Flirting with Disaster (25 page)

“Savvy!” Hazelle said sharply. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”

I popped out of my bubble. “Oh, sure, right. Here’s the storage area for the sample jeans. It’s pretty private.” We walked to the closet, and I closed the door behind us. “What’s up?” I braced myself for her answer.

“Brian’s here,” she said.

“Okay . . .” I was waiting for the rest.

“He’s here. And so is everyone else, but he’s here. And, well, you always wanted to make me over. Now’s your chance.”

I exercised extreme control over my forty-three facial muscles. “Sure . . . I mean, if that’s what you want.”

“I do,” she said. I’d already taken care of everything Becky had asked me to do, so we sorted through the stack of jeans till we found something that was pretty close to an ideal fit. And then I ran and got one of the designer shirts that Ashley had rejected before settling on her perfect look. I hustled back to the closet, threw it at Hazelle, and closed the door on her. A few minutes later she came out. “Well?”

“Fabulous,” I pronounced. “Let me tweak your makeup just a little bit and twist your hair to the side.” What I really wanted was a straightening iron, but there wasn’t one here. “Okay, kid, go get ’em,” I said.

I stood back and watched as she approached the buffet room. Heads turned and conversation quieted as she walked by. I felt just like a mother hen. I had my moment, then went back to help Becky and the designers. Ashley did her bit by floating through the rooms and the gardens, looking amazing.

And then there was Hazelle. Her makeover was intended to stun Brian, but it had a much bigger effect. I even heard a few people say, “If those jeans can make Hazelle look that good, sign me up!”

A few hours later, the music died down some, and about half the people melted away. Becky came up and pulled me aside. “Savvy, guess what?”

“What?”

“Look at this number.”

Chapter 56

I couldn’t believe the bottom line. “No way. Is that the whole order?”

She shook her head. “It’s not even the total. There are still people in line. And that’s only orders from tonight. We’ve got a six-month license, so when they love the jeans and want another pair, they’ll have to come back to Be@titude.”

“Is that enough money for the clothing program for single mothers?”

“More than enough,” Becky said as she squeezed my arm. “But I’ll be really busy. I might need some help at the shop this summer. Know anyone who’d like a job in fashion?”

I grinned. “I’m sure I can come up with someone.”

“You might not need the money,” she said, “after your cut.”

My mouth dropped open. “My cut?”

“Sure,” she said. “You’ll get a small commission on the orders. I’d guess about—” she did a couple of calculations and wrote a number on a piece of paper—“this much.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just don’t blow it all on clothes,” she teased.

I laughed. A picture of Emma crawling under the rounders at the shop passed through my mind.

“Some of it on clothes. And some on a playhouse.”

Now it was her turn to be shocked. “A playhouse?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I waved and headed out of the room to text Tommy.

I have some time—where should I meet you?

Back garden, left corner. By the roses.

I glanced in the mirror. A little disheveled, but it would have to do for now. On the way out the door, I saw Hazelle and gave her a thumbs-up. I’d hoped to walk by, but she came up to talk with me. I didn’t want my anxiety to show, but apparently it did.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You looked nervous when I saw you before, and you look nervous now.”

“Well, to be honest, when I saw you the first time, I was a little worried you were going to tell me bad news about the paper,” I admitted.

“Bad news?” she asked. “There were hundreds of people here. Plus, I’ve already received like eight letters to the editor, and that was before the event. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said. “And after tonight . . . well, I’m wondering if maybe we might need to run a regular feature on fashion.”

“Great idea,” I said. “I have some suggestions. . . .”

She held up her hand. “I just said I was wondering, Savvy, not committing. Don’t run ahead of me.”

I laughed. It was good to know that, great jeans or not, Hazelle was still Hazelle. “What did Brian think?”

“He said I looked great and tried to start a conversation with me twice. But you know, I told him it’s over.” She looked happy and confident. I leaned over and hugged her.

Talking about Brian reminded me . . . I had an appointment. “I gotta run,” I said. “Talk to you later.”

I made my way through the thinning crowd toward the back of the garden, where the prize-winning Gorm Strauss rose garden was aglow with the twinkling lights. I saw Tommy sitting on a bench, and I came over and sat next to him. Close, but not too close.

He smiled when he saw me. “Big success, eh?”

I nodded. “I am so happy for Becky. I am so thankful to God.”

“So, Savvy—” he took my hand in his, and I didn’t pull it away—“I was wondering. Do your parents mind if you go out with people?”

“No.” I was glad I’d already talked it over with Mom.

The music drifted out from the house, and there were some crickets trying their best to keep time in the distance. “Would you go out with me, then?” he asked.

“Yes, I will.”

He leaned just a little bit toward me.

I instantly recognized the pose, of course. Dude decoder!

“Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asked.

“No,” I said. I closed my eyes, and he leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against mine. That was it. I didn’t expect it to happen often, and I knew that till my wedding day, there’d be nothing more. But I was not going to be “sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”

As I opened my eyes, I saw him bending over. He plucked a rose from one of the bushes and handed it to me. “Don’t tell Ashley’s mum,” he said.

I laughed. As I did, I heard a man behind me clearing his throat.

Chapter 57

I turned around. “Father Christmas!” How long had he been there, and what had he seen?

“Grandpa!” Tommy said.

I turned and looked at Tommy. “Grandpa?”

“Yeah, that’s my grandpa,” he said. “You know each other?”

“Uh, kind of,” I said. “I interviewed him for the paper.” I hoped I hadn’t spilled his secret.

Father Christmas seemed to know what I was thinking. “Don’t worry; he knows about me,” he said. “A bit hard to keep that kind of secret from your own family.”

Well, that would explain how Tommy’s gran knew about my writing for the paper. Father Christmas—also known as Tom, the postmaster—was the one who had brought a pen to me on Christmas Day. “Oh . . . I see.” I was finally connecting the dots. “Your name is Tom,” I said to him. “Aunt Maude called you Tom.”

His eyes twinkled, just like Father Christmas’s should. “Aunt Maude, eh? We called her Mad Maude in my day. She was quite the social butterfly.”

“Social butterfly?”

He smiled. “I dated her a bit meself before she ran off and got married to a man from up north. Then I met Tommy’s gran, and the rest is history.” Another mystery solved. Aunt Maude recognized Tommy because, well, he did look like his grandfather. Much cuter, though. Of course.

“So how are you doing on those Christmas wishes?” he asked.

“What were those?” Tommy asked me.

Oh no. I was going to have to be brutally honest because Father Christmas would surely remember everything I’d said. I took a deep breath. “I asked for a really good friend; a guy who likes me for myself; a place, or two, to do good work; and . . . a Wexburg Academy
Times
pen.”

“And how are you doing on lining those up?” Father Christmas asked.

I grinned but refused to look at Tommy. “I, uh . . . They all seem to be lining up pretty well now.”

“You’re a quick study,” Father Christmas—I mean, Postmaster Tom, or, uh, Tommy’s grandfather, said. “You’ll have to set some new goals. You can tell me all about them. In December.” He turned to Tommy. “I came to find you, as it’s time to go. Are you and your young lady ready?”

His young lady!
I held the rose stem loosely in my hand. “I’m ready.”