“As long as you’re enjoying it.” I try not to laugh. “Is there anything else I can help you find?”
“What else have you designed in here? I need one of everything.”
“The summer collection is dwindling, but I do have a few more of the lingerie sets that might interest you.”
Her mouth drops open in awe. “You design lingerie? I have to see it.”
The excitement coming off her in waves makes me just as excited. Walking over to the small selection in the corner of the store, I pull out my favorite set for her.
The black fabric is sheer, strung through with bursts of gold silk thread. It’s like the night sky exploding over the cups of the bra. Gold peeks out of the lining, giving a hint if you wear a low-cut top as to what’s underneath.
It’s stunning. The hipster thong that matches is just as beautiful.
“Okay, do you sell online? Because I need to get this and everything else you design.”
“I’ll get you a card. I’m Layla.”
She takes my extended hand in a firm handshake. “Bri Edwards.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ll let you finish looking around, and if you need anything else, let me know.”
“Thanks, Layla.”
The shop is busy. For a beautiful summer day, I’d expect it to be quieter. In the shadow of the Tetons, our town brings in nature enthusiasts, and today is the perfect outdoor day.
I like it that way because it lets me sew. My favorite place to be in the world is behind my sewing machine in my tiny studio, creating pieces to help women like Bri feel beautiful.
The bells above the door chime as someone new walks into the store. Someone that immediately sets me on edge.
“Layla, dear.” Mrs. Bush walks into the store, a purpose to her stride.
I steel my face. The last thing I want to deal with today is Mrs. Bush, the mayor’s secretary.
A.k.a. my ex-husband’s secretary.
“How are you?”
“Tryin’ to beat this heat. Too damn hot this summer.” She shakes her head, her short curls bouncing back and forth.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
She waves me off. “I’m fine. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
“I’m free. What do you need?”
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.
Mrs. Bush hands over a sheet of paper.Application deniedis stamped in big red letters on the top of the page.
“The larger space is unavailable.”
“Since when?” I try to keep my voice down, but it’s hard. “As of this morning, it’s still sitting empty.”
I can see it every day from my studio apartment above my shop. The “for lease” sign hasn’t moved in months.
“Since we got the paperwork this morning.” Her bejeweled glasses make her look friendlier than her posture lets on. For an older woman who loves nothing more than gossiping with the rest of the old biddies in town, she’s not the nicest of people.
I chalk that up to her being my third grade teacher. I don’t know how this woman ever taught children. She’s the most unpleasant person in town. She was harsh even back then. I don’t think she ever liked me. I had a penchant for getting into trouble because my mind was always wandering. Playing with cut-out paper dolls instead of listening in class.
