Chapter 9
My eyes are about to cross with all the hours I’ve been spending on these designs, but it’s a labor of love, and I get more excited to keep going. I live and breathe to see this dress meeting Lauren’s desires, and this afternoon feels like a true test.
I open the door to Lauren and Aubrey. We just saw each other a few days ago when we went to Breckinridge and strolled the streets to shop. Today, they’re both giddy and impatient to get inside. With them is Marian, and I laugh at how eager she is to visit. She’s delighted to be involved with the wedding planning, gushing over Lauren, and thrilled to be included.
“I’m just so dang excited!” she exclaims after she takes a seat. She chose the armchair, directly across from the sofa, facing me. She pats her hands on her thighs, almost like a drumroll. I try not to feel put on the spot.
“You’re bouncing like one of my third-graders before snack time!” Aubrey jokes. She’s no better, wide-eyed with anticipation and also facing me. I’m presenting Lauren with the sketches I’ve come up with so far. I have several pieces of hand-stitched embroidery to show her as well, so she can see the visuals I’m keeping in mind.
“I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with,” Marian tells me. “I’ve waited so long for this!”
“What, since the day you met me?” Lauren jokes.
Marian scoffs. “I know whatever Claire has designed will be far superior to that mess you wore that day!”
I smile at the trio as I gather my sketchbooks and tablet. Drawings are best when done on paper, in my honest opinion. Nothing beats the sound of a pencil scraping over the sheet and leaving behind art. On my tablet, though, where I’ve conveyed what I drew by hand, I can easily manipulate more options in the designing program I’m most familiar with.
“Do I want to know?” I tease.
Aubrey shakes her head and shudders. “No. You don’t.”
“I’m just glad you arrived that day at all,” Marian tells Lauren.
It’s clear how much she dotes on her. Even if Dalton hadn’t told me the basics of their background, it’s easy to see that Marian has all but adopted Lauren and Aubrey. They are the daughters she never had. And Marian is the mother they’ve always needed.
I draw in a deep breath, applying that parallel to myself. The mother I need is someone other than the one I was born to. A woman who would be excited for my wedding and future happiness, not selfishly worried about the financial repercussions of losing control of a trust fund.
“So.” I clear my throat and shove aside the emotions. “This is the first option.”
For hours, I share the three main designs I’ve made from what Lauren has told me. I measured her quickly the first time we chatted, but that was just eyeballing her height and size. Depending on which of the three designs she goes with today, I can fine-tune it, tailoring it to her size.
“I’m not sure…” Lauren grimaces, stuck with a volleying focus among all three. “I love them all!”
Aubrey giggles. “I’m sure Caleb can afford all three.”
She shakes her head. “No. That’s ridiculous. I only need one dress, but I can’t pick one over the other.”
“What if I combine everything you like from each option into one dress?” I suggest.
She widens her eyes as she gapes at me. “You could do that?” she whispers.
I nod. “This is your dress, Lauren. You can do whatever you want.”
She blinks quickly, then sniffles. I feel like I’ve unlocked a tearful level of this game, and my first instinct is to go still. Lauren is so level-headed and calm, and this is an unexpected turn.
Did I say the wrong thing? Does she want more guidance? Am I making it sound like I don’t care? I don’t have a chance to properly freak out or worry that I’ve failed my first client.
She takes my hand and squeezes hard, like she needs to ground herself. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Marian hugs her, stroking her hair. “Lauren didn’t get to pick her dress for the previous…non-wedding. Before she came here, no one would have ever told her what you just said.”
Aubrey nods, smirking. “Yeah. Her parents were trying to force her to marry he-who-shall-not-be-named.”
“Voldemort?”
Lauren laughs, sniffling. “No. Jeremy, my former fiancé. Before I ran from the altar the first time, my parents and Jeremy decided everything. I had no control over the wedding. The day, the dress, none of it.”
“Did you say the first time?” I ask incredulously.
She nods as Marian continues. “Lauren ran from her father’s vineyard, leaving Jeremy at the altar.”
Aubrey raises her hand. “Thanks to my genius diversion.” She winks at Lauren.
“I got on a bus and ended up here,” Lauren says.
Marian cringes. “In that ugly, horrible prom dress of a wedding gown.”
I point at her. “Is that where the shoulder pads came from?”
Lauren shakes her head as Marian goes on. “Then Caleb showed up, and they fell for each other. But then that scumbag, Jeremy, came back and threatened me and Caleb if Lauren didn’t marry him.”
“Oh, no.” I squeeze Lauren’s hand.
“So I went back so I could marry him, then divorce him, and go back to Caleb, but Caleb ended up showing up and rescuing me.” Lauren smiles.
“He crashed the wedding,” Aubrey holds her hand up again, “with my help again, thank you very much, and they’re living happily ever after.”
“I didn’t get to pick the second dress, either,” Lauren tells me. “I didn’t want to marry Jeremy, but it felt so much worse being totally controlled and having no say in my dress. It was a confining hopelessness, so going through this design process is a huge deal.”
“The second one is the one that would give you nightmares,” Aubrey says. “Shoulder pads.”
“So many layers,” Marian adds. “Like a cloud of gloom.”
I raise my brows.
“I still say we should burn it,” Marian says with a shrug.
“No,” Lauren argues. “The smoke from it might release a hex.”
“Where is it now?” I ask.
“Buried in a garbage bag with the first dress,” Marian says.
“Which would just hex the land, right?” Aubrey jokes.
I giggle. “If you and Caleb came here and fell in love,” I tell Lauren, “and Aubrey and Dalton did the same, I think this place is a good-luck charm more than anything.”
“What about you?” Marian asks.
“What about me?”
“Doesn’t that just mean it’s your turn?” Lauren says.
I shake my head, determined not to even think of Sawyer. “I’m glad I can help, Lauren. You remind me why I love bridal design so much.” It means everything to me to give her this sense of control and freedom.
After Lauren and I list the things she wants to incorporate into one final dress, Aubrey points at the shoes I left near the door. “I was just talking to Dalton about getting that pair. My other shoes are beat. The tread is almost worn to the sole from all the hiking we do here.”
I glance up from my book. “Oh. Sawyer dropped them off.”
“Sawyer, huh?” Marian asks.
I look up in time to see Aubrey and Lauren exchange glances. Marian seems alert. “Yeah. Sawyer.”
“Is something going on between you two?” Aubrey asks.
I grunt a laugh. “Because he dropped off shoes?”
“Those aren’t cheap,” Marian says.
Now, I look like a materialistic snob. “They do seem sturdy,” I admit.
“They are,” Aubrey says.
“So it’s not so much that he bought you shoes,” Lauren says, “but that he wanted you to have sturdy footwear.”
That, or he can be quick to suggest I don’t bother him anymore. I can’t tell which it is. He wants me to have better access to bug him or to stay away?
“They’re just shoes.”
“Are you sure?” Aubrey asks.
I feel awkward, pressured to defend myself about anything happening with anyone. Instead of responding, I fall back to an old staple I used in Paris constantly. I avoided the discussion by pretending to be slightly offended.
“I think I would know if something was going on between me and Sawyer.” My tone is bitchier than I want it to be because, in reality, it feels good to have girlfriends who would be enthusiastic about a guy like Sawyer being interested in me. It’s a night and day difference to my “friendships” over the years, all the acquaintances I merely put up with, those people who only wanted to be near me because of my wealth and status.
If any of those so-called friends learned that a construction worker was giving me attention, they’d ridicule me. If my mother was aware a blue-collar man with dirty, work-roughened hands like Sawyer was making me feel all these butterflies in my stomach, she’d throw a fit.
Lauren and Aubrey are not judging him as anyone inferior, and I wish I could embrace that laid-back mentality as easily as they have.
Later that night, long after the three women left, I can’t shake him from my thoughts. I decide to take a hot bath and forgot about it for a while. I change out of my clothes and put on my robe but head back to take one last look at the sketch.
It’s no longer a matter of if something could be going on between me and Sawyer but a matter of if I want something to be happening there.
Stop. Thinking. About. Him. I sigh and shake my head, wishing I could clear out these errant thoughts about him just as quickly.
Tapping my pencil against the edge of the sketch, I wonder if this is it. If I’ve finally finished the sketch for Lauren. It’s taking me longer than it might otherwise, likely because of how often I keep thinking back to Sawyer, but it looks complete.
“But I need to find better fabric samples first.” It won’t do to show her the final sketch and not have something for her to feel, too. As I pull my tablet closer to research where I might find a better shop or supplier, a loud cranking and grinding noise erupts from the basement.
“Oh, shit.” I scurry toward the couch, eager to get off the floor, as though the vibrations could seep through the floor. I swear I hear scurrying sounds, and as my heart races, I imagine all kinds of vermin and beasts lurking down there.
I call Dalton, hating that I’ll sound so whiny and desperate, but it’s late. He doesn’t answer.
I whimper again when the noise resumes. Without hesitating, I run to the kitchen and grab Sawyer’s business card.
I toy with it, flicking the corner of the paper as I wait in suspense for the sound to come back. Maybe it’s gone. Maybe it’s—
The cranking thumps louder, and I hold my breath as I call Sawyer.
He did say to call if I needed help…