“Not really, but I’ll figure it out,” she told Casey.
She didn’t work tomorrow morning. Shedidwork the rest of the week in the morning.
And, really she had no shame. She wanted what she wanted.
She texted J. T. back:
Is tonight too soon?
His reply chimed in:
Ten minutes from now wouldn’t be too soon.
The man reallywasan Olympic-caliber flirt. And he knew what he wanted. She had to hand it to him. He was confident enough, or mature enough, to be completely direct. There was a surprising amount of comfort in that.
She texted back:
I’m off at two.
Her phone chimed in:
I’ll pick you up six thirty.
And then she moved her butt off the stool in case Giorgio’s glower burned a hole in the back of her head before her date.
At ten minutes after two Britt hovered on the sidewalk outside of Kayla Benoit’s boutique, still shiny with lunch-hour sweat and redolent of the diner smells that made her cat sniff her so happily when she came in the door for the day. The halter-necked sheath was still in the window worn by a nearly flat chested, featureless mannequin. Lucky mannequin. White eyelet over silk acetate. Simple, gorgeous, expensive, taunting. It had been there for so long it ought to be sporting cobwebs. Kayla was pretty meticulous about that sort of thing, though. The dress was spotless.
Britt took a deep breath and pushed open the door and stepped inside Kayla’s fragrant, elegant boutique. There wasn’t another soul in there currently.
Kayla was rearranging one of the racks by color. She whirled about and her face lit up.
“Britt! What brings you by?” Kayla Benoit sounded pleased but faintly concerned. As if Britt might have taken a blow to the head and staggered into her boutique by mistake. She was fully aware that Britt’s budget didn’t extend to most of her merchandise.
“Hi Kayla. How’s it going? I find that I... need a dress.”
Kayla paused, her pretty brow furrowed faintly. “Are you getting married?” she wondered.
“No.”
“You pregnant?” was her second guess.
Britt looked down at herself, then back up at Kayla.
“Well,no, you don’t look it, but you strike me as the sort who likes to plan ahead,” Kayla said, answering that unspoken question.
“I am that type,” Britt admitted. Surprised and a little flattered that Kayla had been deciding what she might be like. She was realizing lately that people all over town were probably drawing all kinds of conclusions about her. Funny, she’d thought she was so inscrutable. And funnier still, she didn’t really mind. It made her feel more as though she belonged.
“Okay, I give up, Britt,” Kayla said brightly. “What kind of fabulous dress can we find for you?”
“Truthfully... well, I’m going on a date.”
Kayla’s brow furrowed a little. As if she were rifling through all the men in town that Britt might actually consent to date. Men who would warrant a special dress, no less.
And then her face went all but neon with realization.
“With John Tennessee McCord?” Her voice was a hush.
“He asked me out todinner.” Britt whispered this, too. As if they spoke at the volumes the news warranted they’d violate the neighborhood noise ordinances.
