Let’s face it, there is no coming back from this.
I hand him the trousers. “Best of luck to you.”
Then I turn and walk out, the freaking bell ringing its little tail off as I go. I take one full breath of heated outside air before the bell rings again and someone places their hand on my arm to halt my walk of shame.
“Betsy, right?”
I turn, eyeing the man looking at me with the twinkle I liked so much earlier. The twinkle that died when he realized I was the flipper-offer. His hand slips from my arm.
“Yes. I apologize for the mess I made. Not my finest moment.” My words are clipped. I just want to get the hell out of here before I embarrass myself further. It’s not even noon yet. Plenty of time for more horrific things to happen. God, this is just like high school all over again. Acting like an idiot in frontof the handsome high school quarterback. One would think at thirty-four I would have outgrown all that nonsense.
He smiles and holds out his hand. His slow Southern drawl is hypnotizing. “I’m Silas Winthrop. Lovely to meet ya.”
I frown, because what the hell is this? But then I remember that my behavior reflects upon Nana and I force my arm to lift and my hand to slide into his. He shakes it, still giving me an easy smile that can’t be real. His hand is warm and lined with calluses. The kind that come from manual labor. The kind not often found on the men in the city where I last lived.
“If you’d like to start in the back room, might give you a chance to acclimate without being in the public eye.”
My eyes widen, and I slip my hand from his. “Oh, you still want me to work here?”
One side of his mouth twitches. “Have you ever been desperate, Betsy?”
“All my life,” comes my quick reply.
His mouth hooks up in a smile that does something funny to my lungs. “Then you’ll understand why I still want you to work for me.”
We stand there staring at each other for a few charged beats. Then I nod and he turns to lead the way back into the shop. As he reaches the door, he tosses over his shoulder, “Maybe you can refrain from flipping me off now that you know I’m your boss.”
“Probably won’t. I tend to flip off and think later.” Might as well start this employment with full honesty.
“Heavens to Betsy,” he mutters so quietly I barely hear him.
He opens the door with one arm and steps aside so I can go in first. I frown at him, confused. He gestures impatiently with his free hand, so I step forward. All eyes have swung back in my direction.
I hold up my hand. “I’ve just recently learned to walk.”
Apparently my humor is lost here in Heaven, Mississippi, because they just stare back at me, not one chuckle in the bunch. Silas puts his hand on my lower back and pushes me to the side of the store and through a curtained-off area in the back. I notice we’re going rather quickly, like maybe he needs me to disappear so he doesn’t lose the potential sales.
Piles of clothes are in plastic, folded and lying on several six-foot tables. Boxes of fancy wood hangers, the kind that entwined with my hair, are next to the tables.
“If you can hang up all of this and put them on the racks in the back, that’ll keep you busy ’til lunch.” Silas rubs his hands together. “When it slows down, I’ll show you how to work the register.”
I nod, immediately turning to get to work. I can do this. Having worked retail quite a few times to put myself through college, hanging up clothes is easy-peasy. I dig in, humming my favorite songs just to keep my sanity while doing such mundane work. Beggars can’t be choosers, so I refuse to complain about this job.
At some point, Silas calls my name, making me jump. I put down the frilly dress I was working on and push through the curtain. The air-conditioning is cranking nicely in this part of the store. Silas is leaning against the register, a pretty brunette with makeup that looks like it’s been air-brushed on is leaning against the wall. The two are laughing and enjoying their conversation.
“Yes, boss?” I instantly feel like a gremlin, hidden away from the pretty people. This woman is everything I’m not. Curvy, dressed in colorful stylish clothes, makeup on point, and not a piercing in sight. She fits in this boutique with the bright lights, excessive mirrors, and fresh flowers on every surface. In my nana’s borrowed clothes, I certainly do not. I try not to let the jealousy eat me alive.
“Betsy Mae. I’d like you to meet Mary London. My sister.”
Ah, his sister. Mary London extends her hand, her red lips splitting into a blinding smile. “So nice to meet ya, Betsy Mae! Betsy Sue has told us so much about you already. It’s like we’re family, don’t ya think?”
I blink, pasting on a smile in the face of such potent Southern charm. I could have sworn that thick of an accent was just a joke or a caricature, but here she is in the flesh. The embodiment of the Southern belle.
“H-hi. Nice to meet you too.” We shake hands, but then Mary London pulls me into an unexpected hug. God, she smells good too. Like lemons and flowers.
When she releases me, she keeps her hands on my shoulders, giving me the once-over. I have to give her credit, that smile doesn’t slip even one degree as she takes in my geriatric outfit.
“Silas asked me to come over with a few items for you, darlin’. Just a few little happies to get you settled in Heaven.”
