The Next Mrs Russo

Bethany rolls her eyes while I reply with a verbal “pfft.” Then we grin at each other.

“Well then.” Miller interrupts our fun by dropping a stack of fabric remnants onto the worktable. “You two have fun. I’m going to cut out early today.”

“You are?” I ask, surprised and a little panicked. I was counting on Miller to charm Bethany on my behalf. Or be a buffer or something. Teenage girls are terrifying. We do seem to be hitting it off though.

“It’s not like I’m on the schedule.” Miller raises a brow in pure Miller sarcasm. “Since I don’t work here.”

“But—”

“I think it’s better if you handle this on your own,” he says, lowering his voice and nodding towards Bethany. “It can be an exercise in how decisive you are.”

God, do teenagers ever forget anything?

I wave Miller off and turn to Bethany. Her face is bright as she flips through the scraps of fabric.

“Wow,” she whispers. “Are these all from designer gowns? That’s what Nana told me, anyway. I don’t know if Dad totally understands the concept but he’s definitely, really impressed with what you do,” she adds with a reassuring nod.

Is he? I’ve never dated anyone who was impressed by my career. What there is of it, anyway.

“Yep. If I tear something apart, I save every scrap because I always find a way to reuse them. Now, I don’t think we can get a full dress out any of these, but…”

“How about a bow tie?” Bethany suggests. “For Duke? Dad thinks he’s some kind of husky mutt but I’ve always suspected that Duke thinks of himself as pretty boujie. I bet he’d love a designer tie.”

“Yes!” I agree eagerly, because holy crap, this is exactly what the pet psychic was talking about! She said he wanted something to make him feel special and I think our one-on-one time at the farmers’ market was a great start, but this is next-level. “And maybe one for Gary. Or a catnip mouse so he doesn’t completely hate me.”

“Cats are pickier,” Bethany agrees.

I spend the next couple of hours helping Bethany create a pattern and cut out all the pieces we’ll need. I set her up on an older machine good for basic stitching to assemble, teaching her the tips and tricks I’ve learned over the years, and it’s honestly so nice to have someone to share this with. She’s a great learner, too, listening and asking all the right questions. Her questions also help me to ignore the sweaty, sexy man currently hard at work on my plumbing.

“So you make your own patterns?” Bethany asks.

I nod. “I’ll look up vintage ones for inspirations, but yeah, otherwise, it’s all me.”

“That’s so cool,” she says. “Nobody I follow on TikTok does anything this cool.”

I smile. I am cool. Cooler than people on TikTok, which seems like it should be a big deal.

Then I ruin it in classic Audrey fashion by referring to TikTok as the ‘Tikity-Tokity.’

Bethany scrunches up her nose and stares at me, head tilted to the side in a way that reminds me of her dad. “No one says that.”

“Oh, right.”

“Don’t worry.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “I’ll teach you.”

* * *

We’re on our fourth bow tie by the time Bethany’s really got the hang of it. We’re perfecting the best way to attach these to a dog collar when my door jingles. Without Miller to help, I tell Bethany to keep working as I jump up to greet the new customer.

“Hi,” I call out, turning towards the door. “How can I—”

I freeze.

The person who’s just walked through my door isn’t a customer. Or if they are, I wish they weren’t.

I wish they were buried firmly in my memory where they belong, not here blinking in fake surprise at seeing me.

“Audrey?” the woman says, grinning a too-wide smile. “Is that you?”

The woman in question is my age with dark brown hair, a nose piercing, and more than a couple of tattoos snaking up her arm. She’s wearing those back-in-fashion high-rise jeans and a tiny tank top, very 90s revival.

“Hi, Carrie,” I say. “It’s been a long time.”

But not long enough. It’s never long enough for a ghost from the past to pop in, is it? A ghost who knows way, way too much about me.

Carrie sees Bethany and waves. “Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh,” I say, panic filling me up by the minute. “I was just—”

“Nope,” Bethany says, but she’s watching more carefully than I’d like. “You’re not interrupting.”

“Cool,” Carrie says. “I just figured I’d pop in here. I heard about this store on a Reddit thread, and when I saw Audrey’s name, I knew I had to come and see for myself.”

“Well,” I say, feeling very, very warm and wondering if I’m sweating. I must be. “Here you are.”

“Here I am.” Carrie nods. “It’s good to see you on your feet. You know”—she dramatically alters her voice to a whisper, but it’s no quieter in volume—“after the Breakup.”