“Shirley, Brad, I’d like you to meet Stella Schmidt. Stella, this is my grandmother and father, Shirley and Brad Cook.”
I hold out my hand and they stare at it for a moment, before Bradley does a shoulder roll and we shake, followed by the same from Shirley, though she more or less just drapes her limp hand into mine and suffers through the handshake like it’s an indignity. I start to marvel over the fact that these two people are related to Aiden, but then I remember Aunt Edna.
God bless Aunt Edna, wherever she is.
“I’m definitely unfamiliar with your name, as I suspected I would be,” Shirley says, her warm breath clouding in the December air. She pulls her ankle-length coat tighter. “Where exactly have you worked prior to this?”
I can practically feel Aiden coiling like a spring beside me.
My own palms are growing damp in the laser sights of this woman. She’d make a good prison guard. None of us would cross her. Here comes Hawk Eyes, hide the nail polish. It has been a long time since I needed to impress someone. Most of my teenage years into my early twenties was about not caring if I impressed people. “I have a background in fashion merchandising, but this is my first time dressing a window.” I force a smile onto my face that comes suspiciously easy, probably thanks to the amount of smiling I’ve been doing with Aiden. “I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”
“Yes.” Her gaze ticks from me, back to Aiden’s town car. “How grateful is the question,” she mutters dryly, the words meant for my ears alone.
At least I think I’m the only one who hears Shirley’s comment until I turn around to find Aiden looking pale. Jaw bunched. His gaze tracks over my features and I can tell he’s not going to let that comment go unaddressed. Quickly, I shake my head at him, reminding him to let me handle whatever is leveled at me this morning. I meant it when I said I don’t want any more special treatment. Even if everyone hates this window, at least I’ll have earned the outcome by myself, whether it’s good or bad.
Aiden remains poised on the edge of irritation for another moment, then swallows hard and quickly lifts his phone to his ear. “Seamus, you can start taking the paper down.” He listens. “Thank you.”
“I want to stand next to the guest of honor,” Jordyn announces, coming up beside me and hooking an arm through mine, dragging me closer to the window and away from Aiden’s relatives. “Excuse us.” I’m still reeling a little from Shirley’s comment but fight through the nausea in my middle and focus on the moment ahead. “Don’t mind that woman,” Jordyn says out of the corner of her mouth. “You could present her with a swimming pool full of chocolate and she’d still look like she just ate a turd.”
I disguise my laughter with a cough. “Thanks for the save.”
“Welcome.” She squeezes our linked arms and addresses the assembled crowd. “We finally get to see what’s had this girl scurrying in and out of the store from morning until night.”
“It’s going to be great,” one of the other managers assures me, knocking back the final gulps of her coffee and sighing wistfully at the paper cup. “That was terrible. And yet, I need more.”
“We love the red dress display you created on the first floor. People have been coming in just to pose with it for Instagram,” says another, pronouncing Instagram in three distinct syllables. “Maybe you could do something like that in lingerie? We could use a boost!”
My ribs stretch to accommodate the warmth building in my chest. “I’d love to. I would. But I’m technically only working on a trial basis.” Even as I say this, my mind is filling out with a list of ideas. “But…I guess you’d have to appeal to men. Make it accessible to them. They are the ones who’ll be buying expensive lingerie this time of year—”
The rapt attention of my co-workers snaps in two when the first strip of paper drops from the window. My lips clamp shut. The only thing being revealed in the window is Seamus and he’s grinning down at Jordyn like it’s Christmas morning and she’s the pile of presents beneath the tree. “This motherfucker,” she mutters, waving her hand at the admiring custodian to hurry up and finish stripping down the paper. “Uh-uh. Nobody wants to look at you. Keep moving.”
Seamus chuckles, the sound muffled by glass, and he tugs down another strip. Now some of the design begins to come into view behind him. The swarms of butterflies dangling from invisible fishing line from the ceiling. The refracted light being projected on every wall, courtesy of the mirror pieces adhered to the floor. Another piece of paper comes down and there’s half of the red dress, then eventually the whole thing. I went with a vintage black metal wire form with an antique stand, unearthed from the bowels of Vivant’s storage space in the basement and I mentally rejoice in that choice now, because in the early morning light, the throwback to the past makes the display look as though it has been transported here from another time and place.