Smooth as Silk, page 3
“Not without telling her point blank that it wasn’t flattering.”
“Have you ever done that?” He took another step closer to her, all the while looking so smug, like he knew the answer.
“A few times. Most of the time the bride will see it on her own and I can guide her toward something more suitable.” He was close enough that she felt his body heat, but she would not step away. No way would she give him the satisfaction of thinking she had noticed.
“But if she hadn’t?” He dropped his face closer to hers. Damn. He smelled like chocolate, probably tasted of it. “Would you have sold it to her?”
“You say that like you wouldn’t have. In the end, it’s not my decision.”
“Reputation.”
In truth, she’d never sold a dress that was truly hideously unflattering. She would have rolled in the mud wearing the most expensive dress in the shop before she would have admitted it.
She changed the subject. “You showed her a dress that was way out of her price range.”
“Clearly not. They bought it.” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t quite close his mouth when he finished speaking.
“It’s cruel to show someone something they can’t have.”
The moment froze. They locked gazes for what seemed like a long time.
Then the spell broke. “You’re right.” Robbie closed his eyes and stepped back out of her space. “But it worked out.”
“This time.”
He came across with that damned cocky crooked grin again. “I have some other ideas for you. Your showcase window could use some livening up. I’m going away for Thanksgiving, but let me take you to dinner next week and I’ll share my ideas.”
Hyacinth stopped cold. He did not say that to her!
“This was kind of fun. The next time you have a difficult bride, call me. I’ll be glad to come help you.” He frowned like he was trying to work something out, then brightened. “I know. I’ll get you some game tickets. You can come see me play. Then, we’ll have dinner.”
There weren’t enough deep breaths in the universe to bring her back from this.
“I don’t like hockey. I don’t have time for it.” Never mind that Claire, her mentor and silent business partner, who also owned a small part of the Yellowhammers, had given her a whole set of season tickets.
“You don’t like hockey?” He said that as if she’d said she didn’t like breathing. “Well, just dinner then. I can still help you out with your windows and I might change your mind about hockey.”
“Tell you what, Robbie, let’s not have dinner. I can tend to my own windows and my own brides. You tend to your hockey and leave me out of it.”
“I can tend to more than one thing.”
“Here, tend to this.” She reached under the counter and got a bag that contained the kilt and shoes he’d left. “I mended the hem.” She hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d washed it, too.
“That was good of you.” He looked inside the bag. “It looks like it’s been ironed.”
She gave a half nod. “Only sloppy seamstresses don’t press their work.” Memaw had taught her that.
“Then I do owe you dinner.” He held out his hand. “What do you say?”
“I say no thank you.”
“Have it your own way,” he said.
“Believe me, I try, but that seems nigh on impossible when you’re around.”
He laughed. “Goodbye, lass, I’ll be going now. Need to pack for the little trip I’m taking. You have yourself a fine Turkey Day.” He gave a little salute as he left.
She, like Robbie, was also taking a short Thanksgiving trip. Unlike him, she was packed and ready.
She locked the door after him and sighed with relief. Never had she known a human who wore her out like Robbie McTavish.
What a ghastly day. She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb, afraid if she moved, something else would happen. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when she heard the pecking on the glass. Dread washed over her. Couldn’t she catch a break? It would be him again, perhaps with a taco truck and brass band.
She opened one eye and relief and joy overtook her. Not Robbie, but sweet Chloe Harper, who’d gotten married last month and moved to Memphis. Hyacinth opened the door and Chloe flew into her arms. Getting Chloe married had been quite the adventure. She’d kept gaining weight and Hyacinth had had to alter her dress twice. Even at that, she’d burst a seam at the wedding and Hyacinth had rushed over to sew her back into her dress.
“I know you’re closed,” Chloe said, “but we just got into town for Thanksgiving. I had to come by and bring you a picture.” The girl dug into her tote bag and pulled out a framed photo of them both, with Chloe wearing her wedding dress.
“Thank you, Chloe. This means a lot to me. Seeing your happy face is just what I needed today.”
“It’s nothing,” Chloe said. “But I had to stop and tell you that you saved me—saved my wedding from being a disaster.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” Hyacinth said.
“It is,” Chloe insisted. “You just don’t know. I’ve lost it now, but you remember how I kept gaining weight after the dress was altered? I was a nervous wreck and couldn’t stop eating.”
Impossible to forget. “It happens sometimes. Getting married is stressful.”
“But you never once lost patience with me. You just kept telling me I was a beautiful bride and fixing my dress.”
“You were a beautiful bride.” Hyacinth gestured to the picture. “The proof is right here.”
Chloe closed her eyes and shuddered. “And then, right after the ceremony, I burst that seam. I hated myself so much right then. I was sure that Gunner would be disgusted with me. I wanted to run away. I almost did. But you came and fixed my dress. You were so calm, you just kept saying I was gorgeous, and I wasn’t to worry about a thing, that you would sit right there in that dressing room, ready to take care of any problem I had, even if I wanted to dance all night. You said you hoped I would dance all night because it was my special night—and it ended up being just that, and all because of you. If you hadn’t done that for me, I would have had nothing but awful memories of my wedding.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Hyacinth’s eyes filled. “I’m so glad it was a happy night for you.”
Chloe nodded. “And Gunner and I are so happy. Maybe we would have been anyway, but I can’t think having a bad start would have done us any good. You’re the best fairy godmother a bride could ever have.”
And just like that, Hyacinth was centered again, wrapped in that warm, sparkly cloud. “Thank you, Chloe. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”
She locked the door and waved goodbye to Chloe through the window.
She needed to remember that a day like today didn’t wipe away all the happy brides she’d sent out her door. Chloe and all the other brides who came to her to help make their day perfect were the reason she loved her job and loved this shop.
And she did love Trousseau—so much.
She still couldn’t quite believe her luck that it was hers. She’d visited Trousseau for the first time when she was twelve years old, shortly after she’d come to Laurel Springs to live with her grandmother. Memaw had been that renowned and sought after seamstress that every community has, and in addition to sewing for the public, she’d done alterations for Trousseau. It was here that the first seeds of Hyacinth’s ambition to design wedding gowns was born. Memaw taught her to sew, and by the time Hyacinth was fifteen, she was helping with the alterations and making some of the simpler garments for Memaw’s clients.
After graduating from design school, she had planned to get a job in a bridal shop to learn the business, save some money, and get some contacts. By then Memaw had died, and she’d had little reason to return to Laurel Springs.
But shortly before graduation, Claire Watkins called her home—and when Claire called, you went. She had old money, new money, and amazing business sense. It had been looking good for Birmingham to get the pro hockey team franchise they had been wanting, and Claire was on a mission to put some spit and shine on the suburb of Laurel Springs Village to make it attractive to the hockey crowd. Trousseau was looking a little dusty, a little tired, a little last century and the owner wanted to retire—and, like many things in Laurel Springs, Claire owned the building. Was Hyacinth interested? Claire would invest and mentor her, if she thought she could breathe some fresh life into it.
And she had accomplished that.
She had forgotten that for a little while today. Memaw had always said there was nothing that had ever touched this Earth that was perfect except Jesus Christ and the Alabama Crimson Tide, but she hadn’t lived to see Trousseau, all revamped and shiny. She would be proud of Hyacinth.
It was too much to hope for that she would never see Robbie again. This was Laurel Springs, with connections like the fibers of a spider web.
Claire had invested in two other businesses. Along with Hyacinth, Evans Pemberton, of Crust pie shop, and Ava Grace Fairchild, of Heirloom Antiques, made up the trio of “Claire’s Girls.” Evans and Ava Grace were Hyacinth’s best friends and Evans had landed in a relationship with Robbie’s best friend and teammate, Jake Champagne.
So he would be around—as would she. But hopefully it would be a while before she had to see him again—a long while.
Chapter Two
Robbie stuffed his backpack with a couple of T-shirts, two pairs of underwear, and his toothbrush. That ought to do it. He could use Jake’s shampoo, soap, and such.
But wait. He needed a kilt. He sniffed the one that Hyacinth had mended. It smelled good, like some kind of flowers. Or fruit. Anyway, good.
Hyacinth. Never before had he known a woman who lived so completely immersed in a perpetual state of panic.
True, the incident with the ice cream and the dress was unfortunate and he was sorry for his part in it. But if she hadn’t been mad to begin with, and hadn’t been all het up, ordering him around and stopping too quick right in front of him—after, mind you, demanding that he follow her—it wouldn’t have happened. He saw no reason to point any of this out, as she was not a woman to be reasoned with. Nor was she one to be appreciative of his willingness to pay for the dress and make it up to her by helping out with Daisy.
Still, it was his ice cream and he would do the responsible thing. McTavishes always did. But it looked like he wouldn’t be taking her to dinner or helping her with her windows. Not that he wanted to, not really. Crabby was what she was—even crabbier than that Peanuts girl, Lucy. She wasn’t one bit impressed that he was a pro athlete. That was good news and bad news.
Yet, he liked her. Everything else aside, she was clearly, like everyone in his family, a hard worker. If she was a little too uptight and unbending, he had to admire how organized she was. It was all he could do to keep milk in the refrigerator and get to the rink on time.
He shouldn’t have asked her out. He wouldn’t have, except for that little moment they’d had with their hands all tangled up together. Wasn’t it just his luck that when he’d finally, after all these months, felt a connection with a woman, it was with one who didn’t like him? He wasn’t used to not being liked or being turned down. And then there had been that moment when it seemed like they ought to kiss. She’d deny it, but there had been some heat for her, too—enough that it rattled her.
Which reminded him—condoms. The chances he would have sex while in Cottonwood, Mississippi, were all but nil, but sometimes the unexpected happened. A condom wasn’t something he would borrow from Jake, regardless of how close they were—and they were close. That bond had been sealed their rookie year the second day of training camp. Robbie had gotten a knock on his noggin and Jake had slept in the same room with him and wakened him every two hours. That wasn’t something a man would soon forget.
When he fetched the condoms from the bathroom, he caught sight of his phone charger on the nightstand. He’d need that and he was down to his last one. He’d bought three last time, but his car and condo seemed to eat them.
That Hyacinth had probably never lost a phone charger in her life.
The doorbell rang. That would be Jake and Evans.
But when he opened the door, it was Jake alone.
“She throw you over, did she?” Robbie asked as he stepped aside to let Jake enter.
Jake closed his eyes and shook his head like he did when somebody said something that didn’t agree with him. “No. She did not throw me over. She needed to go back to her house for some things. We’re picking her up there.”
He’d forgotten Evans even had a house. She was pretty much living right across the hall with Jake these days.
“I’m all ready.” Robbie slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Ready for some Mississippi Turkey Day adventure.”
“Did you pack socks?” Jake asked. “The last time you went home with me, you didn’t pack socks and I never saw the ones I lent you again.”
Hell. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Having freshened up and changed into jeans and a soft, autumnal amber sweater, Hyacinth sat down, reached for her phone, and let her mind drift to the big thing she had cooking—the chance to get Trousseau on the reality show All Dressed in White, where they filmed a bride choosing a dress. All she needed was a celebrity bride or groom, and a pro hockey player was close enough.
And she was close, so close.
Jake and Evans were Hyacinth’s best chance yet to get on All Dressed in White.
Also, her first chance. Her only chance so far. If only they would get engaged.
It was due to tenacity and perseverance that she had Alex Leman’s personal cell number. Most of All Dressed in White’s episodes were shot in upscale, established bridal shops in big cities with ordinary, everyday brides. But occasionally, there would be a special show with a celebrity bride or groom. When she’d first contacted the show three years ago, they’d had no interest in a fledgling shop on the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama, with an inexperienced owner. They’d been polite, yet firm. But she kept calling—pestering them, her memaw would have said—and they had gotten less and less polite. Somebody’s assistant to somebody else’s assistant had gone so far as to tell her that shops like Trousseau were a dime a dozen and All Dressed in White was only interested in the unique and the elegant. But that didn’t discourage Hyacinth. If anything, it fueled her.
Alex was an assistant director and Hyacinth was reasonably sure she’d gotten passed on to him because he was the new kid on the block and he’d been given the task of doing what no one at the clerical level had been able to do—get rid of her. Only too bad for them, the day they patched her through to him, Alex had some time on his hands and they had a conversation.
Turns out they were kindred spirits—ambitious kindred spirits.
She checked the time. Jake and Evans were due in twenty minutes. She had plenty of time to call Alex, even if they weren’t late, which they usually were. Ava Grace would have said she ought not make a business call on Thanksgiving Eve, but Hyacinth wasn’t practically engaged to Skip Landry and his trust fund, nor did she have the Fairchild money to fall back on. The holiday hadn’t been invented that was going to get in the way of her goals.
The phone rang. Alex wasn’t always glad to hear from her, but he always took her calls.
“Hyacinth Dawson. As I live and breathe.” He tried to fake a Southern accent and she relaxed. This was not one of those days that he wasn’t glad to hear from her. “Here on the eve of this great country’s harvest and gluttony celebration, I would have thought you’d be out digging sweet ’taters and grinding cornmeal.”
“I did that yesterday. You know how I like to stay ahead of the game. Have you shot your turkey yet?”
“My wife’s taking care of that. I bought her a brand-new ax to chop the head off.”
“How generous.”
“You got anything for me?” His tone went to business.
“I might.”
“Might isn’t going to make Trousseau into the Hyacinth Dawson Design Studio.”
Alex knew what she wanted—to grow her business so she could realize her dream of designing wedding dresses. She would never give up Trousseau; it meant too much to her, but there was room to expand the building. She dreamed of a big, airy studio with state of the art sewing machines and the best seamstresses to help bring her creations to life. She wasn’t fool enough to think that having Trousseau featured on All Dressed in White would get all that for her, but it would be a damn good start.
However, that wasn’t half of it. She had not told Alex part two of her All Dressed in White ambition. There were a few—five to be exact—bridal salons that had become so popular with the audience that they were featured regularly. If she could get this opportunity, if it went very, very well, maybe Trousseau could join that rank. The ultimate would be letting the audience watch Trousseau evolve to include the studio.
“I don’t like might,” Alex went on.
“Might won’t get you what you want either,” she countered, “but my might is really more of a probably. I’d go so far as to say almost a sure thing.”
“Tell me more.” Alex had some dreams, too—to become a senior director with assistants of his own. If she could get a celebrity customer, he thought he could sell the idea—and be allowed to direct the episode himself. While someone from the entertainment industry would be ideal, a pro hockey player would do. It didn’t hurt that Alex was a hockey fan, though his team was from New York. Or maybe New Jersey.
“Do you know who Jake Champagne is?” she asked.
Alex answered immediately. “Nashville Sound. Championship cup. Damn fine D-man.”
