Smooth as Silk, page 7
“Probably not that many people have seen it, and nobody you’d know. Probably only a few hockey fans.”
“Do you think I’d be reacting like this if that were true? Do you think that’s not the first thing I checked? It’s gone viral, Robbie—big viral. I’m sure because of hashtags like RobbieMcTavishBridalShop, YellowhammerHockey, and, and... I don’t know what else.” She would not cry, hadn’t cried in forever. She didn’t do tears. Especially not in front of him.
There’d be plenty of time for tears in private later, after she’d lost the one thing she’d ever wanted, the thing that defined her.
He closed his eyes and looked down. “I wish I could help.”
“You can’t. Nobody can. Why don’t you go in the house and start tweeting that you’re not getting married. Chop some celery with Addison. Take a selfie with her and post it.”
He looked up and wrinkled his forehead. “I’m not understanding you, lass.”
“No? Understand this. Don’t call me lass. Don’t try to help me. And above all else, stay away from my shop.”
He looked at her for a long moment. All the color went out of his face.
He stood up, gave his head one quick nod, and walked away—without saying a word.
Chapter Five
Stung, Robbie followed the smell of frying fowl and the sound of male noise—talking, laughing, and banging stuff around. He knew from his previous visits what these men would be talking about: college football, duck hunting, the price of cotton, and their bird dogs. And—though none of it had anything to do with him—Robbie was great with that. There would be no trying to guess what was on their minds, no yelling, and no questioning his intentions. Above all, they wouldn’t say things he didn’t understand. Or if they did, he’d ask and they would explain.
“There’s Robbie!” Marc Champagne looked up from where he was lowering a turkey into one of the three fryers. “Come on around, son. Jake, get him a beer.”
Robbie entered the circle of Ole Miss red and blue folding canvas chairs. “Hello, all. Smells great.”
“This is going to be some fine eating,” Keith Pemberton said. “These are wild birds. I brined them for sixteen hours with bourbon and maple syrup.”
Two men from different sides of the circle advanced on him, their hands out to shake.
“Yancey Mayhall,” the first one said.
“And I’m York Mayhall. We’re Evie’s brothers-in-law.”
Sure he was seeing double, Robbie blinked and shook his head. Then he realized Evie’s sisters had married twins. One more bizarre thing on a bizarre day in the land of the bizarre.
“Happy to meet you.” Robbie would have liked to think, at their age, that they hadn’t dressed alike on purpose but, then, all these men—including Jake—were dressed pretty much the same. Ole Miss shirts and ball caps, shorts in varying shades of khaki, and leather loafers without socks. Keith Pemberton had on a wrinkled blue shirt, worn open over his T-shirt, but that was about the only difference. Though, come to think of it, Robbie didn’t have much of a stone to throw, with the way his family liked to get decked out in their plaids. He supposed this was the tartan of Clan Ole Miss.
“Here you go.” Jake handed him a beer.
“Thanks.” Robbie uncapped it and settled into the chair next to Jake.
“Stop!” Suddenly, York Mayhall was on his feet, pointing. “Layton, Carson. Go play. You know what your mama said. No coming around frying turkeys until you’re twelve.”
“Can’t see what it would hurt,” Keith Pemberton said. “We’d watch them.”
“You’re not wrong.” York took a drink of his beer. “But I have to live with her.”
“Been there,” Keith said. “Guess she doesn’t remember that I managed to keep her and her sisters alive.”
“This generation—too protective of their kids,” Marc Champagne said. “I’d been duck hunting two years by the time I was twelve.”
Then they were off—talking about how they’d roamed the fields, swam in the river, and traveled to Mars on the back of a catfish, all before they were out of diapers, with no adult supervision.
Jake leaned in. “How was Hyacinth?”
Robbie took another sip of his beer. “Madder than hell.”
“Was she mad? Or was she upset and embarrassed?”
What kind of question was that? “What’s the difference?”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “There’s a difference. Believe me.”
“So all of a sudden, since you’re with Evie, you’re an authority on women and their moods?”
“It wasn’t all of a sudden and I’m no authority. But I’ve learned some stuff, yeah. And I wouldn’t call it a mood—not to her face.”
No problem, brother. I won’t be saying anything to her face. Or touching her face, or any other part of her.
“It seemed like mad to me. And she blamed the whole thing on me.”
“I can see that,” Jake said.
“What?” Had he gone completely over to the pink side? There was a time Jake would have defended him if he’d been caught leaving Edinburgh Castle with the Honours of Scotland under his kilt. “I wasn’t the one doing the filming or posting to YouTube. Do you think I like half the hockey world gossiping about how I might be getting married?”
“What possessed you to go into Hyacinth’s shop, anyway?”
“I don’t know.” He rolled his beer bottle between his palms. “I was at loose ends. I looked in the window and saw that girl in a dress all wrong for her, so I thought—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jake nodded. “That you’d go in and help her out.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Robbie demanded. “With trying to help a la—lady out.”
She’d told him not to call her lass anymore. He couldn’t fathom why, but fine.
“You tell me.”
“It didn’t work out so well,” he admitted. “It was actually worse than the video showed.”
“The hell you say. What’d you do? Set fire to the veils?”
“Close. I dropped my ice cream on a dress.”
“You did what?”
“It was an accident. And Hyacinth had her part in it. If she hadn’t been yelling at me, pointing here, pointing there, and stopping right in front of me...” It sounded lame even to him.
Jake laughed, though Robbie didn’t get the impression he really thought it was funny.
“I can’t believe she let you live.”
“She may not, still. The day’s not over yet. Let her catch you laughing, and you’ll soon follow. She does not like laughing. Besides, I said I’d pay for the dress. What else can I do? There’s no pleasing that woman.” Though he’d come close last night, for a short while there.
Jake got a funny look on his face. “Robbie, do you like Hyacinth—as in, do you want her?”
Who the hell knew anymore? He had last night, but now, not so much. Not that it mattered. She’d made that clear enough—and that was fine. Being attracted to her made no sense anyway. She was the most confounded woman he’d ever run across and she didn’t even like hockey. Maybe he wasn’t really attracted. Could be that he was just lonely and he’d looked up and there she was.
But her hair did smell good.
“Do you?” Jake demanded again. “Answer me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He passed it off like joke. “I want all women.”
“Then go get one of those other women.”
“Why do you care?”
“Let’s talk about the Bro Code.” Jake loved to talk about the Bro Code.
“I know it well enough. ‘Thou shalt not cast a lustful eye toward thy teammate’s sister, ex-wife, ex-girlfriend...’”
“I think we need to add ‘his wife’s best friend.’”
“Evie’s not your wife,” he pointed out.
“No,” Jake admitted. “Not yet. But she will be—maybe. If I can get her to have me.”
Considering their conversation about this very thing last night, that was a nugget that would have interested Hyacinth. If she hadn’t been so mean to him, he might have shared.
“How is it in Scotland, Robbie?” York (or was it Yancey?) asked. “Are there lots of helicopter moms, like our wives?”
He didn’t know what that meant, but since he wasn’t interested, he didn’t ask for clarification.
“No, no. Not so much. But your wives are very bonny.” He hoped that was so. He had not met Evie’s sisters.
* * *
Back in her room, Hyacinth knew what she ought to do—collect herself, freshen her makeup, and go act like the good guest she knew how to be.
It was the collecting herself that was the problem. She’d always believed if something worked on paper, it would work in reality—hence, all her lists, spreadsheets, and charts. She still kept a paper calendar as a backup to her electronic one, and it was a thing of beauty. It wasn’t as if nothing ever went wrong. That would be too much to hope for, but it was never anything that Plan B—or occasionally Plan C—wouldn’t take care of. But when Robbie McTavish was around, it was as if there were no plans. Just chaos.
Back in the yard, Robbie walking away without having the last word was a first. Though he hadn’t walked so much as stalked.
And Hyacinth knew why. She’d hurt his feelings—but damn it, hadn’t he had it coming? He couldn’t learn when to back off. Still, a germ of regret joined the swirling halo of other complicated emotions swirling around her head.
Nothing had happened in a very long time that was so beyond her control as this.
She sank down on the velvet settee, booted up her laptop, and opened a file. Since she couldn’t get home, she needed a plan—a list of steps for how to come back from this. “Begun is half done,” Memaw used to say. All she had to do was begin—get the first step on paper. She typed, “How to respond when asked about the incident.”
The cursor blinked, mocking her—and it was still blinking some time later when the knock came at her door.
Hyacinth closed her laptop. Might as well. She didn’t even save the file. With resolve, she marched across the room. If it was Robbie, he’d better cowboy up, because she was ready for another round.
But it wasn’t Robbie. “Can I come in?” Evans asked.
“Sure.”
Evans shut the door behind her slowly and carefully, like she was entering a room where there was a baby sleeping—or a death watch going on. Then she went to sit on the edge of the bed across from the settee.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Hyacinth said. “And sorry I disappeared. It was...a lot. It’s not like me to not pitch in and help.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Evans said. “It was a lot. And there wasn’t that much to do. Hattie and Louella did most of the prep before they got off work yesterday.”
Hattie and Louella worked for Evans’s and Jake’s families. Hyacinth wondered idly how many people it took to run a castle—even a wee one.
“Mostly, we’ve only had to put things in the oven,” Evans continued. “And you already know we weren’t allowed to help set the tables.”
“I haven’t been a very good guest.” She hadn’t even given Anna-Blair the scented candle she’d brought for her. “Hiding out like this.”
Evans swiped her hand in the air like she was shooing away a fly. “No one’s thought a thing about it. The important thing is—how are you?”
Hyacinth opened her mouth to say she was fine, but what was the use? This was Evans. She took a deep breath. “I’m angry, embarrassed, and I don’t know how to make this go away. I can’t even imagine what Claire will say.”
“I think Claire will say you shouldn’t spend energy on things you can’t do anything about—that it’s done. And, Hyacinth, it’s not like you were running around naked, cursing, and kicking puppies.”
“Yeah, well. If that phone had had better audio, you might have heard some cursing. It was in my head and I wouldn’t rule out that it came out my mouth.”
“Did you and Robbie...argue?” Evans asked tentatively. “Today, I mean.”
“Argue? Yes, I guess you could say we argued. You know what he wanted to do? Take me for a ride! And get me a snack—like a pack of peanut butter cheese crackers would set all this right.”
Evans shook her head. “Men don’t always know what to do, so they try to distract you with presents and food. Rides too, I guess.” She paused. “This might not be the best thing to say right now, but Robbie is a good guy. I mean, he wouldn’t have gotten up in the morning and said, ‘I think I’ll go cause some trouble at Trousseau today.’”
“I know that, Evans. But that’s the point. He doesn’t think. He just acts. He’s like a cat! He does what he wants. How would you like it if somebody came into Crust and started adding stuff to your apple pie filling? Or making pie dough with any old butter and flour?” Evans set high store by her crusts and was particular about ingredients.
Evans shuddered a little. “I get it. I do. I would be upset, too. But I promise you, it’s not as bad as it seems.”
“This is going to ruin my business.”
“Oh, Hyacinth, no! It’s not like you to be dramatic.”
She knew Evans would say that. “I’m not. I’m being realistic.”
“Let me remind you of what Claire said at our last meeting. Your business is doing great, better than Crust or Heirloom. Your profits are up, even from last year, and they were good then.”
“Yes. Now.” She was loath to repeat Robbie, but he’d been right. “In the bridal business, reputation is everything. There’s no repeat business. It’s a one-shot deal. Women don’t just walk down the street, see my shop, and think, ‘Oh, look. How cute. I’ll go in and buy a wedding dress.’ They’re planning a wedding. Their time is limited. They do their research and choose carefully before making an appointment. No one wants to depend on an out of control consultant to help them with the most important dress they will ever buy.”
Evans nodded. “I do understand that your business is different from mine and Ava Grace’s. You don’t get impulse purchases like we do, but I still think it won’t seem so bad tomorrow.”
No. It would be every bit as bad, probably worse. But there had been enough drama and Hyacinth wasn’t going to argue with Evans. She would never understand that losing Trousseau would be like losing Memaw all over again, not to mention throwing away what her grandmother had sacrificed to make sure Hyacinth went to design school. And then there was Claire’s investment—and her own. Gone.
She shouldn’t have sold Memaw’s house. At least she would have had a roof over her head. Though she was still grieving for her grandmother when Claire’s offer came, Hyacinth hadn’t hesitated to sell the house to raise some capital. Memaw’s spirit was more at Trousseau than it had ever been at that little clapboard house. Hyacinth could rent a place to live. If she couldn’t pay the rent, she’d put a cot in her workroom.
Before her parents died, she’d slept in worse places. Once, they had lived in their ancient van for a week before going to stay with eight other people in a two bedroom apartment. Maybe she should trade her Mini Cooper for a van while she was still solvent.
That thought brought her up short. Evans was right. She had crossed over from realistic problems to melodrama. She needed to put her energy into fixing this rather than assuming the worst. How could she possibly get control of this situation if she couldn’t get control of herself?
Damage control. That’s what she had to do.
“You’re right,” Hyacinth said. “I work hard to avoid surprise, so it doesn’t happen that often. I always have a plan B and a plan C—but this is like plan triple Z.”
“Maybe so,” Evans admitted, “but you’ll find that plan and make it work. If there’s anything I can do to help you, say the word. I promise I’m here for you. Anything.”
Her words made Hyacinth feel better and she couldn’t help but smile a little. That promise might come in handy.
Evans would look so scrumptious in the Giorgio Sabelli with the beaded Alençon lace and chapel length train.
Hyacinth rose. “Let’s go down. It must be getting close to time for lunch. I can at least help with the drinks.”
Evans looked relieved. “Give me a minute. I need to change out of this sweater. It’s almost seventy degrees. Of all people, Robbie told me earlier I’d be too hot in a sweater.”
Robbie McTavish, fashion consultant. What would they do without him?
With her luck, he’d want to help Evans choose her wedding dress. Just to be safe, Hyacinth would be sure to book Evans’s appointment when the Yellowhammers were on the road.
Chapter Six
Thanksgiving lunch, which had looked like a photo shoot from Garden & Gun, was in the books. Hyacinth and Robbie had not spoken. She had sneaked a peek or two at him to see if he still seemed hurt, but she needn’t have worried. As usual, he was having the time of his life, charming the women, laughing it up with the men, and teasing the kids—all while eating vast quantities of food. He had seemed particularly fond of the strawberry pretzel salad.
But that meal had not been the high point of the weekend. Oh, no. The Egg Bowl party—being held at the Champagne home—to watch the state rivalry football game between Ole Miss and Mississippi State—took that distinction. Having failed to think of a way to avoid it, Hyacinth was right in the middle of it.
