Too bad today’s time away from my shop is to start the marriage counseling sessions. I’m dreading it more than I’ve told anyone. It’s been two weeks since Judge Nelson asked us to make an impossible choice. If I have to go through another six months of this limbo purgatory, I’ll need therapy for a very different reason.
Most days, I feel as though I’ll drown from the crushing weight of what’s become my new life. The days I spend alone at home because Kiwi is with Ryder are some of the loneliest hours I’ve ever experienced. Though I know there’s nothing Faith wouldn’t do to help me, she has her own life to live. She can’t babysit me through my mental breakdown, take care of her daughter, and stoke the fires of her own love life all at the same time.
So, I’ve weathered these days on my own… and that forced me to take a long, hard look in the mirror. I didn’t like everything I saw, and recognizing my own faults and failures added to my depression at first. Then I realized something that helped me straighten my crown and stand tall again. There’s strength in being able to admit when I’m wrong. I’ve taken small steps to better understand myself and what makes me tick. Moving forward is better than standing still.
Today is Ryder’s day to take Kiwi for his week. Shared custody of our pretty girl only gets harder the longer we do it. Instead of coming to my house, he now picks her up at work and takes her to the jewelry store with him. He’s respected my demand for him to stay away from the home we used to share. Ryder keeping his distance from me should make this process easier.
But it doesn’t.
For some, “out of sight, out of mind” is absolutely true. But for me, “absence makes the heart grow fonder” seems more fitting.
Seeing him only reminds me of what I’ve lost and will never have again.
Because I’m all too aware of how morose I sound, I keep my thoughts to myself. Any hint of what’s really on my mind and those around me feel as if they have to console me. That’s not what I want or need, but I realize they’re only trying to help. I’ve heard every variation of “you’re still young, you’ll find someone else” there is.
The only way that would happen is if I left this town. Everything here reminds me of Ryder. The places we used to go together, the things we used to do, and the good times we’ve had. All our firsts happened right here, and it seems all our lasts will too. Since I’m not interested in moving away, my chances of remarrying are slim to none. Besides, I know most every man who’s remotely close to my age. They’re more like brothers than anything else, and that thought is just not appealing.
Thinking about the devil apparently conjures him.
“Hi, Livvy. How are you?” Ryder stops in front of me, looking uncomfortable as the only man in a store full of revealing lingerie.
“Fine. You?” It’s a rhetorical question. I’m not asking him to update me on his life since I last saw him. I’ve found keeping our conversations to a minimum is best for my mental health. It also slows down the wagging tongues and active fingers of the town’s grapevine.
“Honestly, it’s been a tough week.” He waits for me to engage and ask for details, but I can’t be drawn into him again.
“This beautiful girl will keep you company and make you forget about your week.” I hold out my hand and Kiwi hops on it.
“Oh, you found some new designs to carry. I don’t remember seeing these in the store inventory before now.” He examines the garment rack containing the new pieces. “Why is there only one of each?”
“Because each one is so unique and different from my usual catalog. I’m testing these to determine the top two most requested. It doesn’t make sense to have a half dozen of each on hand if they like only one or two of them. If no one likes them, I’m only out the money these six designs cost.”
“That’s smart. You know, maybe you should have a runway show in here so the women can see them on a real body. You’d probably get a ton of orders that night.” He smiles warmly, taking me aback. He’s never been interested in my lingerie store before. I mean, he always asked about my day, and we talked about business topics often, but this detailed suggestion is over-the-top for Ryder.
“What a great idea, Ry. I could call it ‘Draw the Shades’ night and send invitations to my customers. Word of mouth pulls more people in than anything. The fear of missing out is a real motivator.”
“It sure is, so use it to your advantage. Whisper about it around town and it’ll appear in Tate’s column before you can blink. The MC Scoop will scoop this up. It’s salacious and forbidden, and those are two qualities Tate can’t refuse.”
“You’ve kept this marketing genius hidden from me all these years. What else are you hiding?” My foul mood momentarily lifts, and I forget we’re going to a therapist this evening so she can eventually tell the judge we don’t belong together.
Then the truth slams back into me like a freight train.
“You know that I’ve never been able to hide anything from you, Livvy. I’m an open book for you to read at any time. You’re the one who’s always been able to keep surprises from me.” His smile remains, but his eyes soften.
This is why I don’t talk to him. I know what his expressions mean without him having to tell me what’s on his mind. He’s reminiscing, allowing our memories to run rampant in his mind and cloud his judgment. Being lonely and having a bad week make him think twice about our current path.
Believe me, I’ve run this course at least a dozen times a day, but I always hit the same dead end. There’s no way around it and we can’t go through it.
I don’t say it out loud, but there was one surprise he was able to hide from me all these years. My non-poker face response must remind him of that fact because he quickly looks away.
“Well, I guess you’re here for Kiwi, unless you’ve developed a new fetish and want to try on some silky lingerie.” I pass her to his outstretched hand. “Hang on, let me grab her toys and snacks I made for today before you go.”
When I return from the back room, he’s nuzzling Kiwi and has his eyes closed. He’s always been so affectionate, and maybe that’s why I assumed we were on the same page with our lives. Dating, marriage, white picket fence home, lots of babies, and huge family functions—life would be complete. All the things I never had while I was growing up but desperately wanted.
“Here you are.” I pass Kiwi’s bowl of carrots, corn, sweet potatoes, and peas along with her bag of favorite toys to his free hand.
“Thanks for making her snacks today. I’m picking up groceries after work, so this is a tremendous help.”
“It’s no problem.” She’s worth all the trouble in the world.
He dawdles for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, before finally releasing a heavy sigh. “Well, I should go before you make me model this purple thingamajig around the store as an advertisement for your ‘Draw the Shades’ night. I’ll see you later… this afternoon.”
He just remembered our appointment.
Naked Eyes got it right when they sang “Always Something There to Remind Me.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” I watch him walking away until he’s out of sight.
When I return to the counter to start planning the runway event, something else he said sparks an idea. Until now, my focus has always been on women’s lingerie and our specific needs. But now my mind is racing with new ideas, possibly far too innovative and progressive for our sleepy little town. But that’s what online shopping is for, and my website gets a fair number of hits.
My secret, the one nobody else knows, is I personally conceived and designed every piece of lingerie I carry in my store. The label isn’t under my real name, though sometimes I wish I was brave enough to put it out in front of the world. Then maybe one day, I could join the ranks of Coco Chanel, Donna Karan, and Donatella Versace. A girl can dream. Some days, a hope and a dream are all I have.
This idea started as a project I was assigned in one of my college classes. I dual-majored in business and fas
hion merchandising and design, and I had to build a fashion brand and turn it into a profitable business for one of my classes. I already had a knack for sketching, but I’d never thought about turning that ability into a profitable business. The research I had to do to pass the class inspired me to put pencil to paper, so to speak. My notebooks full of fashion ideas turned into a lucrative side hustle when I contacted a manufacturer with my specifications.
My sorority sisters kept me in business with new requests and suggestions for new pieces every week. Then they started sharing my creations with their friends and family members, and my business really took off. The funny thing was, I anonymously posted an order form on our house online bulletin board. My online payment account was under a business name, so no one ever connected the dots pointing to me. No one ever knew I was the one behind the designs.
When Ryder and I moved back to Mason Creek, I kept that part of my business to myself. Not because I felt ashamed of anything, but because I liked keeping the creative part of my process to myself. Designing something beautiful and sexy and innovative with the world is akin to reading my diary over the loudspeaker to the entire high school. After keeping my secret for so long, I found it easier not to talk about it than to confess to my covert activities.
Every day, I sketch new designs at work during normal hours and email the specs to my contact at the manufacturer before I leave the back office. Over the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve built a considerable catalog of naughty wear, designed to make all women feel beautiful, sexy, and desirable.
Now I’m going to do the same for the men. They all may not wear the pieces I’ve created for the ladies, but plenty of men want to feel desired and appreciated. They’ll go the extra mile for their significant others.
Something unexpected happened during my two weeks of solo soul searching. At first, I was torn about celebrating it because the rest of my life is going up in flames. But a sense of pride and validation swells in my chest every time I think about it. The editor-in-chief, Jaqueline Rafferty, for the high-end fashion magazine Entranced contacted me about my lingerie line.
One of the magazine’s employee came across some of my pieces online. She was blown away by the design and searched for my label. After she perused the catalog on my website, she immediately called Jaqueline so they could view it together. Now, they want to feature my label in an upcoming issue to help spread the word about my products.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined Queen’s Unmentionables would take me in this direction. Of course, I immediately agreed to a full five-page spread in a magazine that charges nearly $200,000 for a single-page advertisement. The print and online version have over thirty-two million combined subscribers. Just the thought of that many people seeing my creations makes me nauseous and elated at the same time. I figure the worst that can happen is I have a couple of months with high traffic on my website before everyone loses interest and moves on to the next hot topic.
But for those few weeks, I’ll enjoy the limelight, even if it is under my pseudonym.
My hand flies across the sketch pad, creating one drawing after the other of designer undergarments for men. After my seventeenth design, I force myself to stop and scan them into my computer so the manufacturer can make and ship the sample sizes with rush delivery. If I’m drawing the shades at the shop, I might as well add a few men to the mix and spice it up.
Maybe then they won’t be so embarrassed to step foot in here. I mail so many local packages it’s pathetic. Man-up and walk in here already.
“Liv? Livvy? Earth to Olivia. Are you in there?”
I glance up and find Jasmine waving her hand in front of my face, trying to get my attention. “Oh, sorry, sweetie. It’s hard to break my concentration when I’m on a roll. What can I do for you?”
“It’s time for your therapy session. You don’t want to be late your first day.” She gives me a small smile, but only because I didn’t tell her about the appointment.
The entire town already knows my schedule.
Maybe one of them can tell me when I’m supposed to check into the mental hospital. I could really use a break from reality for a little while.
“Thanks, Jasmine. You’re right, I need to run. Are you okay to lock up by yourself tonight?”
“Sure. I got this. Don’t worry about a thing.” She puts her hand on my shoulder in a show of solidarity, as if the next hour will be so traumatizing, I can’t recover.
I force a smile I don’t feel, pushing aside the frustration of being gossiped about by the entire town since the day my parents moved here. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good evening.”
After stuffing my sketchbook and pencils in my bag, I grab my phone from the counter and rush out before Jasmine starts crying on my behalf. Maybe it’s only in my mind after the MC Scoop article, but I’d swear that everyone I meet on the way to Dr. Carlson’s office watches me with the same sad face Jasmine gave me. It’s only a block away, but I think I’ve encountered every citizen of Mason Creek in that short distance.
Allie McDougal, our local therapist, occupies a room in the doctor’s office a couple days a week and sees people at her home in the next town over from here on the other days. She’s not from Mason Creek, which makes this whole business of talking about the intimate details of my life much easier. If she’d been someone I’d gone to school with, I would’ve chosen the six-month option instead and exiled myself to Glacier National Park until it was over.
When I rush through the door to her office, Ryder has already made himself comfortable on the couch and has Allie laughing over his mischief. The ethical code of conduct requirement between a doctor and patient flashes in my mind, but I push it aside. Or try to, anyway. Never mind how pretty she is, or the way she’s perfectly manicured from head to toe, or that she’s genuinely a nice person. Seeing the two of them in a remotely flirty situation sets my teeth on edge.
This will be a long hour.
Chapter 8
Ryder
Our four o’clock appointment has been on my mind all day. I had to force myself to think of anything else. Focusing on my work is like asking a four-year-old child to walk through Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory without touching anything.
It’s absolutely impossible.
Unable to stand around talking about jewelry any longer, I leave my store in the capable hands of my assistant manager, Marcus. Kiwi and I take a leisurely stroll down Baylor Street, which is in the complete opposite direction from Dr. Carlson’s office. Stopping at the corner of West Old Bridge Road, I stare at the covered bridge entrance to our tiny town.
It’s also the way out.
If I put that old bridge in my rearview mirror, I’ll leave behind everything that has ever meant anything to me. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll become one of those old men around town. The ones who sit on the park benches and watch everyone else live their lives. They’re living statues, and everyone knows all about their personal business.
I want more than that.
Then again, Liv is all I want.
At least I’m not indecisive.
Around the corner and past the barber shop, I pass Java Jitters and see Jessie. She’s busy as usual behind the display case. My feet know where I’m going if my brain hasn’t informed me of a conscious decision yet. One more turn onto the town square, and I’m back in front of Queen’s Unmentionables.
Like most of our town, I thought Liv was joking when she said she was opening a lingerie store. Here. In Mason Creek. Across from the mayor’s office. Right on the town square so everyone can see her panties, thongs, and more.
When I realized she was serious, I was mortified inside. The ridicule we’d get from everyone else would be unbearable, I was sure of it. Of course, there were some who were vehemently opposed to having such private clothing articles on display in a prominent location, but the majority of the town surprised me. They fully supported her venture and frequented her store.
Liv chose the name of the business solely to spite those who opposed her livelihood. Queen’s Unmentionables was born to shame those who were ashamed of her. Queen, for obvious reasons. She’s my queen and I’m her King, pun intended. Unmentionables, to make them see it every single day.
She has a little bit of a mean streak.
Kiwi and I sit on a bench across from the lingerie store, waiting for Liv to come out before we head to the doctor’s office for our appointment. If we happen to bump into each other on the sidewalk, there’s no reason why we can’t walk together.
“Momma? Momma?” Kiwi asks and turns her head as she looks at me.
“Yeah, baby, Momma’s coming.”
“So sexy.” Then she lets out a loud catcall whistle.
“Where did you learn that?” I wait for her to answer, as if she understands my question.
Then I look back at Liv’s shop and see her through the front picture window. She’s behind the counter, but she’s furiously working on something with her hands. Whatever she’s doing, it has her full attention. Maybe she’s planning the “Draw the Shades” night we talked about earlier today.
She was surprised by my suggestion for a good reason. I’ve never been as supportive of her business as I should’ve been. All it took was losing my one true love to make me realize all the places I’ve fallen short as her husband and partner in life. No one else’s opinion should’ve mattered to me. I shouldn’t have cared about what the town ninnies said or thought. All Liv needed was my encouragement and support.
Now look at her.
She’s flourished even without my help. Maybe even in spite of me. Have I been any better than those who persecuted her? Maybe I didn’t actively oppose it, but my passive stance didn’t help either. The marketing suggestion I made earlier was simply one small attempt to start making up for my past mistakes.
My watch vibrates from the fifteen-minute alarm I set as a reminder. When it’s clear Liv won’t be out in the next couple of minutes, I decide to walk to the office alone. I’ll still get there early, but I can take care of all the paperwork so Liv doesn’t have to spend time doing it when she arrives. Meeting our therapist alone for a few minutes first may not be such a bad idea either.
Perfect Excuse (Mason Creek Book 11) Page 6
