Humming to cover a tightness in her throat she couldn’t explain, Cara gathered the models and Meredith to go over the revised schedule for the next couple of days. She answered the understandable questions from the girls about accommodations and rescheduled return flights—Regent was footing the bill for any and all additional fees, a classy move that as a business owner without an unlimited expense fund, Cara appreciated.
Since she did have a business to run and her return to the States had been delayed, Cara sent the models off to relax and assigned Meredith the task of assessing the beach pavilion. If it had been damaged, they’d need a venue change or, barring that, an understanding of what might need to be adjusted in the fashion show itself.
Then she spent a much-needed hour going through some accounting paperwork and paying a few bills. While she was online, an email popped into her inbox containing messages sent to her via the contact form on her website.
Two requests for more information. Cara picked up her cell phone immediately and dialed the first potential customer. The bride-to-be answered, a rarity as she usually had to play phone tag for a few days. Cara spent several minutes chatting with the woman about her upcoming wedding, hoping to put Yvette, the prospective customer, at ease.
This was one of her favorite parts of being a dress designer. The brides were always so eager to talk to anyone about what was sure to be the best day of their lives and Cara loved to hear every last detail, especially because she got a good, clear sense of what kind of person the woman was. It helped her visualize the perfect dress. Plus, Cara loved weddings period.
“The theme of your wedding sounds almost ethereal,” Cara commented after several minutes of prodding Yvette about the minutest details, even down to the favors. “I see you as the star of your own fairy tale, with a long train, lace bodice and sweetheart neckline. Stark white because you’ll want to stand out against the off-white lilies.”
Yvette sighed happily. “That sounds lovely. I knew you were the right one to create my dress when I saw that all your designs had princess names.”
Cara smiled at Yvette’s enthusiasm. “Was there a particular dress you liked in the online portfolio?”
Despite having nailed the high-level specifics a moment ago, much more went into the design than the train and color. They’d work through the details for several weeks before Cara picked up her shears.
“All of them. But I want something no one else has. A one-of-a-kind exclusive.”
“Absolutely. That’s no problem.” Exclusive dresses took longer because Cara didn’t have a set pattern, but any bride who asked for one never minded the wait. Or the cost.
True love paid the bills, but brides who wanted to keep up with other Houston brides put Cara in the black very early on.
Cara asked a few more follow-up questions and verified Yvette’s email address in order to send design mockups once Cara created them. She ended the call and realized she hadn’t once thought about her own halted wedding, nor felt the accompanying tug of sadness.
That was a vast improvement over the majority of the other calls she’d conducted in the course of the past eighteen months. It was a small triumph and she reveled in it for a moment.
She’d moved past it, once and for all. This business was hers and no one could take it away. Oddly, Keith had helped her begin viewing herself as a businesswoman, independent and in charge of her destiny. If she hadn’t splashed headfirst into this fling with him, no plan, no pressure, would she have gotten to this place?
It was a very interesting thought. Apparently Meredith was far smarter about matters of the heart than Cara had credited.
The second request for information listed a man’s name as the contact—Nick Anderson. Interesting. Cara dialed the referenced phone number, wondering if she’d be discussing a bride’s dress with the groom instead. There was always the unlikely possibility of one of her dresses ending up in a drag-queen revue. Either would be okay as long as the check cleared and her name was spelled right on any recommendations.
The call connected. “Ever After. Nick Anderson speaking.”
Cara’s tongue went numb. Ever After? As in the boutique retail outlet specializing in high-end wedding dresses—that Ever After?
“Um.” Cara cleared her throat. “This is Cara Chandler-Harris. I’m a wedding dress designer. You requested that I contact you through my website.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice warmed. “That was fast. I only did so a couple of hours ago. I’m unexpectedly planning to be at the Regent Resorts Bridal Expo in Grace Bay tomorrow and hoped to meet with you. Are you still participating?”