“No, no one died,” I assured her, hanging up my apron. That felt weird. I never hung up my apron until I’d locked and tidied up every last inch of the shop.
“Have aliens landed and I haven’t found out about it yet?”
“Shelly, it’s not that weird that I’m leaving early.” She and I both knew that was a lie. I never left early. Except for the time my sister Zoe’s car had broken down and she needed help. And the time my brother Wyatt had showed up unannounced for a visit, calling me from the airport without enough money for the bus into town. Oh, and that time my father had fallen off a ladder but my mother couldn’t take him to the hospital because the lacquer was still drying on her sculpture and she needed to be part of that process to create the right distressed finish.
Come to think of it, my family had a lot of transportation-related needs.
“It’s weird,” Shelly confirmed. “But it’s no problem. I can stay ‘til two.”
“Three,” I corrected her, instantly nervous about handing over the reins. “The shop closes at two but you have to clean, put everything away, and prep for tomorrow morning.”
“I know, I know.” She shooed away my concerns. “You get out of here.”
It took me an hour to do as I was told. I ended up taking care of most of the cleaning and prep work for tomorrow. How else could I enjoy a night out? I’d never relax if I didn’t know what would be waiting for me at my store at four-thirty a.m. the following morning.
But I finally managed to dislodge myself, after more prodding from Shelly, and head two stores down to meet Hannah.
“There you are!” she declared as I walked into Second Time’s a Charm, the vintage clothing store where she worked. “What took you so long?” I’d called her after the meeting, letting her know my dilemma. A night out. And he’d said something about a dress.
“I’ve laid out the best candidates for you.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, grateful and apprehensive at the same time.
“How I have been waiting for this day!” Melodramatic to the core, Hannah clasped her hands in prayer position and faced the heavens to proclaim her jubilance. She had been trying to get me to spruce things up for a while, long before Evan and I broke up. But in the last six months that I’d been single, she’d kicked up the nagging into overdrive.
“It’s time to take your curves out for a walk!” she called after me as I headed into the changing room toward the back of the store.
I knew she had a point. I was 26 and blessed with more than my share of feminine attributes. I wore a D-cup, which most of the time honestly just annoyed me. You want to try exercising with those things bouncing around? Or hustling around a bakery, for that matter? They got in the way, and I typically treated them that way, tamping them down in sports bras and cloaking them in baggy T-shirts.
It was a long time since they’d arrived the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school, but I still hadn’t fully embraced the attention they attracted. I’d finished up my first year of high school relatively invisible, the nice but ultimately unremarkable girl sitting in the back of class, good enough grades, a handful of friends, but nothing that made me stand out. When I’d walked up to school to start my second year, I’d made a boy drop a full stack of new books. Another one rode his bicycle into a tree. Soon, creepy seniors had started hitting on me, trapping me by my locker with their hands over my head as they looked directly at my chest while talking.
I’d learned quick, life was a lot simpler when I covered up the twins, and so a wardrobe of baggy shirts and cardigan sweaters had been born. It wasn’t as if I thought I’d set a place on fire if I walked in showed some cleavage. It was just easier if I didn’t.
But I didn’t harbor any illusions that I was a bombshell in disguise. I was too short, for one. Coming in around 5’4”, most models had a good half-a-foot on me. And you didn’t work in a bakery without having some junk in the trunk. Sure, I bustled around on my feet all the time and most days after work I enjoyed a brisk walk along the coastline, clearing my head and opening up my lungs with the fresh air. But I also sampled my product all day, every day. How else did you know how a batch had turned out, or get ideas on how to make improvements?
“Show me every one!” Hannah called after me.
She’d laid out quite a pile, including a bra lying on the top. The store sold new lingerie to accompany the vintage clothes, and Hannah had chosen one with far more lace and less structure than I’d ever worn before.
I didn’t have to wear a dress tonight, I knew that. I could slip into a clean, slightly more fitted version of my daily wardrobe and look perfectly presentable. And send him a message that I didn’t want him bossing me around.
The only problem was the tingly feeling I had all over when he’d told me he’d love to see me in a dress. He was just too damn hot. He’d sat in that meeting in our little Redwood Bay Chamber of Commerce looking like he just stepped off the Dolce and Gabbana runway in Milan. Not that I had any idea what I was talking about, really. It wasn’t as if I’d ever even been to Europe.
But one look at his chiseled jaw, bright blue eyes and broad shoulders in a fitted dark suit and a woman couldn’t help starting to fantasize. When he’d asked me how I’d slept, he’d looked so devilish. I’d felt like he could somehow see me coming on my own fingers, calling out his name. And a part of me wanted to show him exactly that.
Naughty. But that was the truth. And so I started trying on dresses, each and every insane one Hannah had laid out for me. She’d picked some real winners.
“Hannah, I can’t come show you this one,” I protested from the changing room, struggling with a zipper. “I can’t even get it on me.” It felt like it was made out of vinyl, some kind of shiny, plastic material I couldn’t even shove my curves into. The way I busted out of it, I was sure I’d make some guy’s night, but it would not be Colt.
“Try the red one,” Hannah suggested.
She was right. I knew it. I’d noticed the red dress the second I’d surveyed the pile, classic with a sort-of Marilyn Monroe era glamour. But I already felt shy and I hadn’t even tried it on.
Wearing the new bra that should get a prize for giving the world’s greatest cleavage while also looking effortlessly lacey, I slipped it on. I didn’t look into the mirror until I’d zipped it up and slipped on some heels. Then I looked.
Oh my. I’d never seen myself like this. The dress more than hugged every curve, it caressed and loved my curves, sliding along them and offering them up. Nipping in at the waist, flaring out into a swishy skirt, it instantly made me feel so sensuous and flirty. And the top. Could I seriously wear this dress out in public?
It did have straps, but thin ones, and the neckline plunged down to give a nice, full view of the valley between my breasts. But was it too much? I’d never gone out in something this revealing. Hell, my bras usually covered more skin.
I bet Colt would like it. A slow smile crept across my lips as I surveyed myself in the mirror, striking a pose, giving a pout, flashing a little leg. It might be fun to go out like this with him, see if I could make him sweat. He certainly knew how to get me panting with the slightest touch. I’d see if I couldn’t return the favor, get him all hot and bothered at just the sight of me.
Now my smile broke into a full grin, imagining him having to sit across from me for a whole dinner. I’d be safely separated from him by a table. I could sip my wine, sit up tall with a slight arch to my back and watch him squirm. This might be a fun night.
“Yes!” Hannah declared, barging into my dressing room with no warning.
“Is it too much?” I asked even though I knew that phrase didn’t exist in Hannah’s vocabulary. Last week she’d worn a pillbox hat with netting across the eyes and not much else. I didn’t count a bustier as clothing. She’d called it 60s boudoir chic. I would have embarrassed myself wearing it standing at home alone in my bedroom.
“You have to wear that or I’ll kill you.” She sounded frighteningly serious.
I nodded. Even I couldn’t kick up much of a fuss over this one. The dress looked like it had been made for me.
“It?
?s not a date,” I said partially to remind myself.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Hannah patted me on the back.
“I’ll have to wear it with a cardigan.”
“I will personally rip off any cardigan you try to cover that up with.” Again with the threats.
“A wrap?” I tried. It did get chilly at night with the fog.
“A light one. And higher heels.” The wheels in her brain spinning again, she left me to go search around in her magic shop. I was lucky to have a friend in exactly the right place at the right time.
I wanted to look good tonight, if only to feel on equal footing with Colt while we discussed the future of my store. He took my breath away with his suave good looks and impeccably tailored suits. This morning with him, when I’d picked up my backpack, I’d felt like an elementary school kid. I wanted to feel like a power broker, up to the task of squaring off with him.
I had only myself to blame that I’d googled him. Things had slowed down around 10:30 at my shop. I’d ducked into the back for a second, opened up my laptop and typed in his name. Hello, Colton Kavanaugh, billionaire CEO. Whoever had designed his tuxedos should thank him for wearing them. Standing tall and dark, no man had ever looked more commanding and sexy. And he seemed to wear tuxedos all the time, attending this black tie gala and that formal benefit.
The women he had constantly draped on his arm looked like priceless jewels. None of them seemed to make repeat appearances in photos, I noted that. And none of them had curves like me. They all looked like ballerinas, long necks and statuesque poses with imperious stares at the camera.
Seeing those women should have made me feel more relaxed. There was no way this guy would be interested in me. I clearly wasn’t his type.
Instead I felt jealous. I wanted to be on his arm heading into one of those parties. I’d seen a picture on his phone this morning, too, with him standing in, of course, a tux with yet another beauty. She had strawberry blonde hair and wore a silver gown that looked like it had been woven by elves out of fairy dust. That should be me! the three-year-old throwing a tantrum within me cried.