Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.
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A Perfect Proposal
Lulu M. Sylvian
A PERFECT PROPOSAL
By Lulu M. Sylvian
Copyright © 2017 Lulu M. Sylvian
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This ebook is licensed for the original buyer only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people at sharing sites, loops, discussion boards or through other means. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the St. Helena Vineyard’s Kindle World, where romance is waiting to be uncorked and authors from around the globe are invited to share their own stories of love and happily ever after. Set in the heart of wine country, this quaint town and its cast of quirky characters were the inspiration behind my St Helena Vineyard series, and the Original Hallmark Channel movie, AUTUMN IN THE VINEYARD. I want to thank these incredible authors for spending time in St. Helena, and all of you readers who are adventurous enough to take the journey with us.
I hope you enjoy your time here as much as we have.
Warmly,
Marina
Special thanks, I have a few:
I owe treats to Danger and Discord who are totally my models for Cobol and Fortran.
Shout out to my editor Jody Wallace, who puts up with my writing quirks.
A special thanks to Grace Conley for introducing me to Marina and this wonderful playground of St. Helena Vineyards Kindle World, and to Marina Adair for letting come play with all of you.
And, as always, the husband and the children who let me hole-up and play with my imaginary friends.
Dedicated to the first responders of the Northern California 2017 wildfires
Chapter One
Lysia pushed at the mountainous growth on her chin. Why was it still there? It had its own atmosphere. She swore she even saw a small cloud circling the pyogenic snow cap. She had taken care of this continental sized addition to her face before her shower. Her ears were still ringing from the reverberating bang that sounded as the pressure released on the Krakatoa-like zit. In the shower, she had scrubbed and held a hot towel to the blemish. If anything was there, it should be a recovering red welt, not a new, fresh, ready to blow volcano.
There was no way to disguise the disfiguring protuberance. Or was there? This would put her contouring skills to the ultimate test.
Patrice, her boss at the bridal shop, had said she needed to watch her appearance. Lysia had to make sure her blacks always matched, wear at minimum three instances of make-up, and reapply lipstick inconspicuously and consistently. It smacked too much of Patrice’s past as a beauty school manager. Lysia refused to be ageist out loud, but she did think it was a generational thing, Patrice was from a time when hair didn’t move, and a lady wore pantyhose, not slacks. No matter the reasoning, Lysia’s appearance had contributed to her landing in probation at work. She could not afford to be fired over a poorly timed zit
Forty minutes and five pounds of makeup later, she had to admit defeat. Krakatoa won the battle, but not the war.
And this was war. If the zit wasn’t going to play fair, then neither would she. Seriously, there was no way this thing was going to be able to survive the excising onslaught she rained down.
Lysia padded into the kitchen. Fortunately, her roommates had already left for the day, so there were no witnesses to her temporary misfortune. She held a hot compress to her chin. Lysia really could not afford this zit to win. She popped a tea bag into a mug of water and zapped it in the microwave.
She held her face over the steaming mug. She breathed in the relaxing steam and focused on how the healing herbs in the mix were cleansing her skin and vanquishing the zit to Hades, where it would be better appreciated on Beelzebub’s butt.
Confident that her morning cup of tea would restore balance to the universe, she returned to the bathroom mirror and to get ready for work.
It was a miracle the scream that ripped from her throat didn’t shatter glass.
***
Lysia pulled long plastic garment bags from the most recent selection of dresses. She hummed along to the innocuous Christmas music that the satellite radio played through the shop. Kathleen had directed her to pull samples, all strapless, all a frosted shell-pink hue, and all with large princess skirts. The woman shopping today had indicated on her preference card that she wanted her shoulders covered, that she was not opposed to an intense color, and that she wanted a form fitting style.
Kathleen was a master manipulator and saleswoman. She stacked the samples in her favor so that when she pulled out the perfect dress, it was the perfect dress. And it didn’t matter how many hundreds, or occasionally thousands, it ran over budget, the bride always bought the dress Kathleen wanted her to purchase.
Apparently, Kathleen was in need of some extra cash, as she was going for a substantial commission today. Especially if the bride purchased the dress Kathleen was selling.
Kathleen followed behind Lysia and fluffed skirts.
“Uh, what is that smell?” Kathleen began sniffing at the hems of the dresses. Her nose pulled her towards Lysia. “It’s you. Why do you smell like antiseptic?”
“I fell.” Lysia turned to look at the other woman.
“Oh my God! What happened to you?” The look of horror on Kathleen’s expression only strengthened Lysia’s fear about the lost continent of Atlantis resurfacing on her chin.
She touched the bandage tentatively and hoped it really wasn’t as bad as all that. But she suspected it really was. “I slipped in the shower this morning.” Not a full lie, she had slipped. But that wasn’t the reason she had a chin full of tea-tree oil and a bandage—the only successful means of covering the massive blemish. She had taken extra time with her eye makeup and her hair so that, just maybe, this wouldn’t count against her.
“Well, stay away from Patrice, and don’t get too close to the clients today. I’m unloading the Par Parisian, and I don’t want the bride distracted.”
“How much over budget is it?” Lysia asked.
“Her info card said a cap of five grand. So…”
Lysia let out a low whistle. Almost twice as much, and many times more than what she made in a month. As a shop assistant, she was paid hourly. As a saleswoman, Kathleen made commission only. Somedays it seemed an unfair balance in Lysia’s favor. She was paid no matter what. Other days, like today, Kathleen raked it in.
A double chiming bell indicated that someone had entered the store through the prom and tux entrance. Lysia furrowed her brow. Who could it be? There were no fittings scheduled, homecoming was past and gone, and she didn’t expect any foot traffic, especially at this time on a Friday afternoon.
“You got your appointment okay?” she asked Kathleen, who nodded, and Lysia left.
To get to the other half of the shop, Lysia passed through the main showroom where Patrice and her current client were admiring the latest dress. The bride stood on a round platform with a curved bank of mirrors along the back. She spun and stared at how her butt looked in the dress. Lysia wanted to point out with a skirt that big, n
o one was able to see her ass. However, brides seemed always to do that. Force of habit from regular clothes shopping, she figured.
The bride’s entourage was cooing encouraging noises. In response, the woman patted her cheeks below her eyes. Her eyes were dry, not a tear—real or fake—in sight.
Lysia picked up her pace and kept her head down. She knew what was next. The fake emotional cry was typically accompanied by some serious over acting. There was some strange expectation that Josie’s had hidden cameras around. Several brides admitted they expected they were being filmed for a reality TV show. There were no cameras, but this didn’t stop the current bride. The words were out of her mouth before Lysia could push through the divider doors separating the two halves of the formalwear shop.
“I’m going to say—”
Lysia breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind her, saving her from hearing that catchphrase at least once today, and from Patrice seeing the bandage on her chin.
The Prom and Tux side of the shop was much calmer, quieter. A glass counter ran half the length of the shop. Rounds with a rainbow array of formal dressed filled the other half. The new holiday window display captured the more crazy and fun atmosphere of this part of the store.
“Welcome to Josie’s PBT.” She pronounced it Peabody. “Can I help…you?”
In the center of the store stood Mr. Tall-Cute-and-Geeky. He ran his hand nervously over his slightly shaggy hair, resulting in delightful tufts sticking up in wrong angles. When his clear blue eyes found her, she could see relief roll off his shoulders. She wanted to approach him and push his glasses back up his nose. And then some. Never had she wanted to crawl into someone’s lap and whisper, “Talk nerdy to me,” so badly. He looked like he could quote math and science formulas. A shiver ran down her spine.
“I’m either in the wrong place, or I’m in the wrong time.” His sense of style did seem a little dated. But then again, if he was going for geek-chic, that 1960’s science-engineer style was in. And so hot. Black skinny ties and skinny slate colored slacks on tall, thin men did her in. She dropped her gaze to his shoes. Brogues, not oxfords. Lysia loved all the little crenellations on men’s shoes. This guy had all the details just right.
“Okay, so you’re a time traveler? What year were you shooting for?” Lysia cocked her head to the side and hoped he had a sense of humor.
“I was supposed to meet a guy here for a fitting. And I believe that was yesterday. He told me to head on in as soon as I got here. I didn’t know if I needed an appointment or not.” He stopped talking, watched her quizzically for a few seconds, turned, and existed the front door.
Well, so much for a sense of humor. Lysia hoped the massive volcano on her chin hadn’t frightened him away. He’d been cute. She took a step forward to follow and stopped as the man came crashing back into the shop.
His previously tucked in shirt was pulled from the waistband, with one leg of his pants rolled up.
He ran straight to her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her slightly. Breathlessly he said, “Have I already been here?” He searched her perplexed face. “Damn it, I have. You didn’t give me the key, did you? Good. Whatever happens, don’t give me the key. I’ve missed you so much. I was afraid I was too late. Save the baby. I’ll be back for you, I promise. Remember, don’t give me the key!”
He dashed out the door again.
What the hell was going on? Lysia stood in the middle of a Twilight Zone episode. She attempted to gather her wits about her when he strolled back in. His clothes had been re-situated, and his hair slicked down.
“Hi.” He smiled at Lysia, his grin was confident and charming. “You said time travel, and I couldn’t not do something. I mean, you handed me an opportunity on a silver platter.”
Lysia cracked up. “And you certainly ran with it. So, you want the key?”
He laughed. “Too weird?”
She shook her head. “I’m glad you did it. I was going to worry about you if you hadn’t. What can I help you with today? You mentioned needing a fitting?”
“I need a tux for the Sheridan-Thomas party. I’m a last-minute fill-in for one of the groomsmen.” He made a goofy face expressing his chagrin.
“Oh, they ordered those weeks ago.” Lysia walked behind the counter and lifted out a small index card box. She began flipping through the cards. She pulled one out, placing it on the glass countertop. “That wedding is next weekend. The suits are being delivered tomorrow. That was a special order. I can get you into a tux, but I can’t match styles. Not this close to the wedding.”
She leaned over the counter and gave the tall, thin man a once-over. “I measured those guys, and I know none of them are as tall as you. There is no way we can fake you into one of the preordered tuxes.” She breathed heavily out of her nose.
As much as last-minute situations like this annoyed her and complicated her job, she knew someone somewhere was having a much harder time. A bride, or a mother-of-the-bride, or even a groom, was having a meltdown over how one black suit not exactly matching all the other black suits was going to ruin the entire wedding.
She walked back around to the front of the counter, eyeing the man. Visually assessing him for size and fit.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, cringing away from her gaze.
“Sorry, I’m trying to figure out if I have something that will fit you in stock.” And using her position as tux rental maven to check him out. The way his clothes fit she could tell he had muscle tone under his choice of geek-chic fashion. His shoulders were square, and there was no hint of soft belly at the belt buckle. His pants hung off a defined ass, and the front of his slacks indicated…
Yeah, she needed not to be such a perv. After all, she had a boyfriend. But she could admire and touch on a professional basis.
“Do you know what size you wear?” She made a clicking noise on the roof of her mouth as she stared at his perfect backside.
“Thirty-two tall, really tall.” He turned to glance at her as he answered.
Lysia tried not to blush. His expression, a single lifted eyebrow, made her suspect he knew she had been checking him out, and not for fitting reasons.
She covered her embarrassment by dashing to the counter and grabbing a tape measure, a pencil, and an index card on a mini clipboard. She handed him the clipboard and pencil. “Could you please list your name and contact information along the top of this?”
She read the information when he handed it back.
“Hi, Craig. I’m Lysia, I figure we should be on first name basis since I’m about to measure your inseam.”
Craig chuckled. She liked his voice. It was deep and rumbly. She needed to stop this line of thinking. Josh would not be amused. Hell, Josh never was, and he had a jealous streak in him.
Lysia put aside all thoughts of how to accidentally on purpose grope Craig in the name of getting his measurements. She made notes on a different index card. When she finished, she sat back on her heels and peered up at him. This was not the position to be in while thinking about groping the man in front of her. A small shift forward, lift up on the knees, zip, and…
Nope, nope, nope. Lysia scooted back before standing.
She knew how to be professional. She reminded herself, again. Good looking men were in and out of the shop all the time for weddings. But none of them made her tummy feel like a riot of butterflies the way geeky Craig did.
Not even her boyfriend.
She focused on the index card in her hands. “I don’t have a big stock in the back, but I might have something. We have time to get a tux in from one of the shops in Napa if we have to. Have a seat while I go poke around in the back for a bit.”
“Can’t you look it up on the computer and see what you have?”
“You’re funny. Josie’s has yet to enter the computer age. Everything is done on index cards. I think this shop might be the only reason index cards are still even made. They don’t even use them in the local high schools anymore.” Lysia
laughed as she wrote down his specifications on the blank note card with Craig’s contact information neatly printed along the top.
She left the neatly printed index card on the counter, took the one with her sloppy notes, and headed toward the Bridal half of the shop. Dresses and tuxes were all kept in the large environmentally controlled storage room behind the poshly decorated Bridal side of Josie’s
Lysia pushed through the double doors. Craig followed on her heels.
“Can I help you look? There must be an awful lot of suits to sift through, especially if…”
Lysia turned to tell him not to bother and to please have a seat. Instead, she saw Craig frozen in his tracks, staring at the bride on the dais admiring herself.Patrice’s client in the poofy princess gown was gone, and Kathleen’s client preened as she admired herself in the Par Parisian.
It appeared that Kathleen had made her sale. Lysia could always read the bride’s expressions, and this one was about to say a big, fat-commission, cha-ching, yes. The bride was lovely, but Lysia didn’t think she was stop-dead-in-your-tracks pretty. Then again, she wasn’t a guy. And if curvy blondes like this bride were Craig’s preference, Lysia didn’t stand much of a chance with him.
The bride was stunning in that dress. All lace and sparkle, the body contour dress shimmered under the halogens. The salmon pink hue heightened the bride’s natural coloring, and placement of the rhinestones and sequins enhanced her curvy figure. She positively glowed, of course that could be the sheen of dew-like sweat the halogens tended to elicit. If she had that kind of money, Lysia could understand spending it on a dress that perfect.
The bride turned to face her entourage on the couch. She whipped her head for a perfect hair toss. She stopped mid-turn and froze. A cloud of blond hair flew into her face. Epic hair toss fail.
St. Helena Vineyard Series Page 1
