Heart Land

by Kimberly Stuart

  “That breeze feels nice,” Gigi said, and I murmured my agreement.

  “Summer is so pretty here,” I said. “It’s amazing how much better sun can feel when it’s not baking acres of concrete.”

  Gigi narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re starting to sound like a crusty old Midwesterner.”

  I laughed. “Pretty soon I’ll start complaining about the Chickadee’s outlandish price hikes and that Martin should know anything over a dollar for a cup of coffee is straight-up robbery.”

  Gigi opened her door. “I thought I was going to throttle Myrna today if she said one more word on the subject.”

  I joined Gigi outside the car as she walked to the mailbox, stretching my tired arm and shoulder muscles as I moved. Gigi talked a big talk, and Myrna had admittedly gotten stuck on a loop of coffee inflation, but I knew we had a special thing going. I’d felt plenty of exhaustion in the last decade, but this was a different kind of tired. This tired had the craziest effect of energizing me after a long day of work. The women in Tucker’s barn were making me more excited, not less excited, to be doing what we were doing together. I rolled a kink out of my neck as Gigi sifted through the stack of envelopes, and I was struck again at how good it could feel to have every bone in my body in need of rest.

  Gigi looked up at the sound of her name and she groaned softly. “Moses,” she said, and I followed her gaze.

  Miss Evelyn was scurrying toward us, one hand waving while the other clutched a sheet of white paper.

  “That woman covers ground like a person half her age,” I said through my smile.

  “True enough,” Gigi said, arms crossed with the stack of mail pinned to her chest. “To our peril.”

  “Evening, you two entrepreneurs,” Miss Evelyn called when she was still three houses away. “I’m so glad I ran into you.”

  Gigi grunted. “How are you, Evelyn?” I marveled at her ability to make small talk, when I was certain she was ready for a good porch sit and a glass of iced tea.

  “I’m just fine, Georgina, but who really cares about that?” Miss Evelyn’s eyes shone as she pushed the piece of paper she was holding into the space between us. “I want the celebrities to sign my copy.”

  I recognized the banner at the top of the printout and felt a flutter in my pulse. I took the paper and gasped. “They actually did it,” I said softly, already scanning the article.

  “Who did what?” Gigi asked. She peeked over my shoulder. “What’s Catwalk?”

  “It’s an online fashion magazine that’s all the rage right now.” I was speaking quickly but my brain was still racing ahead of my words. “Catwalk is like a real-time account of what’s on trend in the fashion world. Everyone follows them. Our publicist at Milano used to fall all over herself just to get a lunch with the Catwalk staff. Their blessing can skyrocket a product or a line or a single garment to success.” My eyes shone as I pointed to the article. “And they did a story about us.”

  Miss Evelyn recited the headline. “ ‘Your Favorite Summer Dress Ever . . . Made in Iowa?’ You’re putting our town on the map, Grace Kleren! Our state!” Evelyn’s hands were flapping as she gestured down the street. “We should have a parade!”

  “Have mercy, Evelyn,” Gigi said, but she was smiling. “That’s a bit much.”

  I stared at the article, still stunned. “A writer emailed me with some questions, and she asked for a photo, but I never thought she’d actually write it up. I didn’t think we’d make the cut. There’s so much competition for coverage.”

  Gigi had taken the paper and was scrutinizing the photo. After a moment, she gave it back to me. “Not a bad photo,” she decided. “We look happy.”

  Miss Evelyn and I looked at the pic together. We really did look happy. I’d snapped a selfie with my phone a few days before the writer had emailed, and, assuming it would never find its way into the magazine anyway and far too busy to consider making a more formal attempt at a photo, I’d sent it onward. I laughed to myself, thinking of the thousands and thousands of dollars typically spent on a fashion photo shoot, and how my freebie, taken during a coffee break, was the one that made Catwalk.

  I hugged both women to me, which was a feat considering I was also jumping up and down. “I can’t believe we are in Catwalk!” I said into Evelyn’s perm.

  Evelyn squealed. “I can’t wait to spread the word!”

  Gigi slipped out of my hug. “All right, all right.” She rearranged her mail and started for the porch. “I’m starting dinner. You two can keep jumping on the sidewalk.”

  “I’ll help,” I called, giving Miss Evelyn a last celebratory side hug before walking up to the house.

  “Good night, you two,” Evelyn called. “I can’t stay. I have a lot of phone calls to make.”

  Gigi rolled her eyes at me. She tugged on the front porch door and held it while I stepped through. “That woman just might do what she threatens and organize a parade.”

  I giggled, light-headed with the news. “We’re already having a hard time keeping up with orders. This is going to make it even more of a challenge. I should check my phone and see what’s happening on Etsy.”

  “No phones,” she said suddenly. She turned my shoulders toward the stairs. “You talked all the way home about how badly you wanted to sit in the claw-foot and take a long, hot bath. So go do it.”

  I protested. “You’re tired too. I can help with dinner and take a bath afterward.”

  She shook her head quickly. “Not an option. I’m getting bossy tonight. Go.” With a little more prodding, she had me on the stairs.

  “But—”

  She put up one hand as she walked away from me. “Go. Don’t argue with a famous person.”

  When I descended the stairs an hour later, I felt the delicious contentment that comes after a good soak with too many bubbles. I’d slipped into a long sundress, an early mock-up of a new design I’d been tinkering with at the barn. The fabric fell like water and moved with the same effortlessness. I had a feeling the deep blue was a good pairing with my skin and the tumble of hair I no longer attempted to straighten in the growing humidity of an Iowa summer. Curls and waves won the battle starting about this time in June and would be the victors until September, if memory served. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and I saw myself smiling. I was right about the dress. I made a mental note to start on the pattern later that night.

  When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I took a long and indulgent inhale. “Gigi, it smells heavenly in here.” I walked to the stove, where she was stirring. “You made your Bolognese?” I sighed happily. “You really love me.”

  “I really do,” she said, then took a sip off the end of her wooden spoon. “I loved you all the way to last weekend, when I let this simmer for about six hours before freezing it, all ready to break out on a night when we wanted to celebrate but were too tired to cook. I think tonight fits the bill.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to appraise me. She nodded and said, “Good work. You look nice.”

  “Do you like it?” I turned, showing her the side profile. “I’m thinking we could use that sapphire silk for—”

  “No work talk.” She handed me a candle and matches and nudged me toward the back door. “We’re eating outside. Light this for me, will you?”

  She was so intent on hurrying me outside, I didn’t have a chance to answer. The light was beginning to take on the buttery yellow of dusk, and when my eyes adjusted, I took a sharp breath. Tucker was standing under the branches of Gigi’s maple, one hand holding a drink and the other shoved in his pocket.

  “Wow,” he breathed, taking me in. “Gracie, you look, um, really beautiful.”

  I crossed the distance between us giddily and joined him under the strings of lights Gigi had draped in the branches of the tree. “And you look rather beautiful too,” I said before kissing him on the cheek. Tucking my nose into his neck, I murmured my approval. He smelled of cedarwood and fresh-cu
t grass. “And you smell delicious.” I pulled back and looked at his face, one that I was daydreaming about more often than not. “Is this our new thing, then? You show up for dinner looking all spiffy, complicit with my grandma but not letting me know beforehand?”

  His smile said I’d nailed it. “What fool would turn down a dinner invitation from the two most beautiful women in town? If I have to keep secrets with your grandma, so be it.”

  I shook my head. “Outnumbered again. I have no power in this small but mighty town.” He stopped my grumbling with a soft kiss.

  After a moment, he pulled away. His eyes were bright. “How was your day?”

  “Unbelievable,” I said, and launched into a breathless account of our Catwalk coup. Gigi soon joined us and placed steaming plates of pasta on the patio table. She handed each of us a glass and announced that we were celebrating the success of Flyover.

  “Flyover?” Tucker said, his eyes already twinkling.

  Gigi grinned. “Do you like it?”

  I raised my glass. “To Flyover. Taking back the name and putting Silver Creek in the spotlight it deserves.”

  We toasted, and Tucker caught my eye as the drink cooled my throat. I smiled at him, taking in his face, the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel lovely and smart and like the only person in every room we shared.

  He cleared his throat, suddenly serious. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, first to me, and then, remembering himself, turning to Gigi. “Of both of you.”

  Gigi’s laugh rang over us, a musical duo with the rush of the breeze in the leaves above. “Tucker, you are sweet to involve an old woman in your compliments, but you and I both know I am not the main attraction here tonight.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he grinned.

  “Miss Gigi, nothing happens around here without your blessing, and you know it. No need to wonder.”

  They bantered back and forth, and I soaked it all in, fully satisfied with the day, the night, the company, the food. Not around the tables of the most exotic and sought-after restaurants in New York, I was sure, was there this satiating mix of joy and happy weariness of life lived well and in community. I closed my eyes, listening to the lively conversation enveloping me, and found myself trying out the thought that God was real, and that He was capable of giving really good gifts. Not only taking those good gifts away, I added quickly, sure from wrenching experience that the taking away was His to claim too. But perhaps there was more to it, more to Him than I’d allowed myself to wonder in a long while. I felt a small smile form. Surprise, surprise, I thought, opening my eyes and looking at Gigi. You’d never know it, but the girl who talks tough is also thinking about God, right under your nose.

  I was turning around my own surprise at my covert musings when my phone rang within the house.

  “Good gracious,” Gigi said, pushing back her chair with annoyance. “That thing never shuts off. It’s the third time it’s rung since we got out here.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said, rising to my feet. The last time I’d asked Gigi to turn off my phone, she’d ended up punching a series of numbers that caused effects I was still puzzling over. I bounded up the steps to the kitchen and grabbed the phone off the counter. I’d turned and was walking back to the table when I stopped, midstride, the porch door slapping shut behind me.

  My eyes widened and I felt a rush of adrenaline course through me. I held up the phone, which had gone quiet for a bit but then began to ring again. Offering it as if evidence, I said, disbelief in my voice, “It’s James.”

  seventeen

  I swiped to answer the call. “James?” After our rather public good-bye, I hadn’t heard one word from him, and I couldn’t imagine what would possess him to call now.

  “Grace! Hello!” He sounded triumphant. “I’m so glad to finally reach you. I’ve been trying for the last two hours, nonstop. Cell service a little rough in the great beyond, eh?” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

  I looked at Tucker, who was watching me from his seat at the table, candlelight flickering on his face. Gigi caught my eye and narrowed hers. I’d made rough sketches of James to Tucker, but Gigi had a fuller picture of those last few weeks in New York, including James’s notable silence after the Milano debacle. I could see the skepticism fall over her expression.

  “How can I help you?” I said, hoping the cold reception would remind him of a helpful Target associate, not a former eager flirting partner and employee.

  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word, “I have some news. And a proposal.”

  I broke my gaze with Tucker and walked a bit into the backyard. Tucker within reach and James’s voice in my ear was a pairing that was freaking me out. “I’m listening,” I said when James didn’t continue.

  “Great. That’s great.” I could hear relief in his voice. “I just want you to listen. I’ve left Milano.”

  “You left?” I sputtered, trying to imagine a Milano without James and a James without Milano. They were so connected in my mind and in my experience, I could barely comprehend what he was saying. “When? Why?”

  “The day after you left, actually,” he said. “I’d been trying to get up my nerve for months. I’d been working on a side project in off-hours, really loving what I was doing, and Milano had become a place where I was paid well but not thriving at all. Let’s just say Nancy and I had creative differences. Perhaps you can identify.”

  I paused, waiting for him to continue.

  “So,” he said when I said nothing, “when I saw how Nancy treated you and how crazy she was to let you go, I realized I was done there. It was time to jump ship.”

  “Wow,” I said, mind reeling. “Sounds terrifying.”

  He laughed. “It was. But it was definitely the right decision. I know that more every day.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m happy for you, James.” I said it slowly, wondering what on earth his Oprah lightbulb moment had to do with me.

  “Actually,” James said, as if reading my thoughts, “this whole story is the reason for my call. Grace, I’m starting my own line, and I want you to be a part of it.”

  I could hear Tucker and Gigi talking quietly, but with the roar in my ears I didn’t register a word they were saying. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve leased a space in the Garment District. I have a full team of people, many from Milano who followed me and my vision. We are creating a full line of women’s everyday and evening. I’m calling it Saffron, and I want your new company—your new genius company—to be a part of it.”

  “Wait,” I said. I was pacing, my free hand on my forehead. “You want my dresses? Our dresses?”

  “Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “You’re on to something phenomenal. The fabrics, the silhouettes, the easy elegance, the grannies, everything. I love it all. And I’m not alone, as you know. Congrats on the Catwalk piece, by the way.” His laugh was a low rumble in my ear. “Iowa girl makes good, Miss Kleren. The whole story is, well, seductive.”

  I felt my pulse quicken, his words seeping into my parched NYC pride, still injured and smarting months after our last conversation. “I’ve found a great team here,” I said. “We’ve hit on something really fantastic. And I love it.”

  “That’s wonderful. Grace.” His words were coming fast, urgent. “Come back. I’ll give Flyover full financial backing, and I’m in the position to do what you need to grow this company. I have a seat on United on hold for you right now. Just say the word and get on the plane tomorrow. I’ll do everything else.”

  I realized I needed to blink. My eyes had widened so big and for so long, I had forgotten to blink. Get it together, Kleren, I thought, eyes on the blue-black grass under my sandals. The lights strung in Gigi’s tree were far behind me now. “Will it still be my company?”

  “Yes.” He spoke decisively. “Totally yours, just under the larger paradigm of Saffron.”

  “What about my design authority? My vision?”

  “That’s
what I love most. Your ideas, your vision, your designs—we want it all. You have the final word on everything.”

  I looked up then, my view filled with a sky full of summer starlight. “What about my team? The grandmas are a deal breaker. They stay or I’m out.” My heart was hammering in my chest, knowing this was a big ask, one that could topple the whole deal before I set one foot in New York.

  “The grannies stay,” James said firmly. “They are the heart of the company and of the whole narrative. They’re a huge part of why this works.”

  My throat constricted and I struggled to speak.

  “Everyone is going to love the grannies.” He laughed.

  “Thanks for seeing that, James.”

  He waited a beat, and when he spoke again, he sounded like he was fighting some emotion. “Grace, I need you here. Please come and make this so much better than what it could ever be without you.”

  When I returned to the table I bypassed my seat completely and sat instead on Tucker’s lap. I took his face in my hands and kissed him loudly. “Guess what?” I said, beaming. “James wants us.”

  Tucker raised one eyebrow. “If this is the James you’ve mentioned before, I’m afraid I don’t want him. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  I laughed, feeling a lightness that made an already perfect night blossom into something for the history books. “It is the same James, but I mean he wants Flyover. He wants to invest in the company but let me retain all design and staffing authority.” I felt my cheeks starting to ache, so wide was my smile.

  “Honey, that’s wonderful,” Gigi said, coming to kiss me on the top of my head. “I’m so proud of you.” She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked at me, her expression unreadable. “You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve to take this dream wherever you want it to land.”

  “We’ve all worked hard,” I said, jumping up to help Gigi clear the dishes. “That’s the best part. He wants the whole team. Says it’s all part of the charm of the brand.”