by Anita Higman
Trudie sat up and massaged her neck. Work was what she needed, and lots of it. She was supposed to have the day off, but she also knew her boss, Rosalie, would have plenty of extra chores for her at Bloomers Boutique. She always did.
Feeling a need to get ready for the day, Trudie quickly showered and slipped on a fresh pair of slacks and a shirt. While her sister slept, she made enough coffee for them both and left a note on the kitchen table, saying she was going off to work and to have a good day. She added the last part so her sister wouldn’t grieve too much. Trudie loved her sister and couldn’t stand for her to mourn. Lane would surely feel the same way if the situation had been in reverse.
For a moment, Trudie paused. What would Lane have done if the circumstances were turned around? Would Lane continue to date Mason no matter what? Or would she bow out gracefully? And what about her own actions if all had been different? Trudie wasn’t sure how she would have reacted or what she would have done, and the uncertainty bothered her.
She took her mug of coffee onto the patio and looked out on the golf course. There were some early risers already whacking balls down the fairway. The clouds above them hung in the sky like the fluffy behinds of Peter Rabbit and all his family. The sight was lovely and innocent, and it made Trudie think of the kids she’d read to and played with over the years at the children’s hospital. They had suffered much harder times than anything she would ever know, and they had faced it with courage.
After a couple of slow sips from her cup, Trudie decided to look back at the summer morning through new eyes. It was indeed a remarkable day. And there was a sudden yearning inside her to make that dazzling sky come to life with watercolors. What would that feel like again? When she was a girl, she had always turned to art for pleasure, but she especially embraced it when life got hard. And she’d never in her life felt so close to God as when she was painting.
Her fingers stiffened around the handle of the mug as she remembered how her love for art and all her dreams had drifted away like the last fallen leaves of autumn. The very art that had brought her so much pleasure had brought her the worst kind of pain—the end to her dear mother’s life. But she also had to acknowledge that it was never the art itself that had caused the accident. The fault had been hers, stemming from selfishness and pride.
Trudie strolled back inside the house, wondering if God had pardoned her yet or if she alone was the one who refused to give herself that freedom. She took another sip of her coffee, but it seemed to lose its warmth and flavor. No, maybe it was just bitter. She rinsed the mug, put it in the sink, and then headed toward the spare room to gather her things. She’d almost made it to the hallway when something shiny caught her eye. Trudie walked over to the curio cabinet in the far corner of the living room. Nestled on a bed of rich navy velvet was their mother’s tiara. Lane had it beautifully presented under the halogen lights along with several antique vases and figurines.
She opened the door to the cabinet and let her fingers glide across the top of the crown. It was so radiant with its sapphires and diamonds. She could almost imagine her mother again, placing the tiara on her head. Then the way she’d cup her face and kiss her forehead. What would her mother say if she could whisper from heaven? Perhaps her mother would tell her that God was smiling on her still and that she shouldn’t let go of the gift He’d given her.
No. Trudie shut the door to the cabinet. She quickly shook off the sentimental imaginings, since she believed it was a desperate attempt to assuage her guilt. She shut the lights off, and the glittering jewels on the crown went dim. Lane had hoped they’d trade off with the tiara so that it could be on display in Trudie’s apartment half of the year, but she’d refused. It was in the right place. Right here.
Time to go to work. Trudie suddenly remembered that her car was still back at her apartment. So, how was she going to get to the shop? She didn’t want to wake her sister, so she decided to borrow Lane’s older car, the one she lent out from time to time. Trudie knew she wouldn’t mind, so she added a P.S. to the note about borrowing her sedan, picked up the keys out of the entry table drawer, and headed to work.
After a short drive, Trudie turned the corner onto Atascocita and saw the familiar sign, Bloomers Boutique, which was painted in pink petunias and a pair of old-fashioned bloomers. She smiled. Rosalie had always been a girly-girl. Apparently the women in Humble loved all things feminine too, since business had been blooming for years, as Rosalie always said.
Trudie parked the sedan, strode up to the boutique, and opened the door. As always there was enough frothing female garb to boost one’s estrogen levels just by breathing the air. And the place smelled of peppermint too. Guess Rosalie was still on her aromatherapy kick. But it was a nice scent, and the customers loved it.
“Ohhh, you’re here, Trudie. Good, good. I needed you after all. At least for a few hours today.”
I knew it.
Rosalie gave her a motherly hug. “How about you sort through the racks. I love my customers, but they get things sooo jumbled. We have the size eights in with the twenty-twos again.”
“I’m on it, Rosalie.”
“Oh, and you missed Suzette yesterday afternoon.” Rosalie clicked her tongue. “Mm, mm.”
“Did she buy her usual?” Trudie started organizing the rack of boudoir dresses.
“That dear woman. She keeps dreaming if she buys enough size sixes she’ll become a size six. I hate to be the one to break it to her, but all that dreaming doesn’t mix with grazing at the local pizza buffet.” Rosalie shook her head. “Oh, well, hope springs eternal. Is that old saying about weight loss or love?” She chuckled.
Trudie didn’t want to think too far down the road with that maxim, so she got busy with her work.
“Suzette brought us a batch of brownies. They’re in the back next to the coffee machine. I’ve already eaten half of them, so you’d better dig in before they’re gone. Oh, and Henry Bog dropped by this morning. He brought us some strawberries from his garden. He said they were loaded again this year. So, you’ve got a basket of fresh strawberries in the back.”
Trudie shook her head. “What would we do without all our customers?”
“Mm, mm. Go out of business, I guess. Well, and I’d probably lose thirty pounds too.” Rosalie shook with laughter.
Her boss could always change the tenor of a room in two minutes as she ferreted out the amusement in everything she encountered. It fit perfectly with her bright muumuus, her rosy cheeks, and that twinkle in her eye. “So, did our Mr. Bog buy another nightgown for his wife?”
“Yep. He says it’s what keeps the pizzazz in their marriage.” Rosalie made a little lasso with her finger. “Oh, and we had a customer today from out of state. I can always tell because they pronounce the H in Humble.” She winked. “Well, sweets, I’ve got to go in the back room for a bit. I’ll catch the phone if it rings.”
“Okay.” The sudden quiet in the shop made Trudie’s thoughts drift dangerously close to a topic she wanted to avoid—Mason. Correction. She didn’t really want to avoid thoughts of him, but she felt it was the only way to retain her sanity. She would, however, need to come up with something to say to him when he called. Would Mason merely say goodbye when she refused another date, or would he be truly hurt? Amidst the queries filling her brain, she knew one thing was certain—she would miss Mason. Terribly.
The bell jingled above the door and the subject of her many queries stood in the doorway, smiling at her.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hello.” Mason entered the shop, looking devastating in his suit. Kind of like Clark Kent without the glasses.
Maybe she should at least be polite. “Hi.”
He looked around, raising a curious brow. “Are men actually allowed in here?”
Trudie laughed. “Of course.” She knew he was kidding, but he did look intimidated as he stood amidst shelves and racks of female dainties.
Then in a sudden bold move, Mason strolled right up to Trudie.
“Were you needing bloomers?” was all Trudie could think to say.
“Uh, no.” He leaned on a sale table full of long-legged panty girdles, winced, and then stood back up.
Trudie squelched another laugh.
Mason made a few odd maneuvers with his hands as if he suddenly didn’t know where to put them.
“Are you looking for a kimono perhaps?” She raised her chin a bit.
Mason chuckled. “I came to see you. I thought you had the day off.”
Trudie knew she was having way too much fun with Mason, so she reined in her enthusiasm. “I decided to work today after all.”
“Well, I stopped by your sister’s house, and—”
“What did Lane say?”
“I felt badly that I’d gotten her out of bed. She looked so…I don’t know…tired. You two must have had a lot of fun last night.”
Trudie went blank. How could she reply to that one?
“But Lane didn’t say much. Just that she’d read your note and that you were here.”
“Oh.” Trudie nodded.
Mason fingered one of the boudoir dresses. “I came by to ask you to lunch.”
“Lunch?” Here it was. The moment she’d dreaded. What could she say? What was right and good? She wouldn’t tell him a lie, but to explain everything would ruin Lane’s chances. She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mason.”
“What, you don’t eat lunch?”
Trudie knew if she tried to talk, she might stammer. “No, I…I do eat lunch.” There it was. The stammer.
“Well, maybe another time.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
Stay calm. Answer slowly. “I don’t think so.” Okay, those had to be the hardest words she’d ever said.
“Oh.” Surprise flashed across his face, then disappointment. “So you’re saying no in general…about going out again. Is that it?” Mason said his words gently but looked her straight in the eyes.
Trudie wanted to hug him, to tell him what a wonderful man he was and how she’d miss him, but that was impossible now. Why hadn’t Mason called her instead of just dropping by? She wouldn’t have had to witness that look of distress. Suddenly her face felt prickly—a strange malady she sometimes suffered from when she got flustered. Trudie tapped her cheeks.
“Are you okay?”
“My cheeks just went a little tingly.” Trudie tried to find something else to focus on.
“Tingly?”
“Uh-huh.”
Mason moved closer to her. “Well, that doesn’t sound too good.”
Trudie shook her head. “No, that’s okay.”
He reached out, took the red peignoir she was holding, and set it back on the rack. “If this has to do with my family and any career changes, I want you to know I understand. But I believe we can work this—”
“No. It’s not that.” Trudie touched the sleeve of his cotton shirt and then pulled away. “I promise. It’s not that.” She would help Lane all she could, but she would not leave Mason to think his family’s business was repugnant to her.
“Then what is it? Please tell me.” He touched her arm.
Trudie removed the very same red peignoir from the rack Mason had just put away and said, “This is a size eight.” Why she’d said those words she had no idea, except maybe to shift the focus away from her.
“Is that your size?”
She looked up at him, wanting so badly to slip her palm around his cheek the way she had only hours earlier. “Yes, it’s my size, but I mean everything has gotten so messed up.” Trudie bit her lip to keep the tears from coming.
Mason nodded. “Apparently.”
Trudie held up the red peignoir. “I mean this needs to be put back. It’s with the twenty-two plus-sizes.”
He seemed to shake himself from a daze. “Well now, we can’t have that, can we? I’d like to help you put things back in order.” Mason gave her a weighty look and then took the skimpy piece of red froth out of her hands, walked over to the correct stand, and eased the peignoir smoothly into the right place.
Trudie put her hands on her hips. “You can’t help me rearrange the whole store.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “Because you’re a customer. Well, not exactly.”
“Good idea. I think I will be a customer.”
Oh, no.
Mason looked through the selection a bit and then pulled out a size eight peignoir in lilac, one that was accented with a whisper of ivory lace. “Not bad.” He held it up to the sunlight, allowing its translucent qualities to be fully revealed. “Very nice. What do you call this?”
Trudie cocked her head. “It’s called plumage.” She said it briskly so he might get the hint to stop torturing her with his charm. And leave.
“You don’t say?” Mason didn’t appear ruffled whatsoever.
“Women are just like birds in the jungle, always trying to impress.” She sniffed the air.
Mason turned to her. “But isn’t it usually the male birds that try to attract the female with their plumage?” He held up the delicate peignoir. “And I’ll tell you exactly what this is. It’s a work of art. And created by artists who love what they do.”
Okay, so Rosalie would marry this guy on the spot. Trudie crossed her arms. “Yes. It is a work of art.”
“And I’d like to buy it.”
She grinned in spite of herself. He had, after all, picked her favorite color, but she kept that bit of news to herself. “Elegant choice.” Trudie tilted her head at him and couldn’t resist asking, “Now did you want a negligee to go with that peignoir?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“And what do you plan on doing with them?”
Mason gave her a teasing look of incredulity. “I’m buying them, of course.”
Trudie chuckled and rolled her eyes. She knew it had been none of her business to ask, but he’d forced her into a funky mood. She certainly hadn’t expected such a ridiculous reply. It was a side she had yet to see of Mason. But she liked it. A lot. That fact, though, only made her heart ache all the more. She handed him the matching nightgown.
He walked to the counter with his merchandise and handed her his platinum credit card.
Trudie rang him up while he went off, browsing for more nightwear.
Mason found another nightgown set in her size—this time in the softest rainbow colors—and handed them to her. “I’ll take these as well. It’s hard not to love rainbows.”
She felt her face heat up. Trudie recovered herself and showed him the price tag. “This set is expensive. Two hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.”
Mason grinned. “And what a bargain it is at that price. Since one doesn’t often see rainbows.”
“Okay.” Trudie nodded as she tried to swallow a myriad of emotions. She rang up his purchases again, folded each set into a gift box, and then tied them up with ribbons. Mason was being unbearably delightful, and it was about to do her in. The cologne he was wearing wasn’t helping matters either. She wanted to selfishly forget about the promise she’d made to Lane, but that was equally impossible. Not when love was at stake. Love wasn’t anything to be trifled with. And yet the gowns weren’t for Lane. What would she do if he handed the gifts to her? Should she refuse his kindness?
When Mason had completed his transactions, he lifted the packages back over the counter. “Now, could you do me a favor and make sure that a Miss Trudie Abernathy gets these? Right away. Please.” The gifts were poised just in front of her.
Hesitation became a living thing as Trudie tried to decide what to do. In the final seconds before vacillation meltdown, she reached out to Mason and accepted the packages. “I’ll make sure that she gets them. Thank you.” Trudie tried on a business-like smile, but it didn’t fit. “Honestly, that was very generous and kind, but Mason, you didn’t have—”
“No, I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” He came around to the other side of the counter and said in a low voice, “I’m well aware o
f what passed between us yesterday evening. It was real. And you felt it too. So, something happened between the time I dropped you off last night and the time you arrived here this morning. And being a great lover of mysteries, I intend to find out what it is.” He turned and strode to the door. “And in the meantime, prepare yourself, Miss Abernathy.”
She blinked. “For what?”
Mason cocked an eyebrow. “To be romanced.”
Trudie picked up a sheet of paper off the counter and fanned her face.
“Are your cheeks tingling again?” He opened the front door.
“Yes.”
“Good.” And on that note, Mason grinned and walked out the front door of Bloomers Boutique.
Chapter Sixteen
Trudie reached up to her mouth. It was open. She was still in a daze when Rosalie came in from the back room.
Rosalie—a woman who was a bit of a snoop and who hated to miss even the slightest hint of gossip or frivolity—looked around, sniffing. “Did I miss anything? I feel like I missed something.”
Trudie clutched the packages. “A customer just bought me rainbows.”
“The three-hundred dollar ones? Oww. Well, if it was a single man, you should run after him. And then wrestle him to the ground. He’s a keeper, sweets.” Rosalie started restacking bras on a display table as she hummed some country tune about love.
Rosalie was about as subtle as the Humble summer heat, but she was usually right. Trudie grinned to herself, wondering what Mason could have meant when he said to prepare herself. If it had been within the context of any other situation, she would have buckled under the influence of such romance. His brand of enchantment was heady enough to use in the dental chair instead of gas. A female patient could have a double root canal, and she would walk out grateful for the experience. There was no doubt about it—Mason was an intoxicating overload to the senses, and Lane would be the luckiest woman alive.
Trudie slipped her lingerie presents under the counter next to her purse. She would enjoy trying them on later at home. But as she went back to work, worries began to trickle into her thoughts. All in all, even though she’d been resolute in discouraging Mason, she’d done a lousy job of scaring him off. Now he was more single-minded than ever about going out with her. What could she do? Should she tell Lane that she might have a rougher road to walk in romancing Mason back? But that statement would only come off disappointing and egotistical.
