“Come over there? Now? No, I’m going home. I’ve got a date with some ice cream.”
“No, little sis. You come by here. I’ve got something better than ice cream.”
Better than ice cream? Now we were talking. “Whaddya got? Baklava? I knew you weren’t serious about starting our food program today. Baklava is in the points book, but—”
“No, Dane, no baklava. What I’m going to feed you will keep you full for a long time. We’re going to cook up some dreams.”
The dream was almost done. A little raw in the center, overdone around the edges, but the details for my closet-hobby-turned-business were falling into place. The past few weeks had been a flurry of paperwork and planning—two things I’m not too good with. First, burning the midnight oil with a business plan had kept me busy. Then came the fun stuff—market research, product line development, price points and displays—all the stuff I’d dreamed about.
Only the reality turned out to be more like a nightmare. The insurance? Forget it. I came home from that meeting sweating like I’d been to spinning class. For extra fun, add in ordering bacteria challenge tests for my products, designing labels, obtaining UPC codes. All sorts of madness. But somehow, I felt more alive than ever. I’d thought Rochelle was nuts to push me into this, but I had to admit being excited. More excited than I’d been about anything in a long time, except maybe when Adrian showed up again. But now he’d disappeared just as quickly.
Mind your business. I’ve got him.
And you.
I smiled, easing my hand over the almost unrecognizable scar under my eye. My cocoa butter soap and lotion had done wonders. Renee, who’d volunteered to help me unload boxes, peeked around the corner of my Thanksgiving display, a burst of orange, gold, copper and green draped the shelves in layers. A cornucopia full of pumpkin pie bath bombs would soon grace the top for effect.
An emerald nail cradled Renee’s cheek. “I know this wasn’t easy, but I’m so glad it worked out. This is so…you. I can’t believe Rochelle gave you the rest of the money though. I knew she did well over there with those shoes, but this well?” She swept a hand around the upscale retail unit.
I snapped on my latex gloves and a pair of goggles before heaving a tub of sodium hydroxide, a necessary and lethal ingredient in all soap, toward the back. Why was it Renee always voiced my thoughts?
“I don’t know the details, Renee. I didn’t ask. I’m thinking she took out a loan. She said it’s a gift, but I’m going to pay her back. Somehow.”
The empty shelves stared back at me mockingly as I tried to imagine them full of jars and bottles sporting the funky fuchsia and tangerine labels Tracey had designed.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do it. Wonderfully Made is going to be a hit.”
“I hope so.” Besides Rochelle’s gift, I’d secured a small loan for women-owned businesses and cashed in my pitiful retirement fund. The cheery flowers on my foaming bath oil caught my attention, the product’s title hugged the curve of the bright petals in a swirling script on the label.
Hope floats.
I sighed. Hoping. Helping. That’s what this was about, helping women relax and rediscover their God-given beauty instead of cutting and peeling themselves into an early grave. It’d work out somehow.
Renee stood back as I passed by, as if the lye could escape the container and harm her somehow. Her posture humored me, but I was glad she took the safety concerns seriously. I’d been reluctant to let her come today, knowing the lye shipment needed to be stored properly. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Tired of dragging the fifty-pound-double-garbage-bagged lump across the floor, I pushed it with my boot, hoping no stray lye crystals would jump onto my shoe somehow. Toe burns were no fun. Smelling a velvety bar of lavender oatmeal, six weeks old and smooth to the cut, made tasks like this bearable. Though I’d made hundreds of batches, there was still nothing quite like bathing with soap I’d made. It seemed the longer it cured the better it felt.
Getting to the point where I had supplies to shove around hadn’t been easy. To pull it off, my life had become an express business seminar. My days had been laced with acronyms from dawn to dusk—IRS, SBA and SCORE—all which basically illuminated the fact that I was BROKE. But God did it anyway.
In spite of the odds, Wonderfully Made, my soon-to-be-opened bath and body shop, was a reality. I scanned the back room of this freshly painted strip mall unit. With boxes everywhere, the place didn’t look much different than my dining room at first sight, but the stucco lining the walls and the chandelier in the main area hinted at the possibilities.
I hoped this place would live up to its name. Adrian had certainly lived up to the title of his business, heart kicker in the first degree.
Easy come, easy go.
He’d no doubt returned to Chicago by now. Though it hurt that he hadn’t said goodbye, I was thankful. With him around, my mind had played tricks on me. Dangerous tricks.
I looked down at my bare wedding finger. Maybe I needed to take my relationship with Jesus as seriously as Adrian had taken being with Sandy. And Jesus was still alive…
That’s deep.
Lugging the bag of chemicals into the hazardous materials cabinet, I strained to remember a thought that could be food for the devotionals I owed the Sistahood. Especially Tracey, whose new husband had not only declined to apologize for his physical and emotional absence on their honeymoon, but scheduled a series of out-of-town trips in the weeks following. And she was not invited to tag along.
A chime rang at the front as I emerged from the storage area. It’d taken Rochelle long enough to get the food. The deli was only a block away. She’d rejoined Weight Watchers with me enough times to know how cranky I could be on Week One, even if we were trying to do it on our own this time. I’d seen the I-can’t-believe-your-fat-self-is-here-again receptionist’s car on Saturday and peeled out like a wimp.
I pushed back my gloves and grabbed the drawstring handles of another bag of lye. I’d have to wash down the floor with vinegar before leaving tonight. Next time, I’d have the guy deliver to the back. I gathered my determination as the weight taxed my strength. At least I’d have some food now, I thought, heaving with all my might. “What’d you get? Not plain turkey, I hope. Some honey mustard at least—”
“I didn’t bring any food, but I could go get some if you’d like.”
Adrian’s voice stopped me cold. Only my safety phobia allowed for how that lye bucket made it back to the floor without spilling. I looked down at my sweatshirt and holey jeans in horror. Renee’s laughter whispered from behind the display behind me. What was he doing here?
He stepped around a stack of boxes. “Hey.”
I stumbled over my former burden, suddenly unconcerned with the danger of its contents. He looked like a dream. A beige turtleneck sweater smoothed against his chocolate throat. His jeans fit, but were slack enough for comfort. A gold stud he’d abandoned when he got saved ten years before sparkled in his left lobe. Tapered loafers and a hip-length leather jacket the same color as his skin finished off the ensemble. He held a small Kick! bag in his hand.
“You look like dinner.” Renee snickered.
No, she didn’t say that. Bad enough that I was thinking it. When Adrian left, I was going to get Renee good. I cut her a scathing look. She raised an eyebrow, knowing that she’d voiced my true thoughts as usual.
Adrian doubled over with laughter, shaking his head as he straightened. “And you two look like businesswomen. Congratulations.” He slipped out of his jacket. His muscular shoulders strained against the knit shirt as he sat the bag on the floor. As his graceful fingers intertwined around the garbage bag handles, his wedding ring was notably absent.
“No busineswoman here. I’m just helping out, though I’ve always been part of the vision.” Renee walked to the front of the store and started cleaning the windows. I’d have to give her double vision if she didn’t hush.
He picked up an hourglass-shaped vial
of shower gel—Peachy Kleen. “Nice logo and trade dress. Tracey?”
I nodded. Most people wouldn’t recognize Tracey’s signature curls and swirls, but as her friends, we recognized her work easily. “Yes, she did an excellent job.”
Adrian nodded, lowering his voice. “When were you going to tell me?”
I stared into the empty display case, then took a seat on the floor, Indian style. “I don’t know. I didn’t know where you were. I figured you’d gone back to Chicago.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I have a cell phone. E-mail. Not that I’m one to give advice on communication.”
“True.” I leaned over and opened a box of body butter and started loading it on a low shelf. As hard as it’d been to get these products made and labeled, making the display looked like it would be just as difficult. Especially with Adrian around. He pushed up his sleeves and squatted down beside me. Right beside me.
“I went to do management training for the Chicago warehouse and manufacturing plant, but now I’m here.” His lips brushed my forehead. “Where I belong.”
I adjusted the bandanna on my head, using all my willpower to keep from wrestling him to the ground. Why did he say such things? I dragged another box toward me.
“How’d you find me anyway?” I asked, back to the task at hand.
“Not the way you think.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth. Rochelle, of course.
“I told him!” Renee shouted from the front, sounding particularly proud of herself. She was definitely full of surprises.
“I called your job and she filled me in.” He stroked his bald head, then picked up a package of latex gloves from on the floor beside me. He pulled on each elbow-length glove carefully, smoothing it up to the crook of his arm, then buttoning his cuffs carefully around his wrists. He lifted the chemicals I’d abandoned with ease and started for the back.
I tried to get up. Didn’t quite make it. “Hey that’s—”
“Lye. Sodium hydroxide. Fatal if swallowed. You’d wish it were fatal if it gets on your skin. You forget I was a chemist before I turned candlemaker?”
True. In fact, it was Adrian who’d helped Tracey and I get on at Scents and Savings during his tenure there as a fragrance formulator, back in the good years before they starting ordering stuff that smelled like fumes. “Just being careful.”
He paused. “Haz-Mat cabinet?”
I nodded. “It’s just as you go in. The red one. And watch yourself, even with those gloves…” Chemist or not, Adrian’s days in the lab were long gone, and sodium hydroxide was no child’s play. In the eyes it could blind, in the belly it could kill, and on the skin? Trust me, not fun.
“Got vinegar?” His shoulders flexed as he lifted the tub out of my line of sight.
I pointed to a gallon of white vinegar a few feet away. “Yeah.”
“We’re good then,” he said, his body disappearing, too.
“Should we lock him up back there?” Renee called out from the front.
Void of any energy to deal with another moment of this day, I dissolved in laughter. “You’re a mess, you know that?”
Renee smiled. “I know it. My husband knows it, too. Now if I can just get you two nitwits together. Maybe I’ll just leave and see what—”
“Don’t.” The alarm in my voice surprised me. “Please.”
The thought of me alone with Illinois’ Businessman of the Year in a poorly lit retail unit scared me senseless. Sure we’d spent a lot of time alone together growing up, but then he was a virgin chemist, not a sexy widower with an earring.
Before I could compose myself, Adrian returned. Renee whizzed her way back to the front as quickly as she’d come. He made two more trips, each faster than the last, moving the remainder of my lye shipment. He held out his wrists in front of me. If lye was on his gloves, he couldn’t risk touching his clothes.
I opened the pearl snaps on his sleeves and took my seat on the floor. He peeled off the gloves and tossed them into a paint bucket nearby. He grimaced, then dashed his forearm with vinegar. He smiled at me. The bionic music mounted in my head. Where was Rochelle with that food?
“What should I do next?”
Drive back to Chicago? “We’ve got things under control here. Thanks for asking though.” I held my breath, waiting for some crazed announcement to the contrary by Renee, who was now wiping the stainless steel interior of our facial cart. She made a squeak with the rag, but said nothing.
Adrian narrowed his eyes at the metal kiosk Renee was polishing. “What is that?”
“Facial bar. Fresh fruit. Veggies, too.”
He nodded, walking to the front for a closer look. “This is ingenious, Dane. You could take it to the mall, outdoor shows, anywhere with power. I could formulate a natural preservative—”
“Stop. I’m over my head just being here. If it gets to that point, I’ll call you.” Or the local firing squad.
Adrian slipped across the room for that bag, the one I’d amazingly forgotten about after one look at him. He reached inside and pulled out a small, stuffed animal. A cheetah. I dropped the ice scoop.
He approached cautiously and placed it in my hands. “I know that Tracey’s wedding was hard for you, for a lot of reasons.”
I listened, but didn’t look up from the toy. It got to me, this gift, even though I’d chucked my stuffed animal collection long ago—a zoo of elephants, tigers and bears, most won by Adrian at fairs and amusement parks over the years. Then there were those two wedding gorillas Jordan won for Rochelle. She couldn’t bear to look at them after he left. One ratty bunny with the beans falling out that Daddy had given me many Christmases ago. And a life-size cheetah, identical in looks to the tiny one in my hands, that I’d won myself.
“I also stopped by to share a little news of my own.” Adrian dragged one of his shoes across the floor.
The cheetah squished in my fingers. Don’t tell me. He’s getting married. I should have known.
Instead of proclaiming his undying love for another woman, Adrian nodded toward the partially covered front window, where I watched in horror as two men lifted a sign onto the marquis on the shop across the street. I read the teal and fuchsia sign with wide eyes.
Kick! Candles.
Adrian shrugged. “We’re neighbors.”
Chapter Five
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Rochelle looked at me like I was crazy, and then plopped a bag of food on the counter. Never one to be caught without cute shoes, even for painting and scrubbing, she sported a pair of peach Reeboks. And matching socks, of course.
“I wish I was kidding. How did you miss that? Kick! across the street? There’s no hope for me…he’s got the best candles in the state. Probably the Midwest. How much did we spend when we went last year? A couple hundred between us?”
As if starting my own business wasn’t scary enough, having the man I’d spent most of my life loving across the street terrified me. Having Renee jump for joy at the sight of Adrian’s sign hadn’t helped things, either. She’d offered to stay, but I’d been all to glad to send her home when Rochelle showed up. We’d needed to be alone for this, for Rochelle to tell me that my stuff was just as good as Adrian’s and to rebuke me for my negativity.
Not.
“We spent three hundred at least. We bought gifts, too, remember? To think, I wasn’t even into candles then. I burn his raspberry honeysuckle every night.”
But you won’t touch my stuff. “Same here. Lemon pound cake. The soy one.” I rubbed my chin, remembering all our undercover trips to Adrian’s store over the past couple of years. The candlelight lent an eerie effect and I’d often thought we might all go up in flames, but it worked somehow.
Tension drained out of me when I walked in there—after I made sure he or Sandy weren’t around, of course. I’d always want to stay for the next scent, but the thought of running into either of them made me run through the store grabbing stuff like a crazy person and then ducking into Rochelle’s car.
I stared across the street at the men struggling with the sign and Adrian giving directions from the sidewalk. The candles were the least of my worries. How would I ever avoid him?
A soft punch landed on my shoulder. I definitely couldn’t avoid Rochelle’s clutches. Should I show her the cheetah? I’d told the story up to his store moving across the street and stopped there. Maybe later. Rochelle didn’t know how to stay calm in these situations. She’d be having me fitted for a wedding gown…just in case. Not that I could fit much of anything right now. Maybe if I skipped the fries…But there was always Flex Points.
And Velcro jeans.
Rochelle turned on her heel, her paisley headscarf bobbing with her words. “I didn’t tell him anything about this.” She discarded the bun and wrapped her turkey in a leaf of lettuce. “He didn’t do this on purpose, Dane, if that’s what you think. He wouldn’t.”
“I know. He called the office. Renee told him. But he’d paid on this place already.”
She touched my arm in reassurance. “It will only help you to have Kick! here. That place is special and he’s drawing in your target customer.”
My point exactly.
My handsome nemesis dangled from a ladder across the street, straightening his new sign. He waved, leaning back almost far enough to fall. I waved back, and prayed he wouldn’t plummet to the ground. Although, admittedly, it might make this all a bit simpler.
Lord, forgive me.
I sure was saying that a lot lately. All Adrian’s fault. “Still, this shop looks half the size of the one he had in Chicago. He’ll probably go back once he gets this going.”
Rochelle shook her head. “Don’t you read that Black Enterprise subscription I pay for every month? He franchised a few months ago. All the new stores are smaller.”
A few months ago? All the new stores? How many were there?
I frowned. “Is there any other good news you’d like to share, Rochelle?” Is that where she’d been running off to those weekends she said she was busy? To every Kick! shop she could find? Not that I could blame her. I looked outside again. Neighbors. He had said that, right? Not competitors or partners or any other such thing? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Rochelle carries a tape recorder at all times. Today it would have come in handy.
Made of Honor Page 7
