When Gemma asked me to make her dress for the wedding, I took it one step further. I’ve been working on the bridesmaid dresses for Ivy and myself to match the groomsmen colors—a deep burgundy that will look gorgeous on a summer night. And with Willow being the flower girl, I’m making her dress.
With her help, of course, since she wants to help with everything her aunts do.
“Remember how to thread the sewing machine?”
“Yes.”
“Grab your thread and let’s get started.”
Willow talks herself through how to thread the machine, her tongue sticking out in concentration. “Is that right?”
I nod. “Good job. We can finish the skirt, and then I think we need to get you home to get changed for the party tonight.”
“Yes! I love going to fancy parties. I can’t wait to wear this dress to the wedding.”
“You’ll look beautiful.” I drop a kiss on her head. “Now, let’s get sewing so you have something to wear.”
Willow is precise in how slow she goes, careful not to make any mistakes. She’s a natural at this. Maybe there will be another creator in the family.
As we finish off the last stitches, Erica pops her head in.
“Layla. Sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Bush is here and needs to speak to you. Says it’s important.”
“Again?” Great. Just who I wanted to deal with today. “I’ll be right back, Willow.” I turn off the sewing machine. “No using this, got it?”
“Got it.”
Pasting on my fakest, brightest smile, I head out into the shop. Mrs. Bush stands by the door in a perfectly pressed gray suit. It’s about as drab as it can be.
“Mrs. Bush. What brings you by today?”
She hands me a stack of papers. “We will be reviewing the future use of this space at the next town council meeting.”
She does not mince her words.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Gaze flying over the page, I try to find the most important parts to focus on. Like the fact that the meeting is only a few days before my sister’s wedding. It also catches onthe future use of this space.
“How did it go from not getting the Reynolds building to now deciding the future of Pinstripes & Push-Ups?”
“The mayor wants to be sure we have suitable businesses in Dixon that support our main form of income—tourism.”
“The mayor or you?”
She huffs, straightening her jacket. “I am merely relaying what the mayor wants.”
Mayor, my ass.
As much as I can’t stand my ex-husband, this is her doing.
“I need a meeting with the mayor.”
“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head. That helmet hair of hers does not move an inch.
“You’re telling me that you’re deciding on the future of my business and I can’t get two minutes to speak to the mayor? That’s ludicrous.”
“Maybe if you spent more time on a suitable business, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
