The Hope Dress

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Am I alone in thinking there is something between us, Sylvie? If I’m off base, say so, and the whole idea of spending an evening together will be forgotten.”

  “You’re, uh, not alone.” Her admission came out sounding squeaky.

  He took one hand off the wheel and, in the dark, found her cheek. He brushed it softly, then clasped her fidgeting fingers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had feelings for anyone, Sylvie. What about you?”

  “The same,” she said, unable to meet his searching gaze.

  “I believe you said there was a man who hurt you.” Again he let silence engulf them. “Just thinking if you’re still hung up on him, this probably isn’t a good idea.”

  She bit her lower lip. “I— Someone made a fool of me, Joel. Maybe I trust too easily. I’m a country girl at heart, and always will be.”

  “Well, now.” He expelled a ragged breath. “All I’m proposing is that we take advantage of my having a free evening. To get to know each other better. I like being around you. But you seem really prickly, like at times you’d rather not be in the same room with me.” He broke off then, his voice letting him down with a gruff cough.

  She burrowed into the seat again. A soft smile, one that wasn’t the slightest bit forced, teased her lips. “You’re a fine one to talk, Joel Mercer. We didn’t exactly start off well, what with your cat and Oscar causing trouble. And I explained about the wedding vigilantes. I know, I know.” She held up a hand. “You’re immune—that R-factor thing. However, if you like popcorn and old movies, I think we may actually have a place to start over.”

  Joel couldn’t explain it if he tried, but all of a sudden he felt as if he’d dropped about ten years. He started to turn into Sylvie’s driveway, then slammed on the brakes, backed up and pulled into his own lane. “I’ll have you know I love popcorn, provided it’s slathered in artery-hardening butter. And I’ll stack my closet full of old movies against yours. I mean, when you’re single in a big city and you have a kid, late-night movies become a way of life.”

  Laughter filled the interior of Joel’s van. As they climbed from the vehicle, Sylvie said, “So, are we indulging in this movie fest at your house or mine?”

  “Yours,” he said, pocketing his keys to grab her hand. “This short jaunt to my house is insurance. If your nosy family takes it upon themselves to do a drive-by,” he said, sounding smug, “they’ll see both cars in their proper spots. Who’s to know where the drivers are?”

  “Brilliant, Mr. Mercer. I’m definitely beginning to like the way you think.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “GIVE ME A MINUTE to close all the drapes,” Sylvie said when they got inside. “Let my sisters speculate, if they do come by to check on us. It’s something I can see Mom doing, frankly. Carline’s probably too miserably pregnant. And Dory took the kids home, so it’s pretty far for her. But I wouldn’t put it past her to send Grant out for milk, and then make him promise to take the loooong way home. I guess you’re beginning to see what I meant about my family, Joel.”

  He rattled change in his front pockets. “In spite of that, I like them. They care about you, Sylvie. Every last one. They’re happy. Any fool can see they want the same for you. Your mom likes me, but she seems worried that I’ll get bored living in Briarwood. She doesn’t like me enough to have me start a relationship with you if I end up going back to the big city.”

  Sylvie just listened to what he had to say. Joel followed her into the kitchen, where she now emerged from the pantry with an electric corn popper. “Mom said all of that tonight?”

  “She’s subtle, yet at the same time, you get the picture. I’ll give Nan that. So, when’s your sister’s baby due? Your dad said something about Labor Day weekend? Did they plan that? A fitting time to schedule the arrival of a baby.”

  “Carline thinks she might go early. She had a lot of phantom pains tonight.”

  “My wife had those. Braxton-Hicks contractions, they told us.”

  “Was your divorce civilized, Joel? So many aren’t.” Sylvie plugged in the popper and passed Joel two unopened sodas, turning to measure out oil and corn.

  He popped one tab, then the other. “I guess you could say Lynn’s and my divorce was civilized, although it came as a shock to me. Rianne was a baby. We were saving, or so I thought, for a house. Lynn worked as a junior reporter for a local news channel. She came home one night and over dinner announced she’d accepted a post as foreign correspondent—a stepping-stone to bigger and better jobs. After I got past the initial blow, I asked about us. Me and Rianne.” He took a swig and motioned with the can. “She pointed out that I’d wanted a baby. I wanted the house. She said she wanted more. More money. More excitement. More freedom.”

  Sylvie watched the steam bead inside the popper lid. “At least she didn’t stab you in the back and run off with another man.”

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  Sylvie didn’t immediately speak. She tensed, then said curtly, “This popcorn will be done before you know it. My movies are stored in a glass-front cabinet on the east wall of my living room. Why don’t you go see if there’s something you like. Or at least can sit through. According to Grant and Jeff, men and women will never see eye to eye on what makes a good movie.”

  Figuring Sylvie didn’t want to talk about herself, Joel headed into the other room.

  “Wow! Okay, I take back everything I said about my movie supply competing with yours.” She had her DVDs alphabetized and neatly stored with the titles facing out. That was another difference between men and women. His collection was thrown in boxes without any order whatsoever.

  Joel settled on a 1940s swashbuckler, The Black Swan, starring Tyrone Power and Maureen O’Hara. It was probably a grade-B adventure-romance. But for now, it gave him reason not to go home to an empty house. He liked the idea of sitting on that couch with Sylvie. Maybe they’d even cuddle during the action scenes, he thought, slipping the cover off the movie. Not that those scenes were likely to get too scary.

  The smell of fresh popped corn filled the room as Sylvie entered carrying a large bowl. “Good, you found something, I see. Ah, and one I haven’t watched in a while. Pop it in the player, and then come and share some of this while the butter’s still hot.” She dropped a stack of paper napkins on the center cushion of the couch. As Joel sat, near enough to reach the bowl but not so close as to crowd Sylvie, he wondered if she’d covered the sofa herself. Other crafts scattered about the room contributed to a pleasingly warm atmosphere.

  The initial credits rolled. Neither Sylvie nor Joel were squeamish about diving right into the buttery mix, to the point of batting at each other’s hands. “Quit hogging,” they accused almost in the same breath. After that, they both had the grace to look guilty, and ended up laughing as good friends might.

  Joel spent as much time watching Sylvie enjoy her snack as he did on the movie.

  “You chose this film,” she finally muttered. “If you’re staring at me hoping I’ll get so self-conscious I’ll hand you the whole bowl, forget it. My sisters tried that trick at the theater. I don’t distract easily, Joel.”

  “Izzat so?” he drawled, studying her from sleep-lidded eyes as he inched nearer, not really having a plan to go farther. “It’s a rare man who can resist a dare like that.”

  Sylvie stopped munching popcorn and swallowed hard. There was something about the glitter deep in his eyes that said he had more than stealing popcorn on his mind.

  Joel didn’t make any sudden moves, nor did he rush. He caught her hand, which had gone still holding two pieces of popcorn. Lifting her hand to his lips, he nibbled the kernels out of her fingers, then methodically licked salty butter off each fingertip.

  She didn’t notice when Joel slipped the bowl off her lap and reached around her to set it on the lamp stand. A range of sensations seemed to paralyze her. As if detached, Sylvie heard voices from the movie soundtrack. Swords clashed in the background. Having steeled herself for so long against
any romantic feelings, Sylvie honestly believed she’d lost the capacity to experience them.

  But she hadn’t...

  Joel felt the quiver that ran through her. He loved the effect his touch had on the woman he was with. It was humbling and gratifying to feel Sylvie’s lips soften beneath his.

  As Joel kissed her tenderly, Sylvie realized that what she’d feared most about ever putting herself in this position again, in making herself vulnerable to another man, hadn’t occurred. Sylvie knew Joel didn’t love her, either, any more than Desmond had. But he made her feel cherished all the same. With Des, it’d always been about his pleasure. She could see that clearly now.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling away.

  “You stole my line,” he said, slipping a hand under her chin and tilting her head so he could see her eyes.

  “I suspect our popcorn has grown cold,” she said, not sure exactly what was expected after such a sweet, lingering kiss.

  Laughter rumbled from Joel’s stomach up through his chest, shaking them both. “My ego will really be hurt if you point out that we missed the best part of the movie, too.”

  She peered at the television, leaning her chin on his shoulder. “I don’t know about the best part. I’d say we missed all of it.”

  Her expression turned troubled. “Do you think tomorrow, when I go pick up the kids, that Dory or anyone will...figure out that we kissed?” She swung her legs over Joel’s, and finger-combed her tangled hair with one hand.

  Joel sat back, giving her more room. He studied her, a half smile lurking at the edges of his mouth. “If they walked in right this minute, the answer would be a definite yes.”

  Sylvie swatted him. “That’s a given, you dope. It’s that...Dory has my mother’s eyes. Eyes that can see right through you.”

  “Does it matter that Dory knows? We’re not kids, Sylvie.”

  She got up and crossed the room, turning off the movie that had gone to waste.

  Her obvious silence matched the pinched expression tightening her lips. Lips still swollen from his kisses.

  Joel found her hesitation troubling. “I was going to suggest making more popcorn and letting you choose the next movie. But...maybe I should go.”

  All business now, she scooped up the bowl and the nearly full cans of soda. “I could...uh...make coffee, if you’d like.”

  He went to stand next to her, skimming his hand along the slope of her cheek. Withdrawing, he lightly rubbed the first shadow of a beard. “Rianne could call me at home at any time, so we’d better hold off on that. At least until her next sleepover, when I have time to tell her to call my cell if she needs me.”

  “You, uh, want to do this again?” Sylvie asked, stopping at the kitchen door.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Joel chewed on his upper lip for a moment. He fought a rush of heat creeping up his neck. “To be honest, yes. But if all you wanted was a couple of kisses, I won’t make a pest of myself.”

  “No...no,” she rushed to say. “I...just never thought about down the road.” Sounding panicky, she said, “Really, Joel, nothing’s changed. Despite this evening. We can’t let Dory, Carline or my mom see the slightest hint. I swear they’d have our church booked, flowers ordered and a minister on tap.”

  He turned after he’d disengaged the front door lock, deciding to throw caution to the winds. “If that’s the case, shouldn’t I be the one to worry? According to rumors, you’re the one who has a secret wedding dress waiting for...what? The right man to come along?”

  There was a look of shock in her eyes. “Who...said such a thing?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t recall. Several people in town. Is it true?”

  “The dress they’re talking about is no one’s business, Joel. It’s...just...not!” She was so flustered, Joel held up his hands, palms out, to deflect further discussion.

  “Okay. Okay! Calm down. I’ve got no problem keeping our relationship a secret. I like you, and I think you like me. Whatever comes next, I’m fine with playing it by ear, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

  “Yes. That’d be best all the way around, Joel. Tomorrow, we’ll both go about our normal lives and see. Uh, good night.”

  He slipped out then, wondering at her sudden switch in—in what, exactly? She’d said all along that she didn’t have marriage in mind. Man, neither did he. Or did he? No, they were just neighbors. Neither had made a commitment of any kind tonight.

  Joel stomped down his lane and up onto his front porch. He didn’t have the slightest idea why he was so bothered by something most men he knew would leap at. A pretty neighbor willing to engage in a casual relationship. But bother him it did.

  Restless, yet filled with energy, Joel ended up pacing the floor in his office. If Sylvie didn’t care to tell him the story of the dress, he’d make up his own version. That was better anyway. Magnolia wasn’t Sylvie, and his strip was always a mix of truth and fiction.

  Besides, Sylvie was someone he’d come to care for—a lot. And what he’d seen in her eyes tonight after he’d brought up that cursed dress... Unguarded pain. Grief. Maybe the guy in New York had died. Death wasn’t something he did in his strip.

  He spent some time concocting a reason for Magnolia to be carting around a half-finished wedding dress. She was healing from inner wounds inflicted by a thoughtless lover—someone she’d trusted. Someone who’d left her for the clichéd other woman. Or maybe...the guy had used her in another way? What if he’d sponged off her? Off Magnolia’s hard work as a dressmaker.

  Rocking in his computer chair, Joel racked his brain. What if the cad had talked Magnolia into sewing a batch of wedding dresses, then sold them and pocketed the cash? Oh, yeah. Readers would be totally sympathetic. So, say this guy used the funds to elope with a real bimbo? His readers could relate to that, he’d bet.

  Before he shut off his computer, turned out the light and meandered bleary-eyed to bed, Joel had scanned and emailed three-fourths of the strips his boss had asked for. As well, he signed the contract and got it ready to return by courier the next day.

  * * *

  SYLVIE DUMPED THEIR uneaten popcorn, hand-washed and dried the glasses and bowl and generally tried to wipe out any sign that Joel had been there. She plumped the couch pillows on her way in to take a bath. Soaking until her hands and feet shriveled, Sylvie finally crawled out. After donning her nightgown, she pulled the cover off her last masterpiece. The last of her dream collection. Tonight, she sat and stared at the half-finished garment and cried. This dress represented so much, including the most beautiful of her sketches. And yet there it stood, the symbol of her failure. She hated that even after so long, town gossips were still speculating about her humiliation. She sobbed until she was drained. Until she fell asleep. These weren’t the first tears she’d shed over Desmond Emerson’s betrayal. The spy. The thief. Sylvie knew in her heart that she’d never heal until the memory of that last awful week in New York stopped making her cry.

  She awakened to light, noise and a blinding headache. The dress sat in the corner of her bedroom in all its icy beauty. Yards of silk tulle in a long train sprigged with lacy appliquéd branches, and leaves studded with seed pears and faux diamonds guaranteed to sparkle as the bride walked down the aisle.

  Once the previous night flooded back, Sylvie realized she’d overslept. What had awakened her, someone banging at the door? Grabbing a robe, Sylvie called, “Just a minute.” She stopped long enough to zip the cover over the mocking gown.

  Flinging open the door, she threw an arm over her eyes to ward off the blast of sunlight. She saw Rianne running up the Mercer drive.

  Her sister Dory waltzed into the house followed by Kendra and Peg Wiley, Dory’s neighbor and Sylvie’s client, whose spaniel was due to have puppies.

  “Are you sick?” Dory asked.

  “A headache is all. I took some aspirin last night,” Sylvie fibbed, tying her robe around her waist. She saw Dory circling the room, and was very glad she’d taken the time
to restore it to rights.

  But she’d missed putting away the video. Dory’s sharp eyes pinpointed it, and she swooped to pull it from Sylvie’s player.

  “My sister has a whole evening to entertain her high-voltage neighbor, and what does she do?” Dory wailed. “She watches a boring old movie.” Slapping the case back down, she followed her diatribe with a sound of disgust.

  Sylvie did what she always did—she laughed at her sister’s feigned outrage. And at the moment, was glad she’d forgotten to put away the movie. If Joel managed to act cool today, maybe they could keep her family in the dark.

  She hugged her niece hello, then greeted Peg Wiley.

  The woman could no longer contain her excitement. “Sylvie, Trixie had her babies last night! The vet helped deliver five of the most beautiful pups you’ll ever see. The kids, especially Kendra and Rianne, are dying to see them. Dory insisted we come and ask Rianne’s dad if she can stay longer. And I came to see if you still want one of the pups.”

  “Yes, I’ve decided I do. Just give me time to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Oh, Dory, while I dress, would you make us some coffee?”

  Kendra ran up to her mother. “Is it okay if I go next door to see why Rianne’s taking so long? She said she was only going home to tell her dad she wants to stay at our house until after lunch.”

  “Wait a minute. Sylvie,” Dory called, “instead of Kendra going next door, you can trot over there in your sexy red robe. If that doesn’t wake up Mr. Mercer, then he’s a walking corpse.”

  Sylvie blushed; she could feel it. “Dory, he’s a nice man. And a good father. But he’s nothing more than a neighbor. I wish you’d stop this.”

  “Dad or not, Joel Mercer’s hot. Carline thinks so, too.” Dory had followed Sylvie to her bedroom.

  Sylvie shoved her sister out.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Dory’s expression was uncharacteristically sober. “It’s not just his looks. He could be the right guy for you. Plus he has a kid—a ready-made family. And considering how much he adores her, he’d probably want another kid if he got married again.” Dory shrugged lightly. “You know, Sylvie, I really wouldn’t trade a moment of motherhood. It’s the most fulfilling experience in the world. And you’re going to wait until it’s too late.”