“Fine. I’ll take your stipend.”
“Very good.”
I pause, wondering if the praise he so casually tossed between us was intentionally sexy or if it’s my imagination, before shaking my head and swiping my purse off the counter. There’s no way he meant for that to be more than a casual blip. He’s just pleased I’m not still fighting him on the money. That’s it.
And yet, as I step out of the house and cross over the yard, I’m having a hard time squashing the raging symphony of arousal coursing through my veins.Very good,indeed.
The one thing about Cheryl, is that despite having to spend the day shopping with her husband’s future business partner’s (fake) girlfriend, she doesn’t bemoan the experience. In fact, as we walk into our third boutique of the morning, I find I’m enjoying myself more than I thought I would.
“And that’s a summary of the last twenty years,” she says, pulling the door open for me. She’s just finished her nearly twohour discourse on how she and Tom met, and how they started Scented Acres as two kids so in love the troubles of the world fell away.
It’s impressive, their story. Despite not having any formal education, the two of them built a business out of what most would consider a hobby farm. Though they had a few rough years in the beginning, their farm continued to grow and serve the community. Dabbling in the crunchy wave of essential oils was just the icing on the cake that had already risen from a fruitful business built on farmer’s markets and local florists.
“You and Noah have been together for a year, right?”
I offer a closed mouth smile and nod. While I’m not against the pretend play Noah and I agreed on, outright lying to someone who’s been nothing but welcoming eats at my insides.
“Long distance must have been hard.”
“It’s been great having him closer,” I say, still dodging the blatant lie. “For me and for Flourish.”
Cheryl smiles. “Whatever hardships may arise in the business will be far easier if you face them together. Remember that when things get tough. And when he’s a knucklehead and too focused on work, you can call me and vent about it. I’ve seen it all, honey, and probably have a trick or two you can try.”
My throat tightens at her sincerity. As superficial as I thought her to be at first, Cheryl radiates authenticity and kindness. She reminds me of a younger version of Nan—classy and kind. But also strong enough to be the type of woman you want on your side when shit hits the fan. I know I would never take her up on the offer, even if Noah and I were for real, but it’s kind of her regardless.
“Thank you, Cheryl,” I say, turning my attention to one of the racks.
“Of course. When you join the Scented Acres family you join us for life.”
This time the guilt keeps me from looking her in the eye. While it will be easy enough for Noah to explain some kind of break up down the line, I do feel badly that Cheryl and Tom won’t ever know the truth. Part of me wonders if they’ll grieve my exit from Noah’s world, or if I’ll be but a faint memory— an anecdote from the early days of their partnership with Flourish.
“Now,” she continues. “Let’s find you a dress for Saturday. I sure as hell don’t need another one, but I’m a sucker for scouring the racks.”
Fixing my attention back to the rows of dresses, I rationalize. Playing this part and lying for this weekend is securing both mine and Noah’s futures. What’s the harm when it means having the chance to see our dreams realized?
“How about this one?” She’s holding an emerald green cocktail dress with an asymmetrical neckline and one long sleeve. “I think it would bring out the striking green of your eyes.”
I pretend to muse about it, even though it’s not one I would ever pick out for myself. “I suppose I could try it.”
She beams and calls the store clerk over to start a dressing room. “We’ll be picking out a few more.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the clerk says, taking hold of the hanger.
Surprisingly, we scrounge up four more in my size—most of them jewel tones. Cheryl claims that’s my color palette, and while I don’t agree, I go with it because arguing with her is probably more trouble than it’s worth. The clerk shows us to the dressing rooms where she’s saved a curtained stall and where she hangs the new dresses with the emerald one.
“Save the green one for last,” Cheryl says, taking a seat in one of the vintage armchairs across from my stall. “I think that’s going to be the winner, but I want to be sure.”
Once closed behind the curtain, I strip out of my peach dress and fold it as neatly as I’m able before laying it on the bench.Stepping into the garnet colored floor length gown, I shimmy it up around my hips. It’s tight, and not in the good way.
Popping my head out I make a face at Cheryl. “I don’t think the red one is it.”
“On to the next then.”
Grateful she didn’t push me to show her, I move on to the navy dress. It fits much better than the red one, but the sleeves itch and it’s too short.
“Blue’s out too,” I call, not even willing to open the curtain this time.
The strapless gold one makes me look like a budget-rate, freelance stripper, which leaves me with two final options. The black cap-sleeve is definitely what I would have picked out if I was shopping alone: classic and business dinner appropriate. I step out in front of the mirrors to get Cheryl’s opinion.
