Promise Forever
Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist
Contents
Cindi/Ella: When Shoes Speak
Sea Witch
The Beast’s Pretend Marriage
Entangled
Hannah’s Second Chance
Crimson Hunter
Obsidian Stone
1. Thank You for Reading!
Titles and Authors in this Anthology
Cindi/Ella: When Shoes Speak
By Bokerah Bromley
Sea Witch
By Pauline Creeden
The Beast’s Pretend Marriage
By Cheryl Wright
Entangled
By J. R. Castle
Hannah’s Second Chance
By Margaret Tanner
Crimson Hunter
By N. D. Jones
Obsidian Stone
By LJC Fynn
Cindi/Ella: When Shoes Speak
Bokerah Brumley
A Cinderella Retelling
Cindi/Ella: When Shoes Speak © 2019 Bokerah Brumley
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Shiny
Cindi
“I can’t concentrate in flats.”
– Victoria Beckham
Paris, Texas
The right pair of shoes can change your life, Cindi.
My instructor’s parting words rolled around my head as I shifted my bags and studied the map app on my phone, comparing it with my surroundings and my grandmother’s note. Runway models always threatened to kill for the best shoes.
My tiger-striped orange tabby, Gus, complained about the jostling of his cat crate, but I didn’t have time to make the feline comfortable, and I ignored his meowing pleas.
I arrived so much later than I intended. We had bus trouble in Arizona and now I couldn’t find the place.
The farther I went, the crappier my cell’s internet service got. Directions weren’t my strong suit, but I had to be getting close to my destination. At least according to the last screen on the GPS.
A burst of wind sent a cloud of newly fallen leaves skittering across the sidewalk, and I stopped abruptly to stuff my grandmother’s note back into my jacket pocket before it slipped out of my hand.
Grandmother’s boutique faced the town square. I knew that much. But I didn’t know from which side, and I didn’t even know what street I strolled. When the guy at the bus stop pointed, I went as quickly as I could.
If nothing else, I could make a lap around the center of downtown to find the purple door leading into my grandmother’s exclusive boutique. She said it would be next door to The Godfather’s Closet men’s clothier shop. I hadn’t seen that place either.
The crosswalk light turned from the green running man to the red palm, and I stopped on the curb with a handful of other pedestrians. The closest green street sign read Main and the other one… I couldn’t quite see it. Gus meowed.
I moved to the side by two strides to get a look at the street sign. Lamar. That’s the street she said she was on. Why was this taking so long?
Behind me, a man cursed.
I glanced over my shoulder into a scowling face.
“Hey,” he growled as he yanked his foot out of the way. “Look first.”
Since I was directionally challenged, I already stuck out like a sore thumb and was late because of it. Trampling other pedestrians didn’t help at all. “I’m sorry. I’m new.”
The light turned green again, and he hurried around me, muttering something in response. I couldn’t make out what he said. Gus hissed at him. I assumed he heard what the man said.
I tucked my phone and my papers back in my pocket and then stepped out into the crosswalk after him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t read signs and directions.
Well, not exactly.
It was more that maps were a foreign language to me, and I wasn’t at all familiar with Paris. This small town wasn’t the poetic, romantic, European Paris everyone I knew wished to vacation in, either.
This version of Paris boasted a faint smell of cattle on the breeze and oversized trucks in almost every one of the downtown parking spaces. Tall men wore cowboy hats and boots that made me feel tiny by comparison. I wasn’t in San Francisco anymore.
Old shops lined the town square: an instrument and music store, a diner, a drycleaner’s, and several antique shops. On the corner, an old movie theater had the name of a classic movie on the marquee. Each establishment displayed team logos from the local high school football team.
I grimaced. The whole scene resembled something out of Andy Griffith or some other highly idealized version of the good ol’ days. I’d gotten used to the glitter and the glamour of a big city, and Paris, Texas, was the opposite. Culture shock forthcoming.
A group of teenaged kids rode by on bicycles, calling to one another.
Originally, I’d wanted to land a place in New York with my Arts degree, but my grandmother sent a letter, inviting me to join her at Once Upon a Ballgown. She cited her old age and offered to let me stay rent-free.
She couldn’t pay much. Yet, as the only opportunity I had received in the last six weeks of my final semester, the choice had been simple. Besides, I needed to make something if I wanted to survive, and the cost of living in Paris, Texas, wasn’t as bad as the Big Apple. Surely the business experience would be worth something.
I stepped around a couple, loitering on the sidewalk as they peered into a jewelers’ window.
Mémère’s offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Though, her handwritten missive had been a shock. I thought she’d died years ago. I spent several days researching her to make sure she wasn’t somebody masquerading as my grandmother.
Everything checked out, and I hopped on the next bus to Texas. I chewed my bottom lip and nearly switched to my fingernails. When stress hit, bad habits resurfaced. I hoped I’d made the right decision.
Sounds of construction emanated from a square building down the street. At only seven stories, it was still the tallest downtown building. Everything else rose only two or three stories. The air carried the smells of barbeque and Mexican food, mixed with the acrid smoke from a fire.
Clop-clop-clop.
I startled and nearly tripped on my own feet. The out-of-place sound of horse hooves came from behind me. That’s weird. We were in the city; those sounds didn’t belong here. But it came closer, and I spun to meet it.
A man grinned down at me, astride a piebald horse that walked along the street next to the sidewalk.
“Howdy,” he said as he tipped his hat and ambled by as though having a horse in a bustling downtown was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hi,” I squeaked
too late.
Keep it cool, Cindi. The horse and rider had already meandered down the street out of earshot. I shook my head. I couldn’t get over this place. Freaking out over a creature would mark me as a tourist. I’d been in Cali too long.
They had mounted patrol units in New York. I’d have had to get used to that, too. I chided myself, pulling my gaze away to check the time again. No spell could fix what a flat tire on the bus had caused.
Nope. Still late. Gah.
I retrieved my cell and typed her phone number from the letterhead my grandmother had used. I strolled the correct street, so I had to come across the boutique eventually. It rang twice before she answered.
“Bonjour? Allô?”
When I’d first heard her Parisian accent, it had made me feel better about considering the job as my solution. How the elderly woman had wound up in Paris, Texas, I still didn’t know. Or how my mother ended up leaving the small city.
“Hello, Mémère,” I said, barely taking time to space out my words, “this is Cindi. I’m on your street, but I’m having trouble figuring out which store is yours.”
Not calling her grandmother felt odd, but she’d insisted I stick to the French version. As the source of her childhood teasing, it had inspired her dedication to fashion. Her first work, she said, had been a pair of Mary Janes that allowed her to run away without earning blisters. How could I argue?
“Well, where are you, dearest? What are the shops?”
Her question brought me back to the present, and I looked up the street and down. “I just passed an old guitar repair shop, and it looks like there’s a boot store at the corner.”
“Oh? Why, then, I believe you have arrived. From the bus stop, we’re just past the music store.”
“Are you sure? I don’t see you.”
“Blink, dear.”
“Blink?”
“Of course.”
Silence followed. I peered around the square. Then I blinked.
Directly in front of me, two shops appeared where I could have sworn they hadn’t been before. I didn’t know how I missed them. “I found you, Mémère. I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Of course, darling. See you in a moment. Ta-ta.”
The line went dead. I hadn’t seen the woman since a childhood visit my mother dragged me on. The two spent the whole weekend fighting—probably my mother’s fault.
Mémère appeared in the window above her shop, Once Upon a Ballgown. She searched the square until she caught sight of me, and my stomach tripped.
Instead of the ebony curls I expected, my grandmother’s hair had gone white, piled on top of her head in a haphazard up do. She waved, her smile as bright as the noon glare. Her joy at my arrival didn’t seem real until that moment.
I hurried across the street, still puzzling out how I’d missed the two businesses until after I blinked. Though, it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d missed the obvious.
In glittery gold paint, the words Once Upon a Ballgown decorated the awning that shaded the purple door. Happily Ever After Accessories had been added beneath.
When I stepped up onto the curb, I paused to peer into the window of the shop next door. An older man glowered from behind the counter. Beside him, under a glass display case, a pair of clear pumps glittered.
Gorgeous shoes did something to my soul, but I found it odd that they were on the counter at a men’s clothier. They must have belonged to somebody’s mother.
The Godfather’s Closet had been a high-end gentlemen’s clothier since the 1800s. At least that’s what my internet research said. I kicked off my shoe and rubbed the top of my foot against the opposite calf before replacing my shoe.
A young, dark-haired man stood on the sidewalk, staring down the street as though he wished to be anywhere but there. A small gold key glinted on the sidewalk beside his scuffed and worn leather shoes.
I scooped the key of the ground and tapped him on the shoulder. “You dropped this. Wouldn’t want you to lose something important.”
I must have startled him because he spun around, his eyes wide. Clear brown eyes reflected the world back to me. He had wide shoulders, a handsome face, and a secret that haunted the planes of his face. He seemed surprised that I noticed him at all.
I pushed the key toward him. “Here. I think this is yours?”
“Yes.” He took it and slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
He took a step away, but I didn’t want him to go yet. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again?” I asked.
He turned back, tipped his head to the side, and smiled. Then he darted back inside the shop with the sparkly shoes. I lingered and scratched an itch on the back of my calf.
Directly to the left of their entrance, Mémère’s apartment awaited. A ballgown drawing, also done in gold, covered the front of the purple door. Afternoon shop hours had been painted onto the bodice of the dress.
The rectangular entrance seemed smaller than the one in my vague memories. I laughed of myself. It should seem smaller. I had grown several feet taller since the last time I had been to visit.
The lock on the purple door clicked, and I grasped the handle and stepped inside. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light change. As they did, I had a flashback to my only other visit. In all of the time since, nothing about the foyer had changed.
Stained glass floor lamps illuminated the space, and a pair of wingback chairs graced the space in front of a fireplace. Intricate mosaic tile designs covered the foyer floor, and a violet arrow had been worked into the motif with the words Once Upon a Ballgown. The arrow directed shoppers to the double-door boutique entrance beneath the impressive curling mahogany staircase that led to the second floor.
I shifted my bags again and jostled Gus once more, making him meow. Then I took the steps to the right of the arrow. Mémère lived on the second level of the building. We would share the living quarters between us. She insisted her apartment was large enough, but I wasn’t convinced. I recalled little of her living space, and two adults took more space than she probably expected.
I didn’t bring much with me: one carry-on bag, the cat carrier, and a purse. I’d sold my furniture in a garage sale. My roommate had taken my bed. The rest of my things consisted of six large boxes that I had shipped that morning before I climbed onto the bus that brought me from California. They would arrive in five more days. Though, I expected to see them in fourteen. Mémère promised two outfits from the boutique, and I would make do until my boxes arrived at the end of the week.
I flew up the steps, two at a time, winded by the time I reached the top. I twisted the old-fashioned door bell. A half-second later, the door flew open, and I stared at the character that welcomed me.
Mémère stood on the threshold, her hands clasped over her chest, beaming at me. Her cheeks bloomed with a healthful blush, and her snow-white hair had been piled on top of her head in a lovely mess of waves and curls.
Her Victorian clothing covered every inch of her from wrist to ankle and took me by surprise. Vintage materials made up every inch of her outfit, right down to the low-heeled boots. She even wore a hat with a bouquet of peacock feathers sticking straight up from the hat band.
She wasn’t what I expected.
Most of all, Mémère didn’t look infirmed, feeble, frail, or any of the other things she’d implied in her letter. Had she been entirely honest or only intending to take pity on a lowly, broke college student?
I set my bags on the ground beside me. “Hello.”
She extended her arms wide, gesturing me forward. “Welcome, my dearest Cindi Ella. It has been too long.”
I hesitated a moment, then stepped toward her. My grandmother wouldn’t mean me ill, and I didn’t want to begin my stay on the wrong foot.
“Mémère,” I said. “Lovely to see you.”
She squeezed me and then stepped back. “And where is this Gus?”
I waved to the cat carrier at my feet
. “He’s taken to hissing at new people. I think the traveling has gotten to him.”
She crouched down in front of the carrier and opened the front. “Gus, Gus, come out, sweetling.”
I stepped toward her. “Please, don’t. He could get away.”
Instead of listening, she reached in and drew the big cat out. “Nonsense. He’s happy to be here.” She set him on the ground beside her, and he sauntered into her home.
I could only gape. The cat had never done anything for me voluntarily.
Mémère took my arm and drew me into the apartment. When she let go, she extended her hand to encompass the room behind her. “I think you’ll find there’s room enough.”
As I scanned the space, I took several steps forward, and my jaw slacked. “It’s… incredible, Mémère.”
The entire level had been designed as an open space with twelve-foot ceilings, broken only by columns and dividers that didn’t extend to reach the ceiling. Tasteful antiques, fine china, and décor spanning centuries covered every inch. Photographs of my grandmother with many different famous people were dispersed throughout.
Who was my grandmother?
“Over two thousand square feet of living space, love. Room enough for both of us.”
“And one Gus,” I added.
Her eyes twinkled. “Of course.”
I turned slowly. “Is your boutique this large? Does the first floor match the second floor?”
“My boutique is less than half the size of this warehouse. The other part is storage. Or, if we organize my things, we could throw a ball, celebrating your arrival.”
Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist Page 1
