by Kristi Rose
“But don’t you see? He’s just like me.”
“What? How?” Josie’s confusion comes through in her tone.
“I overheard him tell Brinn that some girl really worked him over good. His ex, I suppose.”
“Jill?” I ask.
“He didn’t say her name. Just that he thought it would be easier to get a mail-order bride than go through waiting for her to come around.” She places a hand over her chest. “I could do it. We would make good partners. Raising kids together. It could work.” She looks at all of us.
Paisley moves closer. “The best piece of advice I was given was to not do anything drastic for a while. That’s why I took the year off. I tried not to make any major decisions or hasty ones. I’m giving that advice to you.”
Heather shakes her head; her lower lip wobbles. I pull her into a hug. “I think Stacy was being facetious when he said that. But picture yourself a year from now. When things have settled down. You’ve a job, a routine that makes sense. What if it’s not as good an idea then as it seems now?”
“It’s so hard,” she says into my shoulder. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m a terrible friend.”
“We all have our days we act like a mad bitch. Today is yours. Embrace it,” I say and laugh. “It will get better. It has to.”
“I can’t get a job.” She wraps her arms around me, holding tight, possibly for dear life. “I can’t do the simplest things in life like, you know, buy food for my child. I’m dependent on Justin and even then money is tight.”
And then it hits me. “How do you feel about clothes?”
“I don’t”—hiccup—“understand.”
“I’m asking how you feel about helping people pick out clothes. Offering them suggestions about what might work and not work. How do you feel about working in a clothing shop?”
She pulls back and looks at me. “I don’t need a pity job,” she whispers.
“I’ve lost my best employee and the one I have left has to go.” Actually, the more I process the idea, the better I like it.
“But I’m not anywhere near as skilled as you with clothes.”
“Pft.” I wave my hand. “Every time a new outfit comes in I photograph it with several suggested accessories. A cheat sheet if you will. But what I need is someone responsible. Someone kind. Who actually knows math. I open after Tyler goes to school, so you could take the morning shifts. I open late on Wednesday. And you can work on the weekends Justin has Tyler. If that’s all right with you. Also, I pay more than minimum wage.”
Heather hesitates then says, “Why not Pippa?” Her gaze leaves my face to look over my shoulder where I assume Pippa is.
I laugh. Pip will appreciate this. “Because she can’t stand to be around clothes. Likely from all those times I made her dress up and be my model. I must have stuck her with a pin several times a day when I went through my fashion design fad. What’s that disorder people have when being in a certain situation causes them stress?”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” supplies Paisley.
“Yes, that. Pippa has that.”
“Too right!” Pip says from behind me.
“Are you serious?” With large, wide eyes likely from hope, Heather scans my face.
“Absolutely. You can start tomorrow if you want.”
“Oh, Jayne,” she cries and pulls me back into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Chapter 16
Hiring Heather has to be one of the best moves I’ve made this year. She stepped into the position with ease. I worried, but her quiet confidence, a trait I realized now had been missing since her marriage with Justin imploded, appeared and wowed more than me.
Leaving the shop, feeling more secure with Heather and her first-day inexperience than my half-wit employee, I make the mad drive to Stacy’s to pick up Pippa so I can deliver her to the pub. I’ll have to rush back home to make my meeting with Stacy about the state of my books.
The vague text that he used to arrange this get-together leaves me worried and fearful that I won’t be able to see my dreams come true.
Before I can press a heel to the horn, Pippa’s out of the flat and jogging to the car. Her teal streaks have been replaced with pink tips.
“Hallo.” She buckles her seatbelt.
“Playing dress up?” I shift into reverse and slowly back out. Having Cordie in the neighborhood makes me more cautious of looking for children. Not that I haphazardly and ignorantly pulled out before, I’m just more mindful.
“She’s a good child. Easy to be around. She needs a mum.” From her large gypsy bag, Pippa pulls out an apple and shines it on her shirt before she takes a bite.
Perfect opening. Pippa’s been tight lipped about what goes on at Stacy’s house. She’s not indicated one way or another if she fancies him. I only know she adores Cordie. And makes them meals they don’t enjoy. I’m curious to know if my matchmaking machinations have borne fruit.
“You’d be a good mum,” I say.
“Only because your mum was a good example. Mine, not so much.” She continues to work her apple.
“Which says a lot about you. You’re amazing, Pippa. You know that, right? Cordie would be lucky to have a mum like you.” I slow to a stop at a red light, my attention on the signal a ruse I’m using in hopes of conveying my nonchalance.
“What are you about?” She rummages through her bag, then pulls out a brown paper sack that she uses to store the core of her apple.
“Nothing, only wondering if maybe there might be...er...sparks between you and Stacy.” I shift into first, pretending that task requires all my focus as if I haven’t been driving a manual for oh, the last ten years.
“Are you bloody serious?” She faces me. I can feel the penetrating stare bore into me.
“Er....”
“You have a one-nighter with the guy—which I’ve kept to myself, mind you—get your fill and then pass him on to me? This is a new one for us.” She faces the window.
“How did you...I mean, nothing—”
She quickly faces me, her anger clear by the deep blush to her cheeks. “Come off, Jayne. I saw you two leave together. And the next morning you were rosy cheeked and walking tall. What I don’t know is why you keep it a secret from the others?”
“Because I’m afraid of all the complications. What if we date but it ends horribly—as all my other relationships have ended, you know this. And then it causes problems in the group? Between me and Josie or Stacy and her. I don’t want people to have to pick.”
When she looks at me, I’m acutely aware of how deeply I’ve hurt her. “So you decide that I should have him. That pairing us up is suitable enough and who cares if any or all that stuff happens between me and the group? Which is a stupid reason by the way. Paisley wants you to hook up with him and I haven’t heard Josie argue that you shouldn’t. So come again with the truth this time.”
“Honestly, Pip. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” I adjust in my seat, feeling the restrictiveness of the seat belt.
“It feels like that,” she mumbles.
“I’m sorry. I only thought that he was a lovely man who might benefit from someone as wonderful as you. Both of you would.”
“What’s the real reason, Jayne?”
“That is the real reason,” I say.
Her eyes narrow further.
“Partly. Mostly it’s because I do want you to be happy. And I thought he might be able to give that to you.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
I pull into the back lot behind the pub and idle, setting the parking brake before I answer, “I could like him, I think.”
“And that scares you,” she says, her voice low and gentle. “And your frightened heart.”
“You know how it goes. Look at how unsuccessful the women in our family have been. You were too young to remember the devastation after Robert left Mum but it was awful.” I refuse to call my biological fath
er by anything but his given name. His other daughters, women I don’t know, nor have ever met, are welcome to call him something more familiar.
“Yet look at her now with Uncle Thomas. She seems to have done well the second time around.”
I snort. “It hurt watching her.”
“Scarred you deep, it did.”
“Even the small flings I’ve had left an ache when they ended. I’m not sure I could bear to give up a part of me only lose it. It would be bloody awful. You know how I get after I end something. I would avoid him at all cost, which means I would be avoiding my friends, too.”
Our gazes meet. I know she understands. It was her mother, after all, who took her around the world while chasing after one man or another. Only to deposit Pippa on our nana’s doorstep and disappear for months at a time. Mum couldn’t stand the thought of little towheaded, blue-eyed Pippa being forced to hang with the geriatric crowd and moved her in with us.
“I’m scared, too,” she whispers. “I’ve not had a long-term relationship. Ever.”
I search my memory, wondering why I paid that small fact no never mind. “Me either.” That reality is a lonely truth. I was far more giving with my virginity than my heart, and perhaps now I see why it should have been the other way around.
These last few years I’ve been more removed, playing my personal life casual but in my defense, I was building a business. Who has time for more? I still hold firm to the belief that love comes on quickly and bursts just as suddenly a few months later. It’s just something in the way Stacy kissed me, like he needed it as much as he wanted it, that begs me to wonder if there’s room for more.
“We’re a sad lot,” I say and take her hand.
“Too right. Our mums messed us up thoroughly.” She squeezes my hand and smiles.
“Oh, I’m going to tell Mum you said that. I’ll use anything to get her attention off you. She loves you so.”
Pippa’s smile wobbles. “Speaking of mums. In a few Saturdays is—”
“I know.” I squeeze her hand. It’ll be nineteen years since the yacht Pippa’s mum was holidaying on capsized and sank off the coast of Majorca. “The usual, yes?”
The tradition started the first year I came here to visit, on holiday from University. I knew the anniversary of her mum’s death was difficult for Pip. Compound that with being in a new country and an awkward teen there was no question I had to do something special for her.
Even after growing and striking out as a young adult, Pippa still comes here on this significant date. Wherever she may be in the world, whatever it is she’s doing, she stops and comes homes. Sometimes just for a few days, often with a glib just-popping-through ruse. But I’d wager it’s more to remind her that she does have a home, a place to go back to, where family is excited to see her. Unlike her own mum who barely gave her the time of day.
I misread the situation that first time and thought to distract her from the date by taking her to a film. The second year I got smart and paid attention to the signals she was putting out and let her guide us. We ended up at the beach under a midnight moon where we sat in companionable silence. The third year I took rose petals for Pip to toss into the sea; she forced me into doing yoga. Now, it’s our annual ritual and one of the handful of times I’ll assume downward dog, because being an uncoordinated giraffe trying to strike graceful poses does nothing for my confidence. But in the shadows of night, I have no qualms.
“Yes, I like what we’ve done. Don’t you?” She squeezes back.
“I do.”
Using the cuff of her shirt, she wipes her eyes. “Thanks, Jaynie-girl.” She flashes a quick smile and is getting out of the car when I stop her by grabbing her elbow.
“I love you, Pip. For all the teasing I give you I thought I should tell you.” My sweet cousin who’s more a little sister to me than anything.
“Pish, I know you do.”
I laugh and release her arm.
Once out she bends so I can see her face and says, “But not half as much as I love you.” She slams the door and, in her usually bouncy, carefree steps, bounds into the pub.
Agh! Damn her. Just once I’d like to have the last word and it be sweet and loving and altruistic.
Chapter 17
The ringtone I’ve set on my phone tells me I have ten minutes to get home if I want to meet Stacy in time. I pull into my garage with one minute to spare and am entering through the laundry room when a pounding on my front door has me scurrying to look as if I’m not rushing. I kick off my heels while flinging my messenger bag on my dining table.
“Coming,” I say in what I hope is a voice that sounds like I’ve been lounging on the couch and can’t be bothered to get up.
Damn I wish I’d put gloss on in the car.
I open the door and am instantly confused.
“Amit, what?” I stare at the takeaway in his arms. “I didn’t order food.” It’s from my favorite Chinese restaurant, but Amit owns the Indian place. I try to work it all out but the pieces aren’t lining up. Though it’s a fabulous idea and the rumble of my stomach, a sound both Amit and I are privy to, indicates I want the food. Only I didn’t order it.
“But you own the Indian restaurant.” I point in the general direction of his place.
“My cousin owns the Chinese place. His wife is having a baby and I’m helping out.” He shakes the bag.
I focus on the problem before me.
“I ordered this?” If that’s the case, I’m instantly going on a holiday. When one forgets something of this nature, one is losing it.
“No, a deep-voiced lady named Stacy did and asked to send it here. It’s paid for.” He shrugs before handing me the large order.
Over his shoulder, I see Stacy and Cordie coming out of their place. Cordie looks both ways before running across.
“Yay, food. I’m so hungry.” She skirts around me and enters the house.
“Hold on, I’ll get a tip,” I tell Amit. But Stacy beats me to it and Amit’s off before I can find my handbag.
Cordie’s made herself at home and is setting out several cartons and Styrofoam containers.
“Gads, how many people are coming to eat?” I don’t expect an answer. From my cupboard, I take the soy sauce, red peppers sauce, and other condiments I like to add to Chinese food. Then I get cups for everyone and chopsticks, and set forks out for the inexperienced.
Both Cordie and Stacy reach for the chopsticks, as do I. “What did Pippa make for dinner?” I open the carton closest to me and sigh with delight at the sweet and sour chicken that greets me.
“Something she creamed in our blender and is trying to pass off as a sauce over... What kind of noodles were they?” he asks his daughter.
“Buckwheat. It smelled like moldy underwear,” Cordie says.
I’m pleased to say she uses her chopsticks like a pro.
“Cordie, that’s not nice,” Stacy scolds, but it’s hard to censor a child when laughing.
She ignores him and continues to shove food into her mouth.
“Cauliflower,” I say. “She puts it in everything and it has the misfortune of smelling like a fart in any state but raw.”
Cordie laughs. “You know, you and Pippa aren’t anything alike. Until you say something like that.”
“We did grow up in the same house together. Some things are bound to rub off.” Cordie hands me the Styrofoam container of my favorite, black mushroom in oyster sauce, and I’m in heaven.
“Can I try?”
“May I try,” Stacy and I correct in unison.
“Jeez.” She rolls her eyes with such severe irritation I’m envious of the skill. “Whatever. Never mind.”
I wave the container under her nose. “Are you sure? It’s very, very good.” I tease her much like I used to tease Pippa at this age.
“May I try,” she says.
“Of course.” I hand her the food. “So, we’ve taken this hiding food thing to a whole
new level. I feel awkward.” I pause for dramatic effect, place my hand over my heart, and shake my head with mock disappointment. “Complicit really. How will I look my cousin in the eye and be expected to lie should she ever confront me?” I look at them both, wiping away a non-existent tear.
Following a laugh, Stacy gives me a slow, sarcastic clap. “Nicely done. By chance any theatre experience in your past?”
I smile. “No. None. Just a natural.”
“Name your price,” he says then looks at Cordie. “Could be anything.”
But for me, it’s always about food or clothes. Sometimes sex. I sneak a peek at Stacy under my lashes.
Speaking of sex. Okay, better not.
“There’s a gelateria in the plaza with the grocer. Some incredibly wonderful flavors. We could start by going there tonight.”
Cordie’s face shows the excitement I experience thinking of sweets, particularly gelato.
I swing my gaze to Stacy and raise one brow in question.
“Okay, tonight’s easy, but am I expected to pay out every day?” He raises one brow in a silent challenge.
“Shall we take it on a week-to-week basis? Tonight’s payout will remove all memory of this meal. Should I have to harbor you food fugitives again, we’ll decide on that occasion. Deal?” I extend my hand, hoping I don’t look goofy but coquettish.
“Deal.” His grip is warm and strong.
At first contact my pulse races. A warm tingly feeling fires up my arm and reaches straight for my girly parts, which raise their hands, waving madly to be touched. I start to pull my hand away, noticing that his lingers, as if he doesn’t want to part, so I let it dawdle.
I have a small, quick fantasy about shoving the food from the table, crawling across it to him and letting him have his way with me right on the teak surface turned bed. I wouldn’t mind if the legs gave way to our passion. I’d shop for a newer, sturdier table with pleasure; perhaps I’d make our sex be the litmus test of table quality.
