Читать книгу One Perfect Year - Melinda Curtis - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

A BRISK FALL breeze ruffled Shelby’s bangs as she turned down Main Street. The stuccoed buildings, brick sidewalks and classic gas streetlights were postcard perfect. There were still plenty of vacant, cobweb-draped windows to be worrisome—the ice cream parlor where kids hung out after school, the fabric store where she’d worked part-time, the beauty salon where her grandmother received her monthly pin-curl perm. But there were signs of life, too. A couple of coming-soon signs posted in windows. She’d heard a small pizza restaurant was almost ready to open its doors, and some of the elderly ladies were planning a gift boutique with handmade quilts, crocheted baby things and the like.

Christine stood in the sunshine outside the barbershop with three local residents, who were or had been business owners. They weren’t exactly the traditional butcher, baker and candlestick maker.

The youngest of the three, Mayor Larry, was rumored to own most of the commercially zoned property in town. He wore a purple and green tie-dyed T-shirt beneath a worn jean jacket. He smoothed his long gray ponytail as Shelby approached.

Phil Lambridge, the town’s barber, was a scarecrow’s collection of gangly limbs and ill-fitting clothing. Two years ago, Shelby’d accompanied her grandfather to have his haircut and nearly had a heart attack. Phil’s hands undulated like a hula dancer’s hips. She’d feared Grandpa would lose an ear. But miracles did happen. He’d come out unscathed.

The final member of the trio was Mae Gardner, who leaned heavily on a cane. The former bridal shop owner had sold Shelby her prom and wedding dresses. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her red hair, layers of wrinkle-sunken makeup, and the flowery polyester blouse that hung loosely from shoulder pads on her too-thin shoulders, but the woman was a savant when it came to matching a girl with the right dress.

Christine greeted Shelby, then turned to the three locals. “Thanks for meeting us today. As you know, the winery needs to build a wine cellar. We’d like a property downtown and we’re willing to pay cash.”

“Actually—” Phil gestured with a shaky hand toward his shop “—my property isn’t available. I have a good business. Real popular.”

Shelby tugged her knit cap more firmly over her ears.

Mayor Larry patted the barber on the back. “If you’re taking yourself out of the running, Phil, you can play for me in the weekly bridge tournament at Yolande’s. They start in ten minutes and then there’ll be dessert.”

Phil grinned. “An unclaimed slice of Yolande’s key lime pie? How can I turn that down?” Waving, the old man walked off with deliberately measured steps.

“Let’s get down to business.” The mayor may not have been as old as Mae, but his smile creased his face in wrinkles as webbed as his tie-dyed designs. “You need a good bit of square footage. The largest space is where the grocery store used to be.”

Mae tsked, then said in her sultry smoker’s voice, “If we’re trying to rebuild the town, shouldn’t we save that space for a new grocery store?”

“Now, Mae.” Mayor Larry’s smile wavered almost imperceptibly. “It might be better for a grocery to build a new facility out by the highway.”

“You own that land, too, I suppose.” Mae pounded her cane against the sidewalk and arched a penciled brow. “You always were an opportunist.”

“Actually,” Christine said diplomatically, “I’d like to avoid any space on Main. We hope the winery’s success will eventually draw the tourist trade. Best reserve locations on Main for that. What about something on Harrison or Polk?” The streets flanking Main.

“My store is on Harrison,” Mae said. “You remember Dream Day Bridal, don’t you, Shelby? You bought your wedding gown there. Nick was so sweet when I told him no grooms allowed.”

Shelby’s breath hitched. The brisk breeze sent dead leaves dancing around her ankles. She’d forgotten Nick had wanted to vote for the dress. He’d laughed when Mae shooed him out the door, promising he’d get his vote in somehow. That was Nick, always breaking the rules.

“I had the most marvelous shop,” Mae continued, moving in careful, mincing steps toward the corner. Larry offered her his arm, which she graciously accepted. “Four dressing rooms. A lighted dais surrounded by mirrors. Prom creations. Quinceanera dresses. Wedding gowns.” She sighed. “I do so miss it.”

Despite escorting his rival, the mayor wasn’t giving up that easily. “There’s the Brown Jug Bar around the corner.”

“That dump,” Mae scoffed. “It’s only as big as my storage room. You said they wanted a large space.”

Christine glanced in amused amazement at Shelby, who wished she could share in the unexpected sparring match, but the closer they came to Dream Day Bridal, the more apprehensive she became about another first to soldier through. Shelby’s steps became sluggish. Suddenly, she didn’t care where Christine put the wine cellar, as long as it wasn’t in Mae’s building.

Mayor Larry cleared his throat. “The butcher shop has—”

“A stench that permeates the walls to this day.” Mae had the upper hand and wasn’t giving in.

“And then there’s the real estate office.” The mayor quickly rebounded.

“That might work.” Mae’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mind low ceilings. That’s the only one story building on the block. Flat asphalt roof. Didn’t you have a problem with leaks?”

The mayor frowned.

“We’ll start with the real estate office and then look at the bridal shop.” Christine continued being the diplomat.

Shelby continued to feel off-kilter. If only she could have a moment alone.

The real estate office had nearly enough square footage on the floor, but the low ceilings were a deal breaker. By Shelby’s calculations, they’d need to move at least four large, upright casks from the winery to this location. Eight-foot ceilings were far too low. Besides, Christine wanted to age smaller amounts of wine in barrels and bottles for years. “Too much work,” Shelby said when Christine asked her opinion, trying to keep from sounding disappointed. If it’d been perfect, there’d be no reason to visit the bridal shop. “The footprint is big enough, but we’d have to raise the roof.”

Dream Day Bridal was only a few doors down. From the sidewalk, Shelby could see Mae had left a few mannequins inside—fully gowned—along with the dais where brides evaluated their appearance, and the chairs where mothers of the bride sat. Just like that, Shelby was sucked into the past.

Nick had held open the glass door for Shelby, her mother and his. He’d sat in a chair against the wall with a broad smile on his face. And then Mae gave him the boot. Not ten minutes later, he’d sent Gage in as his representative. The women had laughed, but welcomed him into their midst.

Gage smiled every time Shelby came out in a gown cinched and clipped in the back. But none of his smiles was a wow. Not until she appeared in an ivory satin A-line that draped elegantly over her curves did his smile beam so bright it hit her midsection. It was official. That was the dress.

“Wow.” His smile faded and he looked at her with wonder in his eyes and said, “Shelby—”

“Shelby.” Christine brought her back to the present. “I like it. The ceilings are high. The size will suit us until we can build a proper cellar. And then it can serve as our overflow storage. We can convert a dressing room into an office for you.”

The mayor groaned in defeat.

Shelby’s gaze drifted to a chair near the wall. She could almost hear Nick’s laughter, almost see the amused glint in his eyes. He’d found so much joy in the little things in life. She clenched her hands behind her back, turning away from the dais, on her memories, on her lost dreams.

“The mannequin with the arms in the main window is Conchita.” Mae lowered herself carefully into one of the chairs. “She and that dress—Spanish designer—have been with me from the start.”

Shelby smiled politely. The Spanish dress had been stunning at one time—sweetheart neckline, long tight-fitting lace sleeves, lace overlaying a white satin train. “Do the other mannequins have names?” The ones without heads or arms.

Mae flashed a smile, displaying her missing bridgework. “You don’t name headless mannequins. That’s bad for business.” She took stock of Shelby and Christine. “If I was choosing dresses for you girls to try on today, I’d pick a black satin evening gown for Christine because of her elegant carriage.”

Christine chuckled and said cryptically, “I hope it comes with feathers.”

The old woman turned faded gray eyes toward Shelby, seeming to see past Shelby’s worn blue jeans and stained work jacket. “And a soft yellow calico sundress for you because you used to lay in the grass in the town square, stare at the blue sky and watch the clouds drift past. From the shade of your complexion, you could definitely use some fun in the sun, girlie.”

“I get outside.” Occasionally. When she wasn’t busy in someone’s dark wine cellar. Okay, that should have been always. Shelby did a quick shoulder roll, trying to shake the effect of her being back in the bridal shop for the first time.

Christine looked thoughtful. “I bet you’d be great in that sundress.”

“I bet men would fall over each other at the sight.” Mae sighed dreamily. She was still a hopeless romantic.

“Let’s not get carried away,” Shelby said, hearing Gage’s voice and his wow, as if he was in the room with them.

Mayor Larry leaned against the wall. “Is there any hope for one of my buildings?”

“Nope.” Mae hadn’t lost any of her chutzpah or her selling skills. “The bonus to my property is it also has an apartment upstairs.” She knew what to say to demoralize the competition and increase a customer’s value perception. It was like choosing a dress, and then being sold a tiara and matching earrings at a bundled price. “Very efficient to live and work here if you aren’t going to enjoy the sunshine.”

Christine nodded, then looked at Shelby. “Free rent, Shelby. What do you think?”

Shelby wanted a moment of quiet reflection to make peace with the shop. This was a place of dreams and happily-ever-afters. Shelby’s dreams had crashed into a dead end. The front door swung open. Gage filled the doorway—tall, broad shouldered, the black hair over his forehead spiked up as if he’d run his hand through it in frustration. Once she would have smoothed the silky strands of his cowlick in place.

Gage greeted each of them in turn. Then he gave Shelby a look that questioned: Are you all right?

He’d always been able to read her mood. Despite their hiatus, his presence was comforting. Her angst over the past and the aura of happy brides faded. In its place came a sense of guilt over her private nickname for him. Turns out, Dead Gage wasn’t quite so dead anymore.

On a sigh, she caught his glance, and brushed at her bangs with her fingers.

Gage impatiently and ineffectively swiped at his hair. “We were just walking by on our way to Doc’s office. I didn’t realize it would tire him out. Wow.”

“Quit saying wow,” Grandpa called out.

Peering through the front window, Shelby spotted her grandfather. Sure enough, he was sitting on a sidewalk bench, looking winded. He gave her a dismissive, don’t-treat-me-like-an-invalid wave.

Shelby responded by crossing her arms and sending Grandpa a stern look. “He doesn’t want to admit he needs help getting around. A cane or a walker or one of those motorized chairs would be ideal.”

“Stubborn coot.” Mae laughed huskily. “Just like the rest of us old fools.”

“Leave him his pride, ladies, while he takes a breather.” Gage stepped forward, glancing from one end of the room to the other. “I remember this place.”

Eventually, his warm gaze landed on Shelby, making the whole thing seem faintly reminiscent of when they’d been here the first time to choose her bridal gown. “Is this where your new wine cellar is going?”

“Apparently,” Mayor Larry muttered. “I suppose I’m done here.”

“I’m afraid so, Larry.” Ever the one to smooth ruffled feathers, Christine kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you for yoga in the morning. We can talk about that acreage you own at the base of Parish Hill.”

Mayor Larry brightened and left, pausing to chat with Grandpa outside.

“Let’s check out the apartment,” Mae said, even though she didn’t look fit enough to climb stairs. Without waiting for an answer, she shuffled toward the back. Her cane echoed throughout the store.

Christine, Shelby and Gage took the stairs at Mae’s pace. Poor Mae paused every other step to catch her breath.

It was stifling in the stairwell. But with four bodies and a tight space, of course, the air would grow hotter. Surely it had nothing to do with Gage, who was only a mere step behind Shelby.

She willed herself to be reasonable, but the intimacy of being this close to Gage persisted and she searched for a cause. Maybe she’d developed claustrophobia. Maybe the angst from downstairs was building again. Maybe the building had retained the heat of summer along with bridal dreams.

All they’d ever been to each other was friends. All she’d ever felt for him was warm affection and the pain of desertion. Until he’d touched her hand last night.

“A lot of stores downtown have apartments upstairs, but most are studios,” Mae rasped. “This is a one bedroom.” She took the last step, opened the door and moved into the living space. She wheezed and practically collapsed onto a lone dining room chair. “I lived here in between a couple of my marriages.”

Christine went to stand in the middle of the room, turning to survey the apartment’s assets.

Unsure if she’d appreciate any assets, Shelby hesitated by the stairs.

Other than Mae’s chair, the place was vacant. The opposite of the optimism downstairs. The hardwood floors were stained and covered in a layer of grime. Purple striped, velvet wallpaper had started to peel. Dust-moted sunlight filtered through grungy windows. A musty smell threatened to clog Shelby’s lungs. But the most difficult obstacle to breathing seemed to be Gage. His footfalls behind her on the steps had been steady, measured and reliable. Everything she’d longed for in a friend. If only he hadn’t bailed, she’d believe in the dependable facade he presented.

If only she believed in the long-term.

“It’s bigger than my apartment in Davis.” Gage put both hands on Shelby’s shoulders and maneuvered past her. As his hands dropped away, he seemed to take her tension with him, allowing her to breathe again.

“It’s...nice,” Shelby allowed, finally coming forward. She moved to the kitchen nook, opened the ancient refrigerator and immediately closed it, backing away. “There’s something growing inside there.”

Gage checked it out, grimacing. “I think it was a carton of milk once.” He shut the fridge just as quickly as she had. “It’s like something Mrs. Bernhardt had us experiment with in science class. Your mold was always the worst smelling, remember?”

She did. It’d smelled awful.

They exchanged smiles. His was full-wattage charming, plus something that hadn’t been in his expression in the past. Something almost...flirtatious. That couldn’t be.

Whatever it was, it unnerved her. She blinked, and suddenly the something was gone. And the awkwardness she’d been feeling dissipated.

But she continued studying him.

Why had she never noticed how perfect his lips were before? He smiled, but it was the smile he used to disguise what he was really thinking. She didn’t know enough about what was going on in his life to pinpoint whatever he was concealing. Was he still grieving? Was he overwhelmed, as she was, by Harmony Valley memories? Was he regretting abandoning her two years ago?

Don’t open the door to caring. He was Dead Gage. And he was leaving soon. “We’ll outfit the space with all new appliances,” Christine was saying. “This is the Taj Mahal compared to the condition of the sheriff’s apartment when he moved in above the station.”

“On a clear day, if you stand on your tip-toes, you can see the bend in the river.” Mae spoke in a faraway tone, more to herself than anyone else.

Quirking an eyebrow at the senior, Gage then entered the bedroom. As if magnetized, Shelby followed, pausing in the doorway and hearing Christine come up behind her.

“They used to hold dances in the town square on summer nights.” Mae continued to speak as if drifting between memories. “It used to be a privilege to live downtown, didn’t it, Oliver?”

“Who?” Christine whispered.

“Uh, she means Gage, I think.” At least, Shelby hoped so. “Gage, did it used to be cool to live downtown?”

“How would he know?” Mae coughed deeply, reaching in her pocket for a crumpled tissue and spitting in it. “This place has always brought me luck in love. If Shelby lived here, she’d be engaged again in no time, perhaps to that young man right there. You two would make beautiful babies. His midnight hair. Her sky-blue eyes.”

The man under question was scanning the perimeter of the room, hopefully unaware of the heat collecting in Shelby’s cheeks. He pointed to the baseboards. “Mice droppings. You’ll need a good mouser.”

“Ew.” Shelby backed out of the doorway, bumping into Christine, making a mental note to ask her grandfather about Mae’s mental health.

“Give me a month.” Christine took in the bedroom with an assessing glance. “An exterminator, new appliances, new countertops, a new shine to the floors and windows, and you won’t recognize the place.” She turned to Shelby expectantly. When Shelby didn’t immediately jump at the offer, her boss added, “Hurry, before I change my mind and offer it to Ryan.”

“Whether it has Mae’s love karma or not, you should take it.” Gage gave Shelby a small smile. “As your friend, I’m advising you to at least consider living here.”

Her friend? Shelby refrained from pointing out friends came when you called. She refrained from commenting at all.

Her silence grew until it bordered on rudeness. She didn’t want to offend Christine. It was a generous offer. But the building and its faded optimism...

Living here would make her feel like a hypocrite.

Years ago, anything had seemed possible—an interesting career, happiness, everlasting friendship and love. Shelby knew better now. She had to keep her head down, her gaze firmly on the path beneath her feet, and protect what little joy she had left.

Not that she could say that to anyone without being considered as out of touch with reality as Mae. They all stared at Shelby, waiting for her to answer. Mae with her unflinching expression. Christine with curiosity. Dead Gage with understanding.

She wanted to tell Gage he understood nothing. How could he know where she was emotionally after two years of ignoring her?

They continued to wait for her response.

The weight of their scrutiny finally broke her. “Sure. Of course. I’ll consider it,” Shelby blurted, feeling as fake as a two-dollar wine paired with a filet mignon.

She’d consider it the same way Gage was considering her grandfather’s proposition to stay in Harmony Valley.

Not at all.