I spin in her arms and give her a proper hug. “You don’t have to do that. I can eat some fruit or something.”
Nana rears back. “Oh no, darlin’, that just won’t do. You need your strength.”
I frown, suddenly worried Birdie got me a construction job. I’m not sure I’m cut out for an outside job in this kind of heat. “What’s Harp and Hemline, by the way?”
Nana’s face transforms into a grin. “One of four boutiques here in Heaven. Getting a job at any one of them is considered a coveted position. Never thought I’d see a granddaughter of mine working in a boutique.” She lets me go and squeaks as she claps her hands, absolutely delighted at the prospect.
Me? I’m horrified.
I look down at my all-black outfit of jeans and tank top, Doc Martens, and minimal jewelry. Not exactly what I’d consider boutique material. I dress more for comfort and blending into the wall.
Nana heads to bed, oblivious to my rising panic, and I hop in my car, cruising around the neighborhood to clear my head and calm my nerves. Things kind of imploded back in California. I have nowhere else to live and no other job prospects. Student loans for both of my useless degrees are coming due and my pockets are officially empty. Living with Nana and inheriting her house is my only long-term plan. Having immediate employment is actually a wonderful thing.
Welp, I guess I’m going to work in a boutique in the South. Can’t be that hard, right? As I cruise through the four-way stop and into the downtown square, I see a boutique, lights out, doors locked. It’s the mannequin in the window that has me stopping right there in the middle of the road and gaping. That Pepto Bismol–pink dress has more ruffles and pearls than I’ve ever seen on one outfit. Hell, in one room.
Heavens to fuckin’ Betsy, what have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER TWO
Silas
“I’m sosorry to keep y’all waiting, Mrs. Kimball. Nearly got in a fender-bender this mornin’ on the way in.”
I shove the key into the lock and turn it, jiggling the weather-worn door just right to get it to pop open on the first try. I hold it open for one of my regular customers and her middle school–aged daughter, giving them both a blazing smile. Mrs. Kimball likes to come by weekly to check out the new stock. She was one of my mother’s most dedicated customers, and I’m trying my best to keep her.
“Oh, don’t you worry, honey. Nora and I just walked over to Cloud Nine and grabbed an iced coffee ’til you got here.” She pats my arm, her nails impeccably painted and a stack of mixed metal bracelets sliding up and down her wrist. “Your sweet mama, God rest her soul, used to join me for coffee if the shop was slow.”
My smile turns brittle and it takes everything I’ve got not to let my emotions show. I miss my mama every single day. It’s been almost a year since she passed from an aggressive cancerbout, and my life still hasn’t returned to anything that resembles normal. I think her passing broke something in me. Or maybe it was turning forty. They happened back-to-back, so who’s to say?
“Mama always did love her caffeine,” I manage to say as I put my things behind the cash register. “Said it was right up there with the King and the Angels.” Referring of course to Elvis and our local university mascot. People around here are pretty feral for both.
Mrs. Kimball’s laugh is a happy tinkle as she carefully goes through the racks, eyeing each item before sliding the hanger to get to the next. Nora trails behind her, eyes glued to her phone. My boutique, the one Mama started ten years ago as a passion project, isn’t geared toward young girls. Our merchandise squarely hits the middle-aged ladies of Heaven, Mississippi.
My cell phone vibrates across the counter by the register. I excuse myself and pick it up, seeing that it’s my father.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer brightly even though my gut tightens every time I see his name on my phone.
“Silas.” Clayton Winthrop’s curt reply is fairly normal. His tone always implies that I’m in trouble. Parental disapproval here in the South continues to flourish even when you’re forty years old. “I have some acreage I’m fixin’ to check on south of town for that event space I was talking to you about last night. I want you to come with me.”
I blow out a sigh as quietly as I can. “Well, the store doesn’t close until five, so I can go right after that.”
There’s a beat of silence. It holds all the frustration—on Dad’s end—that we’ve discussed ad nauseam since Mama died. He wants me to work full-time with him in his real estate and development endeavors so we can take over the town of Heaven as rich land baron or some such foolery. That plan sounds obnoxious and pretentious as hell.
I want to carry out Mama’s legacy by making Harp and Hemline the most successful boutique in the whole county, serving middle-aged women who’ve lost themselves as wives, mothers, and corporate soldiers. I have dreams of building a fully functional website so we can fulfill online orders and spread our name far and wide. Not for my personal fame and fortune, but to make a name for my hometown. To make women feel pretty when they aren’t sure who they even are any longer. To be the place Mama needed when us kids left the house and Dad didn’t pay her much attention because he buried himself in work.
“You know a man sellin’ women’s clothing is a little…odd, right?” Dad drawls quietly, changing tactics. Yelling at me hasn’t worked, so now he’s trying to shame me into giving up this boutique. As usual, he has no idea how much I want this place to succeed. He’s always been too busy building his dream to realize that sometimes other people want to build their own too.
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that. I think making a living and providing for the community is nothing to be ashamed of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a customer to help.” I go to hang up, only to hear him quickly get the last word in.
“I’ll pick you up at five.”
The curse word on the tip of my tongue is held back by years of being taught my manners. I would never curse in front of a lady, let alone a child. I store my phone underneath the register where I won’t hear or see it. The tiny gold bell over the door rings again as another woman enters the boutique. She sees Mrs. Kimball and immediately gives her a hug like they’re old friends. That’s the way of it here in Heaven. Nobody’s a stranger.
The two ladies get a little louder as they shop. I try to be as unobtrusive as possible, getting them fitting rooms the second they have an item in their hand and suggesting otheritems to pair with it. In the end, Mrs. Kimball buys one skirt, a lovely number left over from when Caroline was doing the merchandising. I try not to let the disappointment show on my face as I ask about the rest of Mrs. Kimball’s day. I’ve seen her leave this shop with handfuls of clothes back in Mama’s day. The other woman leaves with Mrs. Kimball without purchasing a single thing.
As soon as their exit is highlighted by the bell ringing out, my shoulders slump and the smile slides off my face. Caroline had a unique ability to know what was in style for this age demographic and what would fly off the racks. Unfortunately for Harp and Hemline, she got married a few months before Mama passed and then got pregnant. She quit two months ago to have her baby and already told me she doesn’t envision coming back. I’m happy for her, of course, but stuck shorthanded and without the artistic vision to buy next season’s must-have items.
Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I’m just a guy trying to be successful in a woman’s world. I barely make my living expenses with my first business investment. The boutique isn’t even in the black. Maybe I should go into real estate development. Sure, it sounds boring as hell, but I also don’t have a clear vision of what I want to do with myself. It’s good money and it would make Dad proud of me.
