Nickolai's Noel (2 page)

“Yes,” Noel said. “It’s meant to look like a couple has just gotten up after spending the morning in bed. See how the covers are partially pulled up and the pillows are askew?”

Because it had not been as time consuming to make,
Lazy Morning
wasn’t as expensive as
Starry Snowfall.
It was comprised mostly of large appliquéd motifs—a messy newspaper, a tray with a half-eaten breakfast, an abandoned nightgown—with a touch of embroidery here and there—the lace edge of the pillow case, a cell phone, and a pair of glasses.

“See the kitty paw?” Nickolai pointed to the edge of the quilt. “It’s like he’s on the floor about to jump up.” He laughed and shook his head. “May I touch it?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” But Noel was pleased that he asked. Most people didn’t. “Quilts are meant to be used and enjoyed. It would be hard to do that without touching.”

Nickolai ran his hand over the pillow motif. Noel had created shading with different fabrics to give the illusion of an indention left by a head.

“What is this?” He ran his finger over a bit of embroidery. Then the realization hit. “You left hair on the pillow! Long blond and short black!” He nodded with a little wicked glint in his eyes. “It makes me wonder where the couple went, no?”

Noel clapped her hands. “Yes!” Every once in a while, somebody got it. But who would have thought it would be this big, brawny hockey player?

“Mmm.” He nodded. “I think they went to the shower.
Together.
Is that right?”

Noel laughed. “I don’t know. They truth is in the eye of the beholder. Maybe their baby cried, and they went to comfort him. Or maybe his mother is ringing the bell, and
he’s
gone to answer the door while
she
hurries to dress.”

“I like the shower better,” Nickolai said.

“Then that’s your truth.” Noel and Nickolai locked eyes for a bare second before Tewanda stepped between them.

“If the two of you are finished waxing poetic, could we remember we’re shopping for
my
birthday present?”

Nickolai’s eyes slid to Tewanda. “Of course,
ma belle.
Do you like this one?”

Tewanda’s eyes assessed it and landed on the price tag. “You want me to like that one because it’s cheaper than the blue and white one.” She turned to Noel. “You won’t believe how cheap he is. Do you know who he is?” She didn’t wait for Noel to answer. “Nickolai-freaking-Glazov. The Nashville Sound signed him to a twelve-year, ninety-two million dollar contract. That’s not even counting what he gets paid for trotting out Gatorade, underwear, vodka, and Campbell’s Soup. He played in the
Olympics
!”

Nickolai’s whole demeanor changed, and he became not the happy man who appreciated a whimsical quilt, but the hard, cold, ice warrior Noel had seen rule his world with a hockey stick and pure, raw nerve.

“And he bought a
used
Jeep! That’s how cheap he is!” Tewanda railed on.

Noel felt her face go hot with embarrassment, and she took a step back.

“No, Tewanda,” Nickolai said evenly. “I am not cheap. I like value for my money. I promised you a quilt for your birthday, and if you want the blue one, that’s the one you must have. It’s of high quality, made with much skill and many hours of work, worth the price.”

Noel couldn’t imagine accepting a gift from someone who was looking at her like that, but Tewanda nodded.

“Then that’s the one I want.”

Eager to break the tension and sell the quilt before they changed their minds, Noel turned from them to retrieve her stepladder. “I’ll take it down and box it for you. It’ll take a few minutes. If you want to get some lunch or look in some of the other shops, I can have it ready when you come back.”

“Good idea.” Tewanda stalked to the door.

“Absolutely not.” Nickolai took the ladder from Noel. “I’ll help you.”

Noel knew better than to let a customer climb a ladder in her shop; if he fell, she’d be liable. But he wasn’t asking, and she couldn’t find her voice to argue with him. The best she could do was hold the ladder while he removed the clips that held
Starry Snowfall
to the dowel, and force herself to tear her eyes away from his bottom.

In an effort to distract herself from that magnificent view, Noel looked at Tewanda, who was staring out the front window with her arms folded across her chest and her jaw set. In spite of her beauty, the sour-faced look wasn’t so attractive.

“Here, Noel.” Nickolai handed the quilt down. When he helped her fold it, their fingers brushed, and she could have sworn a few of those stars leapt off the quilt and caught a ride through his fingers to the pit of her stomach.

Silly. Ridiculous. She really was star struck. She laughed a little to herself.

When she returned Nickolai’s Visa Black Card, she noticed his pre-Tewanda-chastisement smile had returned.

“Thank you, Noel. Now, we will get lunch and return for the quilt.”

“I’ll have it ready.”

“I don’t
want
lunch,” Tewanda said. “I want to look in the other shops.”

“Maybe both?” Nickolai opened the door and ushered her out.

As Noel wrapped
Starry Snowfall
in acid-free tissue paper and placed it, along with a pamphlet on how to care for the quilt, in a large, sturdy box, she idly pondered what had transpired between Nickolai and Tewanda—though she didn’t come up with any answers. Oh, well. Who was she to question the ways of the rich and beautiful?

Then the phone rang, bringing one of her own complicated relationships to the forefront.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Noel! I really need you to come home this weekend.”

Home
was a Louisville, Kentucky showplace Victorian mansion with antiquated plumbing and questionable wiring, located three hours from where Noel actually lived in Beauford, Tennessee. Deborah Verden acted like Noel was away at college and would hurry home at every opportunity—not that Noel had gone to college. Funds had been limited, and Deborah had decided financing both a membership in Phi Mu at Belmont University and a debutante season for Noel’s older sister was a better investment than a state college for both of her daughters. Unfortunately, all it had gained Paige was a Vanderbilt Law student husband whose nearly broke family had also sent him to a private school and on the debutante circuit to find a mate with old money.

“I can’t come there this weekend, Mother. I told you I have to teach a class and judge a competition at a quilt festival in Vermont.”

There was a long pause.

“Can’t you stop here on the way?”

Holy mother of a gargoyle! Her mother wasn’t dumb, though Noel was sympathetic to people who thought so. She was more like a debutante who got lost on the way to her ball and ended up at a barn dance. That’s what happened to people with lofty expectations and more pride than money.

“Mother,” she said patiently, “I’m flying to Vermont. I don’t think I can get the pilot to stop off there.”

“I don’t know what good it is to own your own business if you can’t go home when you want to.”

You
are the one
who wants me to come. Did you miss that?

“What do you need from me, Mama?”

“What makes you think I need something? Maybe I just want to see you.”

“I’m sure you do. And I’d like to see you, too. But I can tell when you need something.”

“Well, one of Paige’s sisters is getting married—”

Noel couldn’t resist. “Last time I checked I was Paige’s only sister, and I can assure you there’s no matrimony on the horizon.”

“Her
sorority
sister—mine too, when you get right down to it,
and
your grandmother’s.”

Ah, yes. Phi Mus for three generations. How could she forget? After finding her craft, college had become unimportant to Noel, and she had never aspired to a ticket on the Phi Mu train. But it was still hurtful that she’d not been given the same opportunity as her older, prettier sister. “Of course,” Noel said sweetly. “I’m sorry. So there’s a wedding?”

“Yes, and Paige needs a bridesmaid dress. And you’ll never guess! Constance is going to be the flower girl!”

“Fabulous!” Noel said. “That should secure her place as a future Phi Mu!”

“Exactly! And, Noel, these days you cannot be too sure. So anyway, we need to get their dresses ordered so they can be altered in time.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

“They have to be ordered on the Internet. And you know we’re hopeless at that.”

That was the truth. Noel could excuse her grandmother and, to a degree, her mother, but Paige was a different matter. She hadn’t finished college, but she’d gone to Belmont for two years before landing Webb. One could assume she’d had to be somewhat computer literate, but Paige insisted things had “changed so much” that she was incapable of even shopping online.

“Ask Webb for help.”

“Oh, Noel. We don’t want to bother him. He’s working on a big case.”

No doubt. Noel had some sympathy for her brother-in-law. When, after a lavish wedding that had taken the last of Noel’s father’s life insurance, both families had learned that nobody had any extra blue-chip stocks lying around, Webb had moved right into what Noel secretly called the Debutante Den and worked like a fiend so that the Verden women could continue to pretend life was as they wished it were. And if he let Deborah Verden have ancient silk wallpaper restored while rusty water ran from the pipes, that was between him and his manhood.

“So if, just this once,” Deborah went on, “you could cancel your little quilt thing and come home, I would be forever grateful.”

“I’ll set aside some time to come there and alter the dresses once you get them, but I can’t come this weekend.” So that would be another weekend she’d have to be away from the shop in high tourist season. Ora Evans, who worked at Piece by Piece part time, was a competent quilter and more than capable of helping customers. But, though Noel still found it hard to believe, she was somewhat famous in her circle, and serious quilters tended to be disappointed when they made the trip to Beauford to find Noel absent from her shop. Oh, well. She’d just have to put on the website that she’d be gone. “Canceling on this festival is impossible.”

“What if I died? Would you cancel then?”

“Of course. But you aren’t dead. The need for dresses does not equate with death. Ask Webb to do it. It won’t take five minutes. He won’t mind.” That much was true. Webb loved Paige and worshipped Constance.

“Well … ” Deborah said.

“What?” Noel demanded. “What now?” Noel seldom lost patience but, like always, there was more to this.

“Don’t speak to me like that, Noel.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. Why can’t Paige ask Webb for help?”

“These dresses are … shall we say … pricey? And this might not be the best time to let Webb know that.”

“And why is that?”

“You see,”—oh, the wheedling tone! The one Deborah used when she knew she was delivering information that was not going to foster sympathy—“this isn’t Margaret Rose’s
first
wedding, and Webb wasn’t happy with the prices of the dresses she chose last year. So, you see—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Noel waved her hand around like she was trying to keep the last fire at the North Pole burning. “You mean to tell me Paige and Constance have already been in one wedding for this woman? And it was
last
year? And she has already divorced, found a new man, and is doing it all over again? And my sister and niece are going to participate again?”

“Now, Noel. It isn’t quite like that. She didn’t find a
new man
, as you say. She’s remarrying the first one. And it’s entirely understandable that Margaret Rose would want to celebrate with her family and friends after she and Powell cleared up their differences. It’s not as if she’s wearing white again. And the attendants’ dresses will be short. Everything will be in good taste for a second wedding.”

“In good taste, but expensive?”

“Don’t the two usually go hand in hand? Noel, you don’t understand what an honor it is to be asked to be in a wedding.”

That was the truth; she’d only been in one wedding, and being part of the cast of thousands in the Paige-Webb extravaganza had felt more like a lot of work than an honor.

“Margaret Rose has chosen fall colors. I hope the dresses will be warm enough for October in New Hampshire.”

“New Hampshire, huh?” Noel simply could not go on with this conversation; the end result was going to be the same anyway. “Tell me what you want me to do, Mother—apart from coming to Louisville this weekend.”

“Well … we were hoping you might order the dresses and let Paige pay you back—you know, at a time when Webb might be more amenable?”

Noel didn’t relish helping to deceive her long-suffering brother-in-law, but she’d given up trying to make her family see reason long ago. Besides, Webb was the one who’d decided to suffer; she could relate.

“Fine. Yes. Email me the link.”

“Oh, Noel! You know we can’t do that! It’s in an email from Margaret Rose, but the last time I tried to email you something, it disappeared into thin air.”

Why had she even tried to school them on basic computer skills?

“Okay. Go next door and tell Quincy if he’ll come over and do it, I’ll give him five dollars when I come to alter the dresses.”

Quincy was nine years old.

“Oh, thank you, Noel! Won’t things be so much easier when you make enough money to come home and open a shop here?”

Easier for who?
Her family would never understand how prestigious it had been to be courted by the Beauford Arts Council to open a shop in such a respected artisan community. She’d have to make the wedding party of a Phi Mu for them to be impressed.

A little guilt went through her like it did every time she let her family think she was still on track with the original plan—for her to move back into that crumbling showplace with them and open a shop in Louisville.

But Noel didn’t have time for guilt right now—or coming clean, had she been inclined to do so, which she was not. Through the front window, she caught sight of Nickolai coming across the street. He was alone.