The Dream Dress

  “No doubt. And they’re really friendly there. They greet you to death.” I chuckled. “And beware, they make the visitors stand.”

  With a wave of her hand she appeared to dismiss any concerns about making a public spectacle of herself. “Might be worth it as long as I’m standing among the living again. It’s been a long time. You know?”

  Wow. She rarely opened up to me like this, so I drank in every word.

  “I don’t know if going to church will change some of the things I struggle with, but I’m willing to give it a try.” At this proclamation she rose, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and walked out of the room.

  I’d barely had time to ponder her words when my phone rang. I answered it, surprised to hear Jordan’s voice on the other end.

  “Hem-ry!”

  “I-I beg your pardon?”

  “Hem-ry. That mannequin thing in your office. His name is Hem-ry. Get it? Hem-ry? Because you hem dresses.” He laughed and then came back with, “See, I’m good!”

  “No.” I laughed. “It’s not Hem-ry, but that’s a good try. I guess.”

  “I’m going to get this, you know,” he said. His voice carried a hint of flirtatious playfulness, which really intrigued me. “I won’t give up.”

  I had a feeling he was talking about more than dress forms and names now. As he lit into a fun story about his latest interview with a bride in Houston, I found myself caught up in his easy, cheerful chatter.

  A girl could get used to this.

  Very used to this.

  Tight Spot

  May your bobbin always be full!

  Author unknown

  Monday morning dawned like any other day, but my perspective seemed to have improved. Was it just my imagination, or was the sun shining brighter than usual? As I drove to work, my car sputtered all the way, but it didn’t really bug me. It did, however, remind me of the fellow at Scarlet’s church, the one who had offered his services. Nice guy. I would have to ask Scarlet for his contact information later and then give him a buzz. I might even ask him to replace the side mirror before I got a ticket.

  Yes, everything on this Monday morning felt just plain . . . peachy.

  Until I arrived at work.

  Kitty greeted me at the door, her brow knitted and lips tight. “Gabi, I’m so glad you’re here. I just couldn’t think of what to do.”

  “What to do?” I stepped inside and put my purse on the counter. “What do you mean? Has something happened?”

  “It’s Demetri. He’s . . . he’s . . .”

  My heart quickened as I envisioned the worst. “W-what?”

  Kitty took hold of my arm and lowered her voice as she pulled me past the mannequins with their fancy gowns, past the Dynamic Duo as they worked their magic on a customer, toward the break room at the back of the store. “He’s in the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” No way. “I didn’t even know he was sick.” Shame washed over me as I took in this news. Had I known all along that Demetri was ill, would it have changed my perspective?

  “He’s not really sick,” Kitty said. “He’s had a . . .” Her gaze swept the length of the little break room. “A nervous breakdown. I mean, he didn’t come out and call it that, but based on what he said . . .”

  “Wait, a nervous breakdown?” Huh? Sure, he was a little high-strung, but when it came to business, Demetri Markowitz was the most together man I’d ever met. He scheduled everything. Surely we would’ve known if he’d planned a nervous breakdown. I would’ve seen it on the calendar. He simply didn’t have time for a nervous breakdown right now, not with the Nicolette Cavanaugh situation and all.

  “He’s scared to death that reporter is going to find out where he is.” Kitty’s words sounded strained. “In fact, he’s so worried about it that he’s registered at the hospital under an assumed name.”

  “Wow.” I paused as I thought it through. “I’m sure Jor—the reporter would never do that.”

  “You don’t know that for sure, Gabi,” she said. “I mean, getting the story is a reporter’s business. I have no doubt in my mind he’s out to get the most sensational tale possible, and this one’s pretty sensational.” She raised her hands in the air as if displaying her next words. “‘Dress designer melts down after bride-to-be leaves him at the altar.’”

  “Wait . . . Nicolette canceled her wedding?”

  Kitty’s face blanched. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to tell you that she’s not wearing the dress he designed for her after all. That’s the reason for his breakdown. Well, partly. I’m sure he has other issues going on too. But she’s dropped him like a hot potato.”

  “Oh no.” Guilt swept over me as I thought back to the incident involving the tray of éclairs. “Because of the chocolate stain?”

  “Nothing to do with that. We got the chocolate stain out. Every bit of it. And you did a fine job on the hem, so it had nothing to do with anything related to that day. Nothing that concerns you, anyway.”

  “What then?”

  “None of this solved the ultimate problem. Turns out she was never keen on the design in the first place. In her heart she wanted something different from the very beginning, but she went along with Demetri because of his popularity. She felt sure that wearing a Demetri Markowitz gown would solidify her role as a debutante.” Kitty shook her head. “Not that she phrased it like that, but you get the idea.”

  “Right.”

  “She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and she thought the design would grow on her once she went through with the . . . well, you know.”

  “The surgery?”

  “Yeah. But having the surgery just solidified in her mind that she wasn’t a fan of the dress. She now considers the chocolate incident a sign that it was never meant to be. She called this morning and talked to me at length about all of this. We had a very frank discussion, actually.”

  “Ack.” No doubt Demetri considered the chocolate fiasco a sign too. One that I should look for work elsewhere. Why oh why did this have to happen now, after I’d lost and then regained my job?

  “So, now what?” I dropped down into a chair.

  “Now we have the task of diverting the reporter. He can’t find out.” She shrugged. “He’s already done his interview with Demetri, and as far as he knows the bride is happy, so if we don’t say anything, no one will be any the wiser.”

  “Wait. Are you saying Demetri is going to let the article run as is? He’s going to let Texas Bride—and all of its readers—think that Nicolette actually walked the aisle in his dress?”

  Kitty released a loud sigh, one that mirrored my concerns. “I guess. I just know he’s not in any shape to let the reporter know the truth yet.”

  “They’re going to find out.” I knew from past experience that situations like these always had a way of coming to light. “Better to be a little humiliated now, in front of Jordan, than to be publicly humiliated in front of thousands of readers when the truth emerges.”

  “True, but—” She gave me an inquisitive look. “Wait, did you just call him Jordan?”

  My heart quickened. “Y-yeah. That’s his name.”

  “Well, yes, but you say it as if you guys are good friends or something.” Now she gave me a funny look. “Are you good friends or something?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re good friends, really.” I cleared my throat and tried to look nonchalant. “More like acquaintances. He interviewed me to get extra tidbits to add to the article, so I’ve spent time with him.”

  Alone. In my office. And at home. And on the phone.

  “What did you tell him?”

  For whatever reason, her question felt more like an accusation. I’d never known Kitty to be anything but kind, so I did my best to write this off as anxiety on her part.

  “I certainly didn’t say anything about Demetri’s nerves or his visit to the hospital. Not that I knew anything about Demetri being hospitalized, anyway. All of this is news to me.”

  “Right, ri
ght.” She paced the room, then looked my way. “I guess you should know that the Fab Five . . .”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re not taking this news very well. Turns out they don’t function well without their fearless—er, fear-filled—leader.”

  “Are you saying the vell-oiled machine isn’t so vell-oiled?” I couldn’t help but smile as I tried to mimic Demetri’s accent.

  “They’re frozen with rust at the moment. That might be a better description.” She paused. “Look, I know this is asking a lot, but would you mind going over there? I’ve tried to talk to them, but they’re pretty much stuck right now. They need some sort of motivation.”

  “And you think I can provide it?”

  “I don’t know, but at this point I’m willing to try just about anything.”

  Alrighty then.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I turned to face the studio, ready to make the trek. Before taking one step, though, I offered up another one of those frantic prayers. Seemed like the Lord was hearing from me a lot lately.

  Turned out I didn’t have to go to the studio. The Fab Five came to me. We met in the break room. Well, just outside the break room, actually.

  I watched as Beatrix stumbled across the room, knocking down one of the mannequins and nearly taking a tumble herself. Emiko tried to grab the mannequin but failed. Only when I stuck out an arm to catch it was the catastrophe averted.

  A normal person would’ve thanked me for saving her neck. Not Beatrix. She glared at me as if I’d somehow caused the whole thing. Emiko, however, gave a kindly nod and said, “Thanks.”

  Wow. Her first word to me. Ever. A crack in the veneer. I took this as a hopeful sign. But just as quickly, the young woman’s gaze shifted to the floor.

  Doria gave me a hug, but her eyes glistened with tears. The other two ladies looked . . . lost. Vacant.

  I wanted to say something motivational to the group but never got the chance. They huddled around the cappuccino maker, all whispers and sighs, and left me to the outer fringes. Again.

  I made my way to my office, where I plopped down on the floor at Ginger’s feet to hem the gown she happened to be wearing. The owner of said gown would arrive in a couple of days to pick it up, so I’d better get busy.

  I gazed up at her and sighed as I asked the question, “Ever wish you had a different sort of life?”

  Ginger did not respond.

  “Sometimes I think about having a different life,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “But I don’t really know what I’d do. Open a bridal shop and show off your creations? Or maybe take up sword fighting? Become a professional wrestler?”

  Glancing in the direction of the voice, I saw Jordan standing in the open doorway, looking more adorable than ever in a blue button-up shirt and dark jeans.

  “But sword fighting doesn’t pay much,” he added with a shrug.

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “So maybe I’ll stick with reporting.” Jordan took a step into the room. “We’ve already established that I’m pretty good at that, especially when it comes to all things bridal.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “You know your brides.”

  “And their gowns.” He pointed at Ginger.

  As his smile lit the room, I was transfixed. Still, I wondered why he had returned to the scene of the crime. Had he heard about Demetri’s hospitalization, perhaps? Was he here to glean more info for his article? Get the inside scoop? The very idea made me a nervous wreck.

  The twinkle in his eye spoke otherwise. “I think my real calling is eater of great Italian food.”

  Now he’d lost me completely.

  “I’m asking Ginger to lunch.” He extended his hand. “If she has the time.”

  “Ah.” I looked back and forth between Ginger—half hemmed—and Prince William. Er, Jordan.

  “Ginger is drowning in work at the moment.” I sighed as I gestured to the dress in front of me. “She’s not sure she can spare any time away.”

  “Oh, well, that’s a shame, but I’ve got the perfect solution. Mice!”

  “Mice?” I leaped up, brushing loose thread from my backside as my gaze traveled the floor from one side of the room to the other. “You saw a mouse?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I’m asking if you have mice like the ones that helped with Cinderella’s dress the night she went to the ball.”

  “Ah.” I felt the tension go out of my shoulders. “I sure hope not.”

  “Well, they came in handy, if memory serves me correctly. Didn’t they help sew her dress?”

  “True, true. But I somehow doubt the real deal would prove to be as helpful.” In fact, the very idea of mice in the workroom made me shiver.

  I did my best to steady my breathing as Jordan carried on about the scene in the animated Cinderella where the mice worked as a team to put together Cinderella’s ball gown. Suddenly I pictured Demetri running through the shop, chased by a passel of baby mice that knocked down dress mannequins all the way. I had to chuckle at the image that presented.

  “Ooo, you like my idea. And you have to agree, it’s the perfect solution.” Jordan nodded. “Cinderella had a Fab Five too. Only, they were much smaller. And kind of sneaky.”

  “Not much different from the ones I know.” I instantly bit my tongue. Really, I had to quit blaming Beatrix and the other designers for my plight. They weren’t the wicked stepsisters and I wasn’t Cinderella. They were just five women who’d caught a break—a great break—from an important designer.

  “So, about that lunch date . . .” He offered his hand again. “If I promise to have you back before the clock strikes midnight, will you come with me?”

  I reached to take his hand and gave a little nod. “I guess so.”

  “Not the most enthusiastic response, but I’ll take it.” He held my hand a bit longer than the situation would have called for. Not that I felt like complaining. Oh no. I made no effort to withdraw it. I looked into his ruggedly handsome face, and those compelling eyes drew me in. Made me a little weak in the knees, frankly. A girl couldn’t help but be captivated by his strong but gentle face, the confident set of his shoulders, and those kissable lips—always curled as if on the edge of laughter.

  Kissable lips? Where had that come from? Oy! I’d seen one too many of Mimi Carmen’s telenovelas, apparently.

  I found myself saying, “I’d love to go to lunch,” which only served to broaden his smile and draw my attention once again to those lips.

  Focus, Gabi. Focus.

  Not that anyone could focus just now, with all the noise coming from outside my workroom.

  Jordan turned and released his hold on my hand. “What is that?”

  “‘Who is that?’ might be a better question.” I knew, of course, but didn’t want to raise his suspicions.

  Outside the door, the Fab Five argued among themselves about a design project. Their voices rose higher and higher in pitch. Then Kitty got involved. I could hear her trying to shush them, but it didn’t appear to be working. No, they only grew louder, and within seconds, one of them—Emiko?—started crying. Man. Now what?

  “Are they okay?” Jordan asked, his words lowered to a hoarse whisper.

  “I think they just don’t know what to do without Demetri guiding the ship. You know?”

  “Demetri’s not here?” Jordan asked.

  Yikes! I’d totally forgotten not to tell him.

  “He, um, well, he stepped out this morning, and they seem a little lost without him.” I smiled faintly. “You know how it is, a ship without its rudder and all that.”

  “You’re saying this ship has lost its rudder?” Jordan’s eyes widened. “That’s not good.”

  “Well, no. Not really.” My heart thump-thumped. “I mean, no, it’s not true that they’ve lost their rudder. I just think they’re waiting for someone to give them instruction. And Demetri will be back. Soon. Very soon. I feel sure of it.”

  “That’s good, because I was hopi
ng to connect with him today to ask a couple of questions about Nicolette’s dress. Once I get these notes plugged in, the article will be good to go.”

  Oh. Help.

  Outside my room, Kitty finally managed to get the ladies calmed down. Before long I could tell that they’d left the building, likely headed to lunch at Parma John’s, their usual spot.

  “You ready to go to lunch? I think it’s safe to pass now.” Jordan grinned. “I’m dying for some pizza, and it’s Monday. You know what that means.”

  “The Mambo Italiano Special,” we said in unison.

  Only, now I didn’t feel like eating. Ever again. I wanted to climb in a hole and pretend I hadn’t just told him that Demetri—our rudder—was gone. At least I hadn’t mentioned where he’d gone.

  Had I? Right now I couldn’t remember.

  “I can’t believe I get to go to lunch with the prettiest girl on the island. I’m one lucky guy.” Jordan offered me his arm—à la Fred Astaire—and I took it, mesmerized by his flattering words. We walked out of the workroom together, but I could hardly think straight.

  When we got to the front of the store, Kitty looked our way, her eyes growing large as she saw my arm looped through Jordan’s. Her words, “Are you good friends or something?” ran through my mind. I’d denied it, hadn’t I? And yet here I stood, looking like more than just friends. Much more.

  She shook her head as if to offer some sort of subliminal warning, and panic swept over me. I pulled my arm free and stopped walking.

  “You okay?” Jordan looked my way, clearly confused.

  “Actually, I . . .” Think of something, Gabi. “I have a lot of work on my plate, and I don’t know if I have the time to grab lunch today.”

  “Oh.” His expression shifted, and those lips—those gorgeous, kissable lips—turned down. Strange, I’d never seen him look sad before. Kind of broke my heart, especially his quiet “I understand.”

  He didn’t, but that was probably a good thing.

  “I’m sorry, Jordan. I really am. But I really need to stay here.” My gaze shifted to Kitty, who seemed to relax at this statement. “And work.”