Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
HATTIE
Viv Couture is a sewist’s sweet dream.
It’s a three-way meet cute between a fabric store, a craft space, and a bespoke boutique in South Park.
Almost three weeks ago, I fell in love in the doorway.
And I think Vivian Ireland is who I want to be when I grow up.
Her shop is a ten-minute bus ride from Summit House—or a six-minute Uber, but with Gwen’s encouragement, I challenged myself to try public transportation.
I was nervous to get on the bus for the first time, but I’d already downloaded the pass app and knew where I wanted to go. It was so much easier than I expected, I think I startled the bus driver when I proclaimed:
“THAT WAS SO MUCH EASIER THAN I EXPECTED!” before disembarking.
And since then, I’ve discovered that if I get off the bus two stops early, I can hit Intazza Coffee Mug & Grub for a Hot Bee’s Knees. No, it’s not a steaming gin cocktail. It’s an espresso with honey, cinnamon, and milk.
I crave them daily, but I’m addicted to Viv Couture.
At the boutique, with any purchase of $10 or more, you can use the shop’s craft space, which is A-MAZ-ING! With craft tables arranged in a sort of E shape, as many as ten people could be sewing, Serging, cutting, pinning different projects—all at the same time.
The $10 cover is laughable since I want to buy everything. Vivian even has an entire case of Aurefil threads!
So. Many. Colors.
One corner of the shop is for consignment. Sewists can sell what they make right in the store.
I’ve been coming here almost every day after morning sessions. When I walk in this morning, Vivian’s talking to me before I can take off my headphones.
“...Sold this morning! Not even a whole day, Hattie!”
“Wait—what?”
Vivian points at the consignment corner behind me. “Your blouson dress. It sold this morning.”
I look over my shoulder, and the size 14 blue floral dress I hung up yesterday with a $100 price tag is GONE.
I spin back around. “No way!” I shriek.
“Better believe it. The woman who bought it came out of the dressing room wearing it with a huge smile on her face. Said no dress had ever fit her so well.” Vivian is somewhere in her sixties, and she’s got the comfort chic aesthetic locked down.
Her double layer top and flare leg pants make her look like she’s floating through the store.
She winks at me. “She asked if you had a card.”
My eyes bug. “I-I don’t have a card.”
Vivian grins. “I guess you have some homework to do.”
My heart feels like it could vibrate right out of my chest. I’m so excited, I swear I could fly!
And the very first thing I want to do is tell Beck.
That heart of mine that’s grown wings? Boom. Felled by an arrow.
I was going to call Beck on Saturday. I really was.
I decided to text him first.
Probably because I am a coward.
Me: WOULD IT BE OKAY IF I CALLED YOU?
Apparently not. He left my message on read.
Admittedly, I’d left him on read for almost three weeks by then, and that was a mistake. I’ve texted him every night since then, but in the most chicken shit way possible.
I text him after 11 p.m. Pacific time.
That means I know he’s long since gone to bed and he can’t actively reject me in real time.
So far, he hasn’t responded.
But every morning, I see that he’s at least read my messages.
Margaret was right. I shouldn’t have waited so long to get in touch with him.
It might be too late now.
Is it too late?
Wouldn’t he just block me if—
“Hattie? You okay? This is great news.” Vivian frowns with concern. “You look disappointed.”
I shake my head, wishing I could shake this heartache.
“N-no. I’m excited. I-I can’t believe the dress sold. Especially so fast.” I force a smile. Because it is great news.
I’ve never sold anything. Out of all of the things I’ve made, most of them have been for me. I’ve given away some pieces as gifts, but the blouson dress was the first thing I’ve ever done in hopes of making a sale.
And it happened. Overnight.
It is exciting. I should be excited.
Even if Beck doesn’t love me anymore.
Other things in my life can belong to me. And just me.
I take a deep breath, let my eyes slowly sweep the wonder of the store, and do what I came here to do.
“Vivian, do you think we could talk for a few minutes?”
She gives me a curious look. “Sure, hon. Let’s sit.” She gestures to two rolling chairs at one of the craft tables. We sit and I grab my laptop from my crossbody bag.
“I-I have questions.”
Vivian smiles with a shrug. “Maybe I have answers.”
My hands shake a little as I log in and go to my list.
I glance up at Vivian. She’s so stylish and calm. She’s like a longleaf pine. Straight. Sturdy. Aimed at the sky. Has she ever been unsure in her life?
Vivian bursts out laughing. “Well, of course, I have!”
Oops.
I bite my lip. “W-were you unsure when you opened this place?”
She scoffs, but she does it with a bright smile. “Hattie. I was terrified. I had just divorced my ex. I had two kids in college, and I’d never run a business before.” She snickers. “I’m not sure I slept for the first six months after I opened.”
“Really?”
“Honest to God.”
I stare at her for a minute. Then nod, glance down at my notes, and look back at her. “I… I think I told you that we don’t have anything like this back home… in Lafayette.”
“You might’ve mentioned that.”
Does the glint in her eyes mean I’ve mentioned it many times?
Probably.
I suck in a breath and go for it. “I think there’s a need for a place like this. I-In Lafayette… Especially since JoAnn closed.” I wrinkle my nose at the mention of that catastrophe.
Honestly, has anyone in our great nation gotten over the loss of Joann Fabrics & Crafts?
No. No one.
Vivian nods sympathetically. “We all miss her.”
We share a sigh and observe a moment of silence.
“But, if I’m being honest, I spent a lot of time at Joann, but never all afternoon like I have here,” I confess.
Vivian’s eyes crinkle at the corners with her smile. It reminds me of Beck, and I have to pinch my wrist under the worktable to keep my focus on the here and now.
“I was thinking… I was thinking about opening a place like this back home.”
Her gray eyebrows leap. Her smile grows. “You were? That’s wonderful!”
“I-It is?” I mean, sure, I think it’s wonderful. In theory.
It’s also terrifying.
But not so terrifying that I haven’t downloaded the business plan template my Principles of Management professor shared with us way back when.
“Of course it is. I think every city needs a place like this. Don’t you?”
I perk up. “Yeah. I do.”
A place where sewists can learn and get help with tricky projects. Vivian offers classes, but there’s also just a vibe in the workshop that encourages collaboration.
Last week, I helped a high school girl put in her first zipper. She was so excited, it left me in a good mood all day.
Vivian has two other sewists on staff for bespoke projects. Customers come in with a pattern, an inspiration piece, or nothing at all—just a need for a party dress or a wedding dress—and the sewists work with them to create something one-of-a-kind.
And, just like what happened with my blouson dress, people can sell what they make right here in the shop.
Viv Couture keeps twenty percent, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s more than fair.
I’ll still walk out of here today with $80—about $45 of that as profit when you take out the cost of materials.
True, I spent about four hours making that dress, but that still comes out to more than minimum wage. And the money is mine. I earned it.
I’ve never felt this kind of proud.
And I can’t help but wonder: What would it feel like to own a place like this?
My heart is a frightened bird. “Um… What advice would you have for someone who… might want to startup her own shop?”
Vivian smiles, but it’s full of meaning. And even I can read that it’s excited, but cautionary.
Like: Oh, get ready, girl.
I have no idea if I’m ready.
I just know I want to be ready.
“I’m going to give you my advice, but it’s not advice I followed.
” Her brow arches. “Mind you, I have no regrets, but if I had been a young woman just starting out, things would’ve been different.
I wouldn’t have had the capital I had to risk on this place, and I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry. ”
I’m not so sure about that. I feel like this should be something I started yesterday.
And I know I’ve said this out loud when Vivian chuckles. “Hattie, you have plenty of time.”
I rock in my seat, inadvertently scooting my rolly chair. I grab the edge of the worktable to keep me in place.
“But what if somebody back home is already renting space? Getting ready to open Sandra’s Sewing Shop before I can open Hattie’s Attic?”
“Hattie’s Attic? Love the name!”
I can already picture the scripty sign: Hattie’s Attic and under that in a sans serif font, Fabrics, Craft Space, & Bespoke Fashions
Grinning, Vivian shakes her head. “Sandra’s Sewing Shop doesn’t stand a chance,” she teases. “But seriously, you have time to get it right.”
Her gaze sharpens on me. “How much longer until you finish your business degree?”
“Ugh!” I roll my eyes. “I was hoping you’d tell me to drop out of school and throw all my energy into opening shop.”
This makes her laugh again. “Sorry, Hattie. I’m with your parents on this one.”
Yes, hanging out here the last few weeks has given Vivian plenty of opportunity to hear my backstory while I cut out patterns and reinforced seams.
I sigh. “I could finish in another year,” I grumble. “It’s just… so boring.”
She tilts her head. “Would it be so boring if you made your shop the focus of all of your schoolwork?”
Her question brings me up short.
I’ve been dreading my final project in Principles of Marketing, pretending like the assignment doesn’t make up twenty percent of my grade.
But the thought of drafting a marketing strategy for Hattie’s Attic suddenly seems…
Exciting!
Something I could hyperfocus on and immerse myself in.
Even now, I can hear Canva calling.