wear Livestrong wristbands, he’s your man. And listen—if you do plan a date, I have some great dining recommendations. I work a lot of restaurant openings.”
Caitlyn tilts her head. “What do you do at the restaurants? My brother’s in the restaurant business, kind of.”
“Usually, I meet with the owners for a strategy session, like I did with you. They’ll have different tasks for me, but most of the time, they want someone to speak loudly about how much they like the food or service. Almost like an in-person review.”
She blinks at me. “I didn’t even know that was a job you could have.”
“There aren’t many of us. But with the rise of online influencers, I saw an opportunity for a more personable, local touch.”
Her eyes suddenly spark with anticipation, and I follow her gaze to Ginny, who has a basket full of clothes and looks nearly ready to check out.
Caitlyn moves to stand directly behind the computer. “Well, I’m so glad you did.”
I nod toward Ginny, who just picked up a travel jewelry case near the front. “Looks like you might have your first customer to ring up! It was a pleasure working with you. Thank you for using Good Taste.”
Caitlyn beams. “Before you go, do you want to come to the post-opening party tomorrow night? We’re celebrating the store with family and close friends next door at Solid Grounds cafe.”
On the surface, I give her a soft smile, but an unexpected pang of sadness echoes in my chest, and I find myself missing my girls back in New York. The fashion industry was ruthless, but it also formed trauma bonds between coworkers that turned into forever friendships.
For a moment, I wonder what it’d be like to have a core friend group here. Then, I shake my head. No mixing business with pleasure. Especially in a town this small.
“I appreciate the invitation, but I have some prep work to do for a few events.”
“No worries.” Caitlyn places the bracelet in a little gift box and hands it to me. “This is for you. I appreciate everything.”
I hold the box close to my chest. “That’s really kind of you. I love it.”
Caitlyn waves goodbye, and I spend a minute browsing some clothes before I slip out the back. I don’t want anyone to see me dip out early.
That would ruin the charade.