“For decor, we’ll have an African and Asian fairy-tale theme,” Maya said. “I figured that a few touches here and there would make it stand out.”
“It would. I thought this may help too.” Derek opened the trunk and showed Maya the gorgeous red and burnt-orange fabrics, which shimmered underneath the store lights. “I got them from Mother’s storage.”
Maya brushed her fingers over smooth satin. “I use these colors a lot in my bridal gown designs.”
“I figured you’d like them. Those gowns don’t have to fit the traditional mold. They can be anything you envision. They can be uniquely you.”
Maya let those words settle in. She needed to hear them just as much as she needed to say them. Anything you envision, Maya. Not anything Laura Whitcomb envisioned.
“You got these fabrics from Grandma’s storage, Dad?” Jamila asked.
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Discomfort flitted through Maya. This was not good.
“There’s a huge problem,” Jamila said. “You can’t just give her Grandma’s things.”
Derek exhaled. “It’s for the store’s benefit, Jamila. I didn’t give anything to Maya. It’s for Always a Bride.”
Jamila didn’t say anything. Instead, she surveyed the space. She was probably mentally criticizing the redesign.
“So you did all this with the store?” Jamila asked.
“A little here and there,” Maya said. “Thought it would help with rebranding.”
“What’s rebranding?” Jamila asked.
“A company’s strong visual image coupled with that company’s story. Something that makes it identifiable in the marketplace. That sort of thing.”
Jamila looked up, as if considering this. “Oh, I get it. Like logos and TV commercial jingles and stuff.”
“Exactly,” Maya said.
Jamila walked around and seemed to note the changes Maya had made. For some reason, this young girl’s evaluation made Maya nervous. Maybe because she sensed that Jamila was also evaluating her.
“Grandma would never have this castle and carriage display in the center of the store,” Jamila said. “She was all about showing off the dresses. She’d probably say, ‘I ain’t putting it in the center unless I’m selling it.’”
Oof. Maya had messed up. She was already on Jamila’s bad side, but if Maya also didn’t follow Vivian’s vision, then Maya could just forget about connecting with Jamila on any level. Best to just suck it up, take the loss, and see if that could help her get on Jamila’s good side. “That’s a great suggestion, Jamila. The decoration shouldn’t get in the way of the design. I’ll move the carriage.” Maya headed over to the display and gently pushed it to the side near the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “How’s that?”
Jamila squinted her eyes. “Maybe a little off to the side. Don’t want to distract from the mirror when folks are trying on dresses.”
“Excellent point.” Maya shifted it a few inches.
A quiet fell between them. Maya tried to reach for more from Jamila, a sense of truce, a sense of connection, a sense of something good. Maybe Maya was overthinking this.
After they finished setting up, Jamila drifted over to one of Maya’s dresses that was on display. “Is this gown yours?”
Maya paused, not knowing if she’d get criticism or kindness from Jamila. “Yes,” she said cautiously.
Jamila squinted at the hem. “Is that a topstitch?”
“Yes.”
“My grandmother used to do this stitch a lot.” Jamila ran her fingers over the thread. “All by hand.”
Okay, should Maya probe and try to connect with Jamila now? Or would doing so bring on more grief for Jamila? Maya didn’t know, and she didn’t want to mess this up. Maybe she’d play neutral. Yes. Neutral was good. Neutral was safe. “Good on you for recognizing the stitch.”
“I can’t stitch by hand,” Jamila said. “Too hard.”
She was slowly opening up to Maya. This was a positive sign. Maya would extend a peace offering. “It takes a while to learn, but you’ll get the hang of it. In the meantime, you can use a sewing machine. I have an extra sewing machine. Do you have one?”
Jamila’s shoulders sagged. “Nope.”
“You can borrow mine if you’d like. If that’s okay with your father.” Maya glanced in Derek’s direction.
“Sounds good to me,” Derek said.
Jamila looked between them, her eyes filled with hesitation. “I’ll borrow your sewing machine. Thank you for offering.”
A pleasantness filled Maya. This was good. Real good.
Chapter Ten
Bringing Jamila here wasn’t as bad as Derek figured it’d be. There weren’t any blowups or major disasters. Except for Jamila’s one comment about a display, she seemed cool. Perhaps he could get her on board with the new direction that the store was taking with the remodel and all. But how?
Dessert. Kids loved dessert. “Since you’re here, Jamila, I figured this would be a great opportunity for you to work today. I’ll take you out for ice cream as compensation. How’s that sound?”
She nodded. “Sounds great. Cookies and cream is my favorite flavor.”
Derek laughed. “I brought in an extra stock of accessories, but I haven’t the time to put them on display yet. They’re in the stockroom in a stack of three boxes. Mind setting them up for me?”
“Sure.” Jamila left for the stockroom, leaving him and Maya on the sales floor.
That went easy enough. Perhaps getting Jamila on board wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“This should be a good day,” Maya said, smiling. “Cat Clyne texted me to say she’ll be here this afternoon to take pictures and ask questions.”
“Good. That’ll give me time to think about what I want to say.”
“There’s not much to think about if you ask me.” Maya gently tugged on the train of one of her gowns on display. She pulled a needle out of a red pincushion and threaded it. “The history you shared was plenty. All you have to do is tell her that.”
“That’s the thing. I feel hesitant to talk about that history. My mother always did, but I’m not my mother. Not everyone wants to hear about the history of this boutique.”
Maya stopped tugging on the gown. She remembered Laura’s reaction to the news about the museum on Chalmers Street. “You’re right. Not everyone wants to hear about our history. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be told.”
Derek was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he’d even told Maya. She made it easy to talk about those things. Telling a reporter, telling the world, would be different. There was an additional pressure to represent his family well. Derek glanced at the framed letter from his grandmother.
Make us proud. The words echoed within him. Always a Bride needed to make more than a profit. It needed to be acknowledged for what it truly was, a symbol of perseverance and hope. “You’re right. The boutique’s story deserves to be told.”
“It does.” Maya walked over to him, pincushion in hand.
Electricity thrummed between them. It was a low buzz, but he sensed it nonetheless. This woman was unraveling the threads that wrapped around his old beliefs, his old notions of what was possible and what wasn’t. He’d never thought that one day he’d be here sharing a long-forgotten history of his family. He’d never thought his history would be the possible key to saving the family business.
Now he held that key firmly in his hand, and Maya had made that possible. “You’re my good luck charm.”
Surprise flashed across her face.
Did he just say that aloud? Yes, but he wasn’t taking it back because it was true. “You’re my good luck charm,” he repeated.
The door to the stockroom opened, and the spell between Derek and Maya broke. He shifted his attention to the sound of Jamila coming out, pushing one cardboard box. “Can you help me with this, Dad?”
“Sure, baby girl.” He headed in her direction and lifted the box, carrying it over to the empty spac
e where it would be displayed. “I’ll get the rest of them too.”
“Who painted these walls blue?” Jamila asked. Her nose scrunched like she smelled something bad. “Grandma hated the color blue.”
Derek stilled. “She did?”
“Yes. Grandma always said it was a bad luck color.”
He searched his memory, but it came up lacking. “I never heard her say that.”
“That’s because you were hardly around.” Her tone hardened.
Here we go again. “I’m here now, Jamila.”
She stared him down, but Derek didn’t relent. Jamila needed to understand this truth. She crossed her arms and walked to the rear of the store, inspecting the color on the walls. From his periphery, Maya took two steps back. Was Maya wilting under Jamila’s critical eye?
“I like the color,” Derek said. “The store was looking a bit outdated. The new color makes things look more modern and up-to-date.”
Jamila ran her finger along the dried paint on the walls. “If you say so.”
This wasn’t working out too well. If Derek told Jamila that Maya was the one who picked out the paint, she’d be mad. Nothing Derek did was good enough for his daughter, and a part of him was getting exhausted with trying to win her allegiance. Something had to give.
“Jamila?” Maya asked.
Jamila glanced up. “What?”
“Don’t be so hard on your dad.” She clasped her hands together, apparently nervous. “I picked out the color, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know about her preferences for the store.”
“I figured that much,” Jamila said, moving toward the cardboard box.
“We were just trying to get a new look for the store,” Derek added. “You haven’t been around here. I didn’t know that you were interested in the store’s remodel.”
“You. Never. Asked. Me.” Jamila set a veil down on the counter next to her. “You. Never. Asked.”
Jamila’s words cut through Derek, and his shoulders subconsciously slumped. “You’re right. I never did. You spent the most time with Grandma. You spent the most time in this store. I should have asked you.”
Jamila’s lower lip trembled, but she grabbed the veil again and plopped it on a mannequin’s head. A tear trickled down her cheek.
“Oh, baby girl.” Derek headed her way to give her a hug, and Jamila fell into his embrace. He bowed his head. “I miss them too.”
Jamila’s tears soaked his button-down shirt, but he didn’t care. This was needed.
“If you want to change the colors on the walls to something that Grandma would’ve liked, we can.”
Maya blinked. “I agree. We can change whatever you want to change, Jamila.”
“Changing things won’t bring Grandma back. She’s been gone for a year, and I miss her,” Jamila sobbed. “Won’t bring Mama back either.”
Helpless. That was the only word that came to mind for Derek. He was helpless. No amount of repainting or hugs or conversations or cookouts would ever erase the sense of loss inside of his daughter. The magnitude of her grief overwhelmed him. He knew she was hurting, but not like this.
Should he brush it aside in order to protect her feelings? Or should he talk her through this and get the full brunt of it right now, right before the trunk show?
Pushing this aside for another time wasn’t going to help. He needed to face this head-on.
“There’s nothing we can do to change that, but you see this?” Derek pointed to the framed letter.
Jamila lifted her head and wiped the tears from her brown cheeks.
“That’s our charge. That’s why we renovated the place. We need to keep Always a Bride going, understand?”
“I understand.”
A weight lifted from his shoulders. Breakthrough.
“Your mother worked at the boutique too. Is that right, Jamila?” Maya asked.
Jamila wiped another tear from her cheek. “That’s correct.”
“Perhaps you and I can sit down one day soon, and you can tell me about the place. There’s a fashion reporter who will be here this afternoon. You could tell her too. Let her know what this store means to you—that is, if your father and you agree.”
“A reporter is coming here?” Jamila glanced at her father.
“She’s writing about the store,” he said.
“If I talked about it, will it help save the place?”
“I don’t know if it would, but it’s worth a try,” Derek said.
Jamila sniffled and studied the framed letter on the wall. “Then I’d like to talk about the store too.”
A sense of peace washed over Derek. This wasn’t his usual modus operandi but choosing to talk about it helped Jamila. She was going to talk about the store too. That was a blessing.
Jamila agreed to talk to Cat. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome. This was the perfect way to ensure that Jamila was involved in this business.
How could Maya have picked the wall color without consulting Jamila first? The last thing Maya wanted was for Jamila to feel as if she were getting pushed out of the picture. Maya would be here temporarily, but Jamila would be here permanently. Her opinions and ideas should hold more weight.
Maya would make that happen.
Derek flipped the store sign from closed to open, and thirty minutes later, the first customers trickled into the boutique. Nervousness flitted through Maya for a host of reasons. This was her chance not only to promote the store, but to promote her work to buyers, to see if there was a wider market for her designs. Selling a few dresses on consignment here and there was one thing. Getting word of mouth and recommendations and a slew of dress sales was quite another.
On top of that, Cat Clyne would walk into the boutique at any moment. This was Maya’s time to shine. If she did, then Laura would have to promote Maya to the head designer position. Maya had to work on the revised designs regardless. She’d been so busy with the boutique that she hadn’t gotten to it yet. She made a mental note to work on it this weekend.
For now, Maya would focus on the trunk show. “Here goes nothing,” she said to herself.
A group of women entered the store and encircled one of Maya’s gowns like eagles surrounding a nest. Please like my dresses. Please like my dresses. Please like my dresses.
“Morning, ladies. Can I help you with anything?”
“We’re looking for a wedding dress.” The brunette picked at Maya’s dress design. “This one is meh.”
Maya’s skin tightened. Meh. Not a good sign. “We have other dresses.” She gestured to the racks. “What were you going for?”
“Simple and traditional. Nothing too frilly. I want pure elegance.”
Pure elegance meant pure Laura Whitcomb. Maya directed her to the dresses that would fit her style. She and her friends oohed over all of them.
This was gonna be hard. Maybe Laura was right. Maybe her dresses were too outside of the norm. She should move her gown that was on display.
Just as she was about to do so, the door opened. Was that Cat?
Nope. Another young woman entered the store. She wore a black-and-white peplum dress and silver ballet flats.
“How can I help you?” Maya asked.
“I heard about your trunk show on social media, and I wanted to stop by and see it for myself. I’m looking for a gown for my wedding.”
Probably not one like mine. “Is there a particular style you’re looking for?”
The woman shrugged. “I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve searched everywhere, and so far, I haven’t seen it.”
Maya showed her the dresses on the rack, and the woman flipped through them quickly. “Nah. This isn’t it. They look like everything else that’s out there.”
They sure do. Maya glanced over at one of her designs. Would this lady go for something like it? “How about this gown?” Maya gestured to the gown with the burnt-orange accent color at the trim.
The woman’s face lit up. “That’s so different. Can you take it off the mannequin for me?”
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“Sure.” It took a few minutes to get it off the mannequin—the dress was heavy. Probably because of the additional appliqué and beads.
The young woman stood in front of a tall mirror and held up Maya’s dress. “Lovely.”
She liked it. That was refreshing after the first wave of ladies’ reactions. Maya stood behind her.
“I always say it’s the bride who makes the dress,” Maya said. “Not the other way around. For you, this dress would only need minor alterations. Tuck it in around the waist and tighten at the arms. You’ll be ready to go. Try it on and we’ll see.”
The woman went into the dressing room. When she returned, Maya pulled out her measuring tape, a pincushion, and got to work. The door opened, averting Maya’s attention. Cat Clyne walked through the entrance.
OMG. That was Cat Clyne. That was really Cat Clyne.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Should Maya go up and greet her, or should she stay focused on this minor dress alteration?
Seconds later, Derek greeted Cat. They shook hands and started chatting. Cat glanced in Maya’s direction, and Maya nodded a greeting, a thread pursed between her lips.
At least Derek had things under control for now. Maya would focus on the customer. Thirty minutes later, Maya finished with the dress adjustment. “What do you think?”
“I like it.” She twisted her mouth.
Maya sensed her anxiety. “But . . .”
The woman exhaled. “I need something more. Something that is uniquely me. My wedding will be at my father’s place. I wanted to have it at Hilton Head, but Mother insisted that a governor’s daughter should have her wedding at home.”
Maya’s eyes widened. “You’re Heather Gates?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh, wow.”
Heather held the dress up a few inches higher. “Picking my dresses is the only autonomy I have over this wedding. That’s only because I insisted on paying for them myself. My parents are controlling everything else.” She held out the gown and read the tag. “Maya Jackson Designs. I’ve never heard of this designer.”
“That designer is me.”
“You made this dress?”
A Lowcountry Bride Page 12
