18. Kiara
eighteen
Kiara
A fter last weekend’s debacle, I’m ready for some quality time with the Bitch Brigade. Thankfully, it’s already Thursday, which means Game Night in Emerald Creek. It should really be called Girls’ Night In, but nobody asked me. They started it way before my time, so there’s that.
All the women get together in the back of Cassandra’s lingerie boutique, supposedly to play games. In reality, we chat, drink, and eat. Basically, we have a good time—without any men around. The whole Bitch Brigade is in attendance.
“Hey, boss,” Willow greets me as I leave my boots in the mudroom. “Haley made some sumac wine. Wanna taste?”
Sumac wine? “Just a drop.” I glance inside the large room, decorated in tones of white and gold and pink, with bean bags and couches and a few tables to play games. Haley is busy behind the mirror-paneled bar that reflects the glimmer of the fireplace. Thick throw rugs and flickering candles add an extra touch of comfort to a space that’s exactly what women need, especially now the long winter season is upon us.
I place my contribution on the bar—almond tuiles with a pistachio dip. “Hey, rebel,” I say to Haley as I arrange my dish. “Any chance of us getting grape wine anytime soon?”
“Try this,” is her answer.
The tart, citrus flavor hits my tastebuds in a surprisingly good way. I take a moment to smell the small glass she’s poured me. “Nice herbal notes,” I compliment her.
Willow wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Told ya, this is great. You should sell that through the general store, Haley! Kiara sells her chocolates there. Right?”
“Yeah, I might,” Haley answers.
“I could talk to Noah for you!” Willow offers, her cheeks coloring at the mention of the owner of the general store.
“Yeah, next time you take his refill order for us?” I suggest.
“Or like, tomorrow,” Willow counters.
“I should go myself,” Haley says. “I should talk to him, bring him a sample bottle.”
“Or I can go,” Willow repeats with a bright smile.
Haley narrows her eyes on Willow. “Still holding a torch for Noah, huh?” she says. “You go, girl. I’ll set a couple of bottles aside for you to bring to him. But don’t hold your hopes up, okay? I don’t want to be responsible for your broken heart.”
Willow does a small fist bump that makes me chuckle. She’s been trying to get the moody guy’s attention for years now, but he’s clearly not interested. I’d have given up a long time ago.
“Bonne chance!” I tell her in a vague attempt to practice my fledgling French on actual people.
“Oooh fancy,” Grace says. “Are you trying to attract the French Canadian clientele? You should start a partnership with Cassandra. ‘Buy a bra, get a macaron!’”
Cassandra lifts her glass to me with a side smile. “Now there’s an idea. And get a massage,” she adds for Grace.
“How d’you say massage in French?” Grace asks me.
I shrug. “I don’t know. The course didn’t get to that point yet.”
“Isn’t massage a French word already?” Willow asks.
“Wait—you’re taking a class?” Grace asks. “That’s awesome!”
Willow grunts. “Wait til she tells you why.”
All eyes zoom in on me. “Why?” is the collective question.
“I need to expand my horizons,” I answer.
Willow tilts her head at me. “Be more specific.”
I stifle a sigh. “I’m hoping to be accepted in a pastry school in France. It’s a short program.”
Grace frowns, genuinely puzzled. “But why?”
With all my friends narrowing their eyes on me, my motivation wanes. Mostly, I don’t want to hurt their feelings. They’ve always done everything they could to make me feel welcomed here. “I think I need something more to make progress in my business.”
“You need a storefront,” Ms. Angela declares as if that wasn’t the crux of my problem.
“She can’t get one,” Willow answers her, turning to me with an apologetic look. “Right?”
I freeze, ashamed to admit my failure. “It’s complicated,” I say in a voice way more assured than I’m feeling.
Before anyone can ask more, or maybe feeling my discomfort, Grace says, “Speaking of complicated, I hear Colton went to Maine with you this weekend?” Her eyes dance with unconcealed mischief. “He came back in some mood. Mom had to threaten to take away his serving of lasagna, just like when we were kids, if he was only going to grunt instead of speaking to us.”
Ms. Angela’s face lights up. “Is there some progress I missed?” Turning to me, she adds, “Did the fake dating finally turn into something more?”
I feel myself turn crimson. Yes, Ms. Angela, the fake dating turned into real petting and a real orgasm . “No, that’s—we shot that down. We had our fun messing with my family, but nope. No more.”
A series of disappointed awws echo through the room.
I try to laugh it off. “Guys, really? It was fake!”
Ms. Angela pets my arm. “We were hoping it would turn into not-fake. You two look so cute together, you know. We were hoping…” She sighs and looks at Cassandra, who gives her an enigmatic smile.
Cassandra is rumored to have witchy gifts when it comes to matchmaking. I think she’s just perceptive and makes her move when she knows the relationship is going somewhere.
“Hey, the good news is, I decided it’s time for me to date for real,” I drop.
Grace, Willow, and my other friends clasp their hands. “Ethan just hired a couple of very handsome single men,” Grace says. “I can set up a dinner, make it look caj.”
Yeah, I don’t think so. Being introduced by a friend is too much pressure. Then there’s the question of the V-card. I’d rather keep that to myself and get it over and done with with a perfect stranger who won’t have anyone to open his mouth to.
Colton, I could trust. But Ethan’s new employees? Who the hell knows them? I don’t want to be the Monday morning topic around their watercooler at work. “I think I’m gonna get on the apps,” I drop.
Several gasps sound through the room, especially from the older generation. “I totally get it,” Cassandra, of all people, says. “See what’s out there. Just stay safe, okay? Drive yourself, meet in a public space, don’t agree to be at their place until you’ve met their friends and they’re… normal people.”
I should roll my eyes and come back with a snarky retort, but Cassandra’s motherly concern touches me. I’ve never gotten dating advice from someone older than me, but not that old that they were out of touch with my generation.
“Oh and send someone a screenshot of the date’s profile to at least one of us,” Grace adds.
Willow is tapping on her phone. “What app do you want to get on? Can I make your profile?”
I unlock my phone and hand it to her. “Have at it.”
Another fist bump from Willow, then she points my phone at me and tells me to smile. “This one’s a good one,” she says. “Let me edit it.”
“Don’t make me look too cute. I don’t want them to have high expectations.”
Grace sighs. “Wow… Well, I hope this goes well. Or maybe it’ll make Colton see what he’s missing and wake him up.”
“What do you mean?”
She throws up her hands. “You’re perfect for him! How could he mess it up so much?”
I can already tell she’s ready to go to bat for me and have a talk with her brother. That’s the last thing I want. “Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe I don’t want to date him !”
“What’s wrong with Colton?” Grace asks, offended.
“There’s nothing wrong with your brother. It’s …” How am I getting out of this one? Lying seems like the only viable option, one where no one gets hurt. “I don’t want anything serious. I just want to have fun and be able to… you know, move on once the fun has worn out.”
Grace considers me as if this were a totally new idea. “Oh. Oh, sure.”
“That’s why I can’t date Colton. Or anyone I know, really. Including Ethan’s new guys.”
She frowns. “Right. Makes sense. And so… apps, huh?”
Willow waves my phone at me. “There! All set!”
“Lemme see?” The picture she took is cute enough without being staged or over-promising. It looks like me. For interests, she wrote Running experiments on my friends, Exploring how to make the world a sweeter place, one bite at a time.
“Good enough,” I say. I’ll play with it later, maybe change a few things around.
Ms. Angela takes out a stack of Christmas cards from her canvas bag. “Welp, these aren’t going to write themselves!” She takes a comfortable seat next to the fire, uncaps her pen, and gets to work.
Meanwhile Sophie, the town librarian, pulls out a tarot deck and sits cross-legged on the floor. “Anyone need a little wisdom?” she asks.
What’s the harm? I sit in front of her.
Half an hour later, slightly unsettled, I sit back as she reads cards for Alex’s unborn child, hearing without really listening.
“Honey, why don’t you follow me,” Cassandra says, holding her hand out. She pulls me up and leads me out of the room and into her boutique, flicking lights on as she goes.
Oh, this is good. Cassandra is known for giving single women lingerie that she claims has magic powers—like making them meet the man of their life. I always laughed about this, but I’ve been supposedly proven wrong recently. I maintain Cassandra is intuitive, and she was only giving them the extra nudge of self-assurance they needed in their new relationship.
Cass rummages through her drawers, lifting folded garments. “There,” she says. She unfolds a thin black fabric, holding it out in front of her, then sets it aside on her high counter, takes out silk paper, and wraps the garment. “The most beautiful gems are best left to shine on their own,” she says while she ties the small package with twine. “You know I’ve given your friends lingerie that gave them the confidence they needed at the right time.” Ha! I knew it . No witchcraft involved in Alex’s bodice, Chloe’s negligee, or Grace’s swimsuit.
She slips the mysterious black garment I didn’t even try into a purple bag adorned with an owl. “Turns out, you just need to warm up to the idea,” she adds with a smile. “Hence, this thermal. Oh and—you’ll want to make sure to wear this cami with it, because of the zipper,” she says as she adds a rolled-up black garment to the bag.
A thermal ? I mean, these things are expensive as shit, and Cass only sells top quality. I should thank her before she thinks I’m disappointed. “I don’t know what to say, Cass. Thanks so much, this will… this will be super useful.” And it will. It really will. Layers make all the difference here.
And I get the message. I really do: Sexy lingerie isn’t for me.
“Make sure to wear the cami underneath it.”
Thermal. Cami. Got it.
“You heard what I said earlier, right?” she says, not letting go of the bag just yet.
“I need to keep warm?” I thought she’d said something about warming up to an idea, but I must have heard wrong.
She rolls her eyes in a cute way. “The most beautiful gems are best left to shine on their own. Just remember that.”