I released the breath I’d been holding and a wave of surprise flowed through me. Blessing given. And not a speck of worry on her face over some imaginary curse I might put on her. Maybe rumors about the Cassidy women had finally stopped. “Thank you.”
A happy feeling settled over the shop as another handful of women—more of Josie’s friends, her mother, and another woman I took to be an aunt or a family friend—popped into the shop. I explained to my captive audience that no, I’d never had one of my designs worn to the Oscars, and no, I had no plans to go on
The front door opened again, the faint jingling of the bells making me wonder what the fire code for occupancy was. The room suddenly went completely silent. I followed the gazes of the fifteen or so people in the shop, stopping for a second when I thought I recognized Miriam Kincaid, Josie’s soon-to-be sister-in-law. A squeal broke the silence; then a blur passed in front of me, pulling my attention away from the crowd that had gathered. It was Josie racing toward the man now leaning in at the door. He hesitated, as if he was afraid of actually setting foot inside such a girlie shop, but she threw her arms around him and practically dragged him across the threshold.
I searched his face for signs of familiarity. His blond hair was short and spiky on top and neatly trimmed; he was clean shaven and his chin was solidly marked by a vertical cleft. It looked like the perfect spot to rest a thumb. If a thumb needed resting, that is. His complexion was slightly ruddy, but it worked for him. Not dropdead gorgeous, but handsome enough. He looked an awful lot like I remembered Derek looking. This must be Nate Kincaid.
His look of discomfort threw me for a loop. Would the idea of being inside Buttons & Bows be that disconcerting to every man, or was it just Nate Kincaid? I glanced at the room, saw Lori Kincaid again, and realized that my eyes had played a trick on me. Miriam wasn’t here, but the mother and daughter looked an awful lot alike . . . at least from what I remembered of Miriam.
The disarray in the room stirred up a ball of anxiety in my gut. A small box was overturned on the coffee table, buttons spilling onto the floor. Rolls of trims and spools of ribbons that had been neatly lined up on a shelf against the wall were scattered around. Pillows had fallen off the couch and instead of picking them up, the excited wedding party stepped over them.
My head swirled. When had I lost control of my shop?
“I’m sorry. What?” I said, realizing that one of the women I’d been talking with was beckoning to me.
Mrs. Zinnia James was pointing to one of the pictures on the design board behind the love seat.
“This is just lovely,” she said again.
It was a novelty dress that Maximilian had designed for an Earth Day fashion show the previous year. “That’s made entirely of recycled mater—”
I stopped short as a loud bang shook the wall between the workroom and the boutique, quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.
Chapter 4
“No! Oh, crap!” someone yelled from the workroom. “No, no, no.”
My heart stopped. Meemaw’s old Singer was in there, as well as jar after jar of buttons, trims, and other notions. “Excuse me,” I cried over my shoulder to Zinnia James and her friends as I rushed to the workroom. I stopped short at the French doors, barely managing to stifle the scream that climbed up my throat. It looked like the room had been the victim of an isolated earthquake. Buttons, mixed with the chunky glass pieces of the broken jars, splayed across the floor.
For just a moment the boutique was utterly silent. I could have heard an antique button drop. But like a funnel cloud slowly swirling and building strength, the silence transitioned into a low prattle that then grew into a frenzied chatter.
“Nell!” Josie’s voice rose above the jabbering. “Are you okay?”
Nell stood like a wax statue in the middle of the mess, looking more than a little shell-shocked. The antique shelf now resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Buttons and glass were fanned out on the pecan-planked floor around her, a lone mason jar of colorful buttons in one of her hands.
She nodded, her expression going from stunned to sheepish to indignant in the blink of an eye. “I was just looking at your collection,” she said. “Then
I bristled, quickly glancing around to see if anyone was listening. The last thing I needed was rumors about Buttons & Bows being dangerous or run-down—or about magic happenings in the shop. I guessed the Cassidy legacy lived on after all.
The women in the front room must have been straining to overhear us, but they never broke from their conversations. I sighed. If there was going to be fallout, there was nothing I could do about it now.
The mess in my workroom danced before my eyes. I couldn’t even begin to understand how it had happened, but the rickety piece of furniture had definitely gone rogue. It looked like the front right leg of the antique piece had been shot out of a cannon, landing on the opposite side of the room. I added the dent it had left in the wall and repairing the shelf to my list of work to be done.
But in business, the customer is always right. Not always easy to embrace, but I stuck to it. A lawsuit would put me out of business before I ever really started. “I’m so sorry!” I gushed, truly hoping she wasn’t hurt.
Nell’s shoulders relaxed, but her expression was still strained and she bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m fine. No harm, no foul.” She looked like the Tin Man as she carefully moved one limb at a time, reached for her Gucci bag, and began crunching across the button, glass, and ribbon minefield. The smaller chunks of glass crackled under her feet. She glanced over her shoulder at the mess. At least three, maybe four, large mason jars were broken to bits. “If you have a broom, I’ll—”
I waved the offer away. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” While I spoke, I mentally subtracted the hours it would take to painstakingly separate the buttons from the glass debris and clean the room from the hours I had available to make the four dresses for Josie and Nate’s wedding. The clock was ticking.
“I don’t mind—”
“You’re bleeding.” A thin ribbon of red trailed down Nell’s shin. “Let me get you a bandage for that.”
“But—”
“I’ll sweep up,” Karen said, jumping into action.
“Are you sure? I can—”
“No, I got it.” She asked for the broom.
“There’s a little closet next to the refrigerator,” I told her, and she scurried off in the direction I pointed.
“I have a bandage,” Ruthann said, leading Nell to the settee. Her knockoff Prada bag sat on the coffee table. She grabbed it and started rummaging.
“This is ridiculous,” Nell said. “I can help.” She started to get up, but Ruthann gently pushed her back down.
“You’re bleeding! Let Karen take care of it.”
Karen came back with the broom, dustpan, and plastic grocery bags and got straight to work sweeping up the mess of glass and buttons. The ladies in the shop had all gone back to whispering.
My nice little dressmaking boutique suddenly had an aura of mystery about it. All these people milled around, but only a few of them had business here. I wished they’d all leave so I could put the shop back to rights and get to work planning the bridal party’s dresses.
Josie must have felt the same thing. Within a few minutes, Nate left, and she led her mother and another woman to the front door. “We can wait for you,” her mom said in halting English. She and Josie were the same height, but where the younger Sandoval was curvy, the older one was more of an apple shape. Her rounded top half balanced on skinny legs and she looked like she might topple over at any moment. Her smile was cautious, like she wasn’t sure what to make of the grand wedding her daughter was planning.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Josie said, tugging the front door open and sending the bells hanging from the knob into another jingling frenzy. “I’m going back to the store for a while, and then Nell and I are coming back here so Harlow can take our measurements. Nell said she’ll drop me at home later.”
