Chapter 12
“I can’t wait,” Lauren tells me as she leaves the cabin. She takes my hands again and squeezes them tight. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and I hold back on the pity. This woman doesn’t need my pity for the reminder of why choosing her final design for her dress is such an emotional experience. Of course, it’s a memorable moment. What she needs now is my encouragement and determination to make it happen.
And I will. Somehow.
“Me too, girl. Me too.” I’m absolutely itching to get my hands on some proper fabric. New bolts of material to test the feeling of it and examine the thread. More samples of lacework. Different styles of beads and adornments. It’s been so long since I’ve held anything. Sketching and imagining a design on paper is only half of the experience to get to the phase where the real magic can begin.
I’m overdue to plunge into a project, and I’m eager to make it happen.
After Lauren leaves, I do my best to prepare for how the creation of this dress will take over all my hours. It’s going to commandeer this living room, too, but not yet. Too many pieces of furniture stand in the way. I need to figure out better lighting options. I also need to check how I can move that longer table from the dining room to the area over by the front door. Light is critical, and I already know I’ll need another heavy-duty work lamp.
Brace yourself, Caleb. The spending is only beginning.
I spend hours organizing and rearranging the living room to warp it into a decent workshop. I didn’t realize I’ve been here long enough to let clutter accumulate, and that’s the first thing I need to get rid of. Then there are all of the materials I’ve been starting to collect. Fabric samples that don’t cut it. Trays with spools of thread. Containers of pins. And the form! I can finally drag out the mannequins I ordered. Marian dropped them off since they were sent to the Goldfinch, and she was eager to deliver them because she was so excited for Lauren’s dress to be made. I ordered three: a full-size, one to the waist, and then another that is cut off at the bust. Each will be used in different stages, and I debate which should go where. It shouldn’t be this hard to make room for my equipment, but I struggle to make up my mind.
After lunch, I spend time dusting as well. Moving all these pieces of furniture around reveals all the nooks and crannies that have collected dust, and that’s unacceptable. I need this space as clean as can be, so with my earbuds in my ears, blasting music so I can really get into the cleaning spirit, I almost miss someone knocking on the front door.
Sawyer!
He said he’d pop in when he could, but I hadn’t counted on that happening so soon. I hurry to the door and open it, smiling wide. I look like a mess. A headband barely keeps my hair out of my eyes, and I’m wearing a decent coating of dust, but it’s not the sexy contractor who’s getting a glimpse of me so disheveled. It’s Dalton.
“Oh.” I slump, resting my weight on my feet as he raises his brows. “It’s just you.”
“Expecting someone else?”
I open the door wider to let him in. “No,” I lie. “I was simply wondering who it might be.”
“Uh-huh.” He strolls through the living room, taking in all my progress. I’m almost there with setting up the space as I’d like it to be, but it’s overall a mess.
“What is going on here?” He picks up a sketchbook and flips through the pages.
“Rearranging to make space.”
“I see that.”
I smile, taking note of how far I’ve come. “Lauren has finalized her dress design, so now the fun part can begin.”
“Just one dress, right?” He chuckles, pointing at the trio of dress forms.
“Yeah, just the one. Although it might be a good idea to design a matching outerwear to go with it.” I grab my notebook and scrawl more notes. The women mentioned it when we explored the venue, but it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to incorporate a simple shawl or jacket to match her dress. Just in case.
“What brings you by?” I’m not bothered that he’s visiting, but I can’t make sense of it. There’s no way he’s merely here to ask about my work.
He continues to walk around the setup I’ve begun. “I just spoke with my mother.”
I go still, keeping the tip of the pen on the paper mid-note as I look up at him. “Oh?”
Dalton doesn’t have a great relationship with his parents. My aunt and uncle are not very loving, and the family seems estranged more than anything. He sure doesn’t have the same concerns as I do with my mother. His wealth is at his disposal.
But this news is alarming. His mother is my mom’s sister. His mom doesn’t like mine, but I’m nervous about what they could be thinking or saying. Is my time here already over? It’s not fair if I have to end this break from her already.
“She mentioned that Adelaide has been trying to get a hold of you.” He perches on the armrest and crosses his arms. “I’m aware of how spotty reception can be out here, but it’s not so bad that you’re off the grid completely.”
Unfortunately.
I purse my lips, waiting for more bad news. He must sense the turmoil I’m trying to keep in because he sighs before adding, “I didn’t tell her you were here. It sounds like Adelaide is calling around in Paris, even reaching out to your instructors and well-known classmates.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.” I lock my gaze on him, daring him to admit he’s betrayed this secrecy.
“Nor did I. I didn’t tell my mother. And even if she knew where you were, I doubt she would tell Adelaide, to keep it from her out of spite.”
Our family is so messed up.
“What’s going on, Claire? I’m aware you and Adelaide have never gotten along. It’s never been easy with my parents either, but we’re not terse and apart like you and Adelaide.” He gets up to move toward the couch I’ve slumped onto. “I’m aware she’s controlling. Always has been, even when your father was alive. So color me curious, cousin. What’s going on?”
I lick my lips, wondering if I should dare to tell him.
“Why are you so against speaking with her? Why does any mention of her make you curl up in yourself like she’s a predator who’s chasing you down?”
I swallow and hope he’ll believe me. I think I can count on him to side with me, though. “She wants me to get married.”
He lifts his brows. “Is that why you wanted to elope with Owen so badly?”
“Partly. I wanted to elope to get her off my back about needing to marry. She’s never supported my dreams of working at all, much less with something so ‘frivolous’ like a bridal shop.”
He furrows his brow, listening and waiting patiently for more.
“She wants me to marry someone of her choosing. Someone who meets her expectations. And also to ensure I won’t have the freedom to do anything with my trust fund.”
“The trust fund your father left you? The one you’ve been living on since his death?”
I shake my head. “My mother only gives me an allowance. She has a death grip on my funds that he set up for me.”
“How? It’s yours. It’s in your name.”
I shrug. “She’s manipulated it somehow so that I would only receive it after I’m married, but she’s determined to choose who I’m able to marry.”
Grunting an angry bark of laughter, he shakes his head and stands. “I don’t think that’s legal.”
“Oh, like a Rennard won’t have a mighty legal team to rely on.”
He sobers, almost deadpanning at me. “Never mind them. I’ll look into it. Caleb’s lawyers and mine. We’ll investigate this bullshit, Claire. I mean, why not add it to the mix…”
“What do you mean?” I ask, too pragmatic and defeated to let his promise make a difference in my mind. I’m not being stubborn or in denial. I believe very much so that Caleb and Dalton likely want to help me. But this is my mother they’re talking about. His last words are cryptic, and I focus on them. “What do you mean about adding something to the mix?”
“Caleb and I are already concentrating on a similar matter. Another trust fund issue, and a certain man who’s going to pay dearly for messing with our women. But don’t worry. We’ll look into this with Adelaide.”
I stand, tired of the topic that I’ve long since accepted as my unchangeable fate. There is simply no beating my mother. As I wave him off, I return to sorting out the items on the table. “I’ve got far more pressing issues at the moment.”
“Like what? Other than finding so many issues with this cabin that you need to hire Sawyer.” He chuckles. “Sorry about that. I’d only just gotten the keys to this place, and you needed to bolt from Paris.”
I nod. “And now, I need to find a way to get to Denver and secure the fabric samples I need Lauren to review.”
“You want to get a rental?” he asks as a familiar knock sounds on the door. This time, I know it’s Sawyer. He always knocks with four raps of his knuckle. I let Dalton answer the door and welcome him in.
“Hey, just the man I was hoping to catch up with,” Sawyer says, taking a moment to tip his chin up at me in a greeting.
My tablet dings with an email notification, and I hurry back to it, hopeful it’s one of the shops in Denver replying about my inquiries about their stock.
Dalton and Sawyer linger near the door, dropping into an instant conversation about projects.
“The road is done,” Sawyer says, and I roll my eyes.
A road? It’s a long, pressed gravel driveway that reaches to the far end of Dalton’s massive property.
“And we’ll start doing the demo on the old cabins way back there next week.”
“Perfect,” Dalton replies.
“I just have to run to Denver and pick up a different trailer, so I’ll be gone dealing with that, but after I’m back, the crew will be on it.”
Dalton snaps his fingers and points at me. “There we go. I see a solution to at least one of your problems.”
Oh, no. I tense, already guessing what he’ll say.
“You can go to Denver with Sawyer since he’s heading that way.”
My stomach tightens. It’s not anxiety but a funky sense of butterflies taking flight and causing tension.
Riding with Sawyer for how long of a drive? It’s one thing to be here at the cabin while he works on repairs, and I labor away with sourcing the things for Lauren’s dress. We can tiptoe toward being familiar with each other with the fallbacks of our work as a handy distraction.
But stuck in a truck with him, going out of town?
I glance over at Sawyer and find those gorgeous eyes looking right back at me. I look down at his lips for a second before I force myself to look back at my tablet.
I can’t tell if I’m dreading it, unsure if I can resist the way my curiosity is blooming into full-fledged attraction, or if I can’t wait for a chance to spend more time with him.