But what if? What if one time she was wrong?
What if one time she was worth...?
Mia picked up her camera and scrolled through her photographs. “Did Marissa like the subtle and tasteful shimmer you added to her ball gown?”
“She liked the second jeweled belt I attached.” Josie cringed. Marissa had slipped on the gown in Josie’s dressing room, posed at every possible angle in the floor-length mirror. Then uttered the most appalling three words ever: it’s not enough.
But Marissa had very specific ideas on how to improve her gown. On how to make sure the gown was enough. Josie had apologized to the dress every other stitch.
Mia lowered the camera. Horror strained her words into a tight whisper. “You added another belt? More bling?”
“It was what she requested,” Josie argued. If only Josie had the courage to request Marissa not mention Josie had done the alterations. That wasn’t exactly the style of work she wanted tied to her name. If only it wasn’t exactly the kind of custom alterations that helped pay her bills.
Dismay lifted Mia’s eyebrows upward.
Josie was supposed to stand behind her work. Except picturing those twin crystal-and-rhinestone belts made her shudder. Acknowledging her reluctance eroded her optimism. “Marissa was delighted.”
Mia frowned at her.
“Sometimes you have to stand up for your design style. Too much compromise dilutes what you’re worth.” Theo shifted his full focus to her. The criticism in his tone deflated the lightness in his voice.
Now Josie wanted to kick Theo under the table, not loiter under his blunt, albeit charming gaze. She pushed her words past her gritted teeth. “Marissa paid well over full price for the alterations.”
He arched one eyebrow before he nodded. Not that she needed his endorsement. But she required his approval. If she intended to take her business and Mia’s to the next level, his family had to want her custom gowns.
“But you had other ideas,” Theo pressed.
“It wasn’t my dress.” Josie shrugged. It was her business. Her brand. One that required money to sustain itself.
“You have other dresses.” Theo leaned toward her, not letting Josie avoid him. He tapped his finger on the gold inlay inside the marble tabletop.
The same gold that matched her thread.
“Wait.” Mia scooted closer to Josie. “You have original Josie Beck clothes that I haven’t seen. Ever.”
Josie nodded. She’d sewn a dress for attending The Phantom of the Opera. A sundress for a sunset walk on the beach. A skirt and blouse for a picnic in a vineyard. More for a ride in a horse-drawn carriage. A visit to the botanical gardens. A candlelit dinner. Formal events. Informal date nights. Places she dreamed about visiting. Special occasions she wanted to experience.
The invitations never came. Even during her marriage, her ex had preferred the company of his business associates and laptop. So she’d filled her closet with dreams, like Mimi had taught her to do.
“How did I not know this?” Mia glanced from Josie to Theo and back. “How many are there?”
Theo shrugged. “I haven’t seen them yet.”
Mia rubbed her hands together. The firmness in her tone suggested she was going to double down on locating Josie’s custom dresses. “I’m betting on dozens.”
Theo considered Josie, surprise in his voice. “You have a collection.”
“I have a hobby.” Josie rubbed her hands over her legs recalling her ex-husband’s words. If you wore these name-brand clothes rather than your own, you’d fit in with the partners’ wives. Did you know your clothes look handmade? Is that really the image we want to put out there? “I make clothes.”
She made clothes when she was sad. To fight the loneliness. To fill her sleepless nights. To pretend she had places to go. Mimi had given a ten-year-old Josie the chance to imagine a different life for herself and create that world in clothes. She’d continued the tradition even now.
“Why wouldn’t you display your work at your store?” The confusion in Theo’s voice pulled Josie’s gaze to him.
Josie stared at him. He wasn’t pretending. Wasn’t passing judgment. His eyebrows pulled together. He watched her as though she’d just admitted she lived a double life, and was an astronaut. Josie gave him the same response as before. “They aren’t ready.” I’m not ready.
“What you have is a stubborn streak.” Affection and kindness swirled through Mia’s voice. She recognized her own stubbornness and appreciated Josie’s, or so she liked to inform Josie.
Perhaps. But that stubbornness protected her.
“Tell her, Theo.” Mia waved at Theo as if he was the voice of reason. “Tell Josie she’s being selfish keeping her designs tucked away and not sharing them with the world.”
Theo drummed his fingers on the arm of the leather chair, his face thoughtful. There was a reflective tone in his words. “At the very least, you should have guided Marissa in the direction you believed was best.”
“He agrees with me.” Mia jumped up, triumph in her voice. “My work here is done. Now I’m off to rescue these gingerbread experts from my husband.”
But would Marissa have been upset and refused to pay her? If Josie changed Theo’s grandmother’s gown, would Theo approve? Would he have faith she could transform that wedding dress into something exceptional and fitting for his sister? Josie swallowed, too afraid to ask. The same way she feared revealing her so-called collection to the world. Some things were better left undiscovered. Better left unjudged.
She looked at Theo. “What do you think about the gingerbread Christmas Town?”
“It’s quite an experience.” He leaned back in his chair, as if allowing the obvious change in subject to pass by him.
“For me, it’s about the memory.” Josie smiled. Mia and Wyatt both hugged an amused pastry chef, then slipped outside onto the patio together.
Theo rose and moved to the chair closest to Josie. “How many memories of this place do you have?”
“One.” Josie squeezed her eyes closed. Only a moment. What was it about Theo that made her open up? She hated being exposed. Hated revealing herself. She willed herself to stop talking.
“Must be an extraordinary memory to keep you coming back year after year.” His quiet voice surrounded her.
She stared at her empty hands. She’d been coming back every Christmas for more than a decade. How strange that she didn’t have more than one memory to hold onto. “It was supposed to be our tradition.”
“You and your ex’s tradition?” he asked.
She wasn’t certain if it was the idea or his question that startled her. She looked at Theo and shook her head. “My ex-husband never came here.” To be fair, she’d never invited him.
“He wasn’t into traditions.” Theo angled toward her, holding her gaze.
“Not holiday traditions.” She grimaced. “Those interfere with business.”
“In defense of business traditions, our back-office employees have the week between Christmas and New Year’s off every year.” His grin, small and quick, signaled his triumph. He knew he’d surprised her and redirected her traipsing too deep into her past. He added, “It’s a very popular tradition among the staff.”
“What do you do on that week off?” Josie leaned toward him, bracing her elbow on the armrest.
He shrugged. “Work.”
Now he’d strayed back into her ex-husband’s category. Suddenly, she didn’t like Theo being there. She’d sensed there was more than profit margins and eighty-hour work weeks to him. Wanted to believe she hadn’t been wrong. Then perhaps she could prove to him she was more, too.
“Would you stop scowling at me if I told you it’s one my most productive weeks every year?” He watched her. His expression was full of hope. He smiled.
Josie laughed. “As long as you tell me you tak
e a real vacation each year.”
“Define ‘real vacation,’” he said.
“Not a staycation. Not a work-on-the-beach trip. Or work-in-the-ski-lodge weekend.”
His smile faded beneath his pensive tone. “It’s been too long since I’ve taken a real vacation.”
“You could start a new tradition,” she suggested.
“Like coming here is yours.”
“I come back to remember.” Josie heard the laughter from her very first visit like bursts of starlight all around her. Saw the joy in the families gathered around the massive display. Pictured the gingerbread town—half the size than it was now, yet no less enchanting that afternoon. Noted the same wonder she’d seen on the faces of the girls and boys straining to see inside each window and past each door. “I come back to remind myself to dream.”
“I was taught dreams were a waste of time.” Theo stretched out his legs, unconcerned by his confession.
Josie gaped at him. “Who told you that?” And why? She’d have given up long ago without her dreams.
“My teachers.” He folded his hands together on his lap. His tone offhand. His voice indifferent. “The school counselors, even our headmaster. The Copper Cove Academy activates its students’ academic and emotional potential to ensure success throughout every stage of life. Through proper character formation, a student’s full academic capacity will be reached.”
And Josie considered her childhood rough. Character formation sounded like some medieval-style punishment. “Sounds strict.”
“The Copper Cove Academy raises men to thrive in the world, not boys who collapse under pressure.” Theo lifted his hands and made finger quotes. “That was a favorite of several high-school professors and the varsity coaches.”
“I thought parents raised their children,” she said.
“I was enrolled in Copper Cove Academy from first grade until I graduated high school. In third grade, after my grandmother passed, I was sent to board there full-time.” His voice was remote, as if he’d deleted himself from the memories. As if he’d detached his feelings from the situation. “Then I went to college.”
“What about your parents?” She searched his face, then curled her fingers into her palms rather than touch his cheek and chase away the cool indifference.
His fingers flexed on the armrests, as if he was bracing himself. “They were busy building my inheritance.”
“But who gave you a snack after school? Who hugged you when you had a fight?” She’d seen the photographs of the Taylor family all together. Before and after his father’s death. The similar smiles. The linked arms. The easy affection. It appeared in every snapshot. Over and over again. An ideal American family. There was nothing ideal in his rigid posture. Or the isolation he’d wrapped himself in.
Her voice snagged on the emptiness in his hooded gaze. “Who...?”
She stopped asking because she knew the answer. No one.
She ached for him. Everywhere. His pain leaked inside her chest, joining with her own.
“You never read that in any article about me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if removing the past, and glanced around the tearoom.
He’d spent more time in a boarding school than with his own family. The same as she’d spent more time in the school libraries than at her foster homes. Should she share how much and how well she understood him? Would he reach for her this time or turn away? Unsure what she wanted, she asked, “Why did you tell me?”
He lowered his arm and faced her. His gaze locked on hers, open and candid. He was no longer detached. He was present in this moment. With her.
“I told you because I’ve never built a gingerbread house, either.”
Josie exhaled and tested the stability of the common ground between them. “When I was ten, my foster mom brought me here to see the gingerbread-town display for the first time.”
His smile was swift and fleeting.
She worried she’d gone too far. Too late. “We couldn’t afford the tea service here at the hotel. Mimi brought her own blend, tucked inside her sewing basket. She carried a basket like most women carry a purse.” A small, bittersweet laugh flowed through her at the forgotten detail.
Josie picked up her own tote bag—but unlike Mimi’s straw one, hers was leather. Yet like Mimi, she stuffed the bag with her own sewing supplies and Mimi’s favorite thimble. Grief needled through her. Even the metal thimble lacked the strength to push back the loss inside her. Her voice wobbled. “It’s silly, I know. But I still carry the exact tea flavor in my purse.”
“So each year, you sit here, drink your tea and toast your foster mom.” He nodded as if he appreciated the sentiment.
Josie shook her head and caught the stray tear that tumbled free. “I’ve only passed through the display. Never sat and really remembered.” Until tonight. With you.
Theo ran his hands over the leather armrests and pushed himself out of the chair. He studied her, his face impassive. He opened his mouth, closed it, then turned and walked away.
Josie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine. Except...
Something rattled beside her head. Josie popped open her eyes. Theo stepped around the chairs, carrying a teacup on a saucer and a pot of hot water. Uncertainty seeped through his voice. “There’s no pressure. But if you want to sip your tea and take yourself back, it’s here.”
And he was there. Beside her. For the moment in the Silver Monarch Hotel, Josie felt safe again. Like that evening with Mimi so long ago. Collect the happy moments, Josie, and your life will be full. Mimi had taken Josie’s hand and walked out of the hotel, content that she’d collected another happy moment. Josie blinked until the tears cleared slightly. She picked up the teapot and filled the cup. “Thank you.”
Theo nodded, pulled his chair closer to Josie and sat down.
“Mimi and I sat on the velvet benches near the windows until past my bedtime and designed every inch of our own gingerbread house.” Josie opened the tea bag and set it into the hot water. Inhaled the spicy scent and the sweeter pieces of the past. The ones that coated the sorrow. “Pretzel Christmas trees and melted hard candies for windows and candy-cane pillars on the front porch.”
“What did you plan for the roof and chimney?” he asked. “Santa needs a chimney to deliver the gifts.”
“Stacked caramels for the chimney and frosted-wheat cereal for the roof,” she replied. His frown drew laughter out of her. Wyatt and he had planned differently. Still, she appreciated him guiding her away from the pain and into the good parts of this particular memory.
“I suppose that’s both creative and sturdy,” he finally acknowledged.
“There wasn’t a detail we’d missed that night.” But so many she’d misplaced. Until now.
“Sounds like a magical time.”
“The best I can remember.” She sipped the cinnamon-orange tea, warmed by the hot liquid, her memories and Theo’s presence.
“Why not build that gingerbread house now?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t be the same.” She curved her hands around the teacup and skimmed her gaze over the families and couples strolling through the display. “The joy and magic are in creating and building something together. As a family. Mimi always said that was the secret to the perfect gingerbread house.”
“Mimi is your fortune-cookie muse.” Affection gentled his voice, mellowing his tone. “What else did Mimi tell you? She sounds like my Grandmother Pearl—always brimming with life advice or a quick, witty quip, as she called them.”
“She often told me ‘Josie, bleeding is going to happen and sometimes it’s going to be all your fault.’” Josie laughed at the look of horror on Theo’s face as his jaw dropped open. “She taught me to sew. ‘The needles are quite sharp, and our fingers sometimes get in the way.’”
Theo’s fa
ce cleared. “She sounds like a talented woman.”
“She was that and so much more.” Josie added water to her cup, extending the moment, clutching the fond memories that she so seldom revisited.
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“She passed away the following spring.” Grief burned where the tea had soothed. Josie exchanged Mimi’s cottage for one foster family after another. All the while Josie had continued to sew and learn her craft. Every stitch, every finished garment had helped her feel closer to Mimi. Helped her remember Mimi’s love.
“I’m sorry.” The low timbre in his voice was as warm and soothing as a hug.
Sometimes it was the simplest things—the smallest words—that righted someone’s world. Josie curled into the chair with her teacup and relaxed.
Theo spread hotel cocktail napkins across the table and asked a passing waitress for a pen. He grinned at Josie. “Now we plan.”
“What?”
“Our gingerbread houses, of course.” He accepted the pen from the waitress and wrote Josie’s name on top of a napkin and his name on another.
An hour later, Josie walked out of the hotel next to Theo. Their gingerbread napkins folded and stuffed in her coat pocket. The happy moment collected.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JOSIE SET HER hands on her hips and stepped back to study Adriana in the first of the prototype gowns. Adriana had piled her dark hair into an intricate updo, then added a single red rose from the dozen Ryan had sent her that morning for no particular reason. Other than he was a man in love.
Ryan adored Adriana openly and honestly, as if Adriana gave his world meaning. Josie might’ve envied the woman if she was looking for someone to share her life with, which she wasn’t. Despite the moment she’d collected last night with Theo.
Small branches of baby’s breath burst from Adriana’s hair like tiny clouds. Her upswept hair complemented the illusion sleeves on the Helen-inspired dress and the fitted shape exposed her elegant figure.
“It’s impeccably crafted.” Adriana twisted to take in the plunging back of the gown. “Well-constructed. Lovely.”
In Love by Christmas Page 13
