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But I also wanted thebeststore, and I didn’t have a clue where that might be. It wasn’t like I went dress shopping on the regular.
I continued pacing my bedroom with one hand on my hip.
“Who else could I call?” I muttered, trying to work it through.
My mom might know, but she was handling her Christmas plans. I couldn’t bother her with this. Not Gemma, either, not after all she’d done to help with the hospital.
Another name popped into my mind, and without a second thought, I dialed Faye’s number. She was busy with family, too, but she’d forgive me for this.
Somehow, it was easier asking her. Maybe it was our regular outings, but I knew she would mind less than Mom would. Faye didn’t care quite as much about appearances as Mom did.
“Hawkie boy, just what are you calling me for?” Faye asked with a smile in her tone.
I knew she wasn’t really upset. It was just her way.
“Hi, Faye. I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I need a favor.”
Worry cloaked her tone. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine. It’s just my date. She hit a few roadblocks and doesn’t have a dress for my ball in a few hours.
“I really want to roll out the red carpet for her, but I’m not sure which dress shop or salon to hustle a last-minute deal with. I figured you knew allthe good places.”
There. A little buttering up never hurt.
“Sounds like a real dilemma,” she said. “But even if I tell you some ideas, it’s after six. I doubt anywhere is open.”
In a small town like Westville, she was probably right. Hence the need for bribery.
I rested my shoulder against the wall, staring toward the snowfall out my bedroom window. “I’ll take care of that.”
She hmmed. “I’m sure you will.”
“Can you hook me up?”
She giggled. “Whoever this girl is, she must be something special for you to go to all this trouble.”
“Ella is,” I said, feeling it bolster my chest.
She was. She was everything.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. It lasted too long for my liking.
“Faye?” I asked. “Did I lose you?”
“What did you say her name was?”
“Ella?”
Why did she sound unexpectedly suspicious?
“Hawk Danielson,” Faye said in her most reprimanding voice. “My granddaughter’s name is Ella.”
I stilled. I stared at the gray bedspread, at the lampshades on either side of my bed, at the artwork hanging above it, and tried making sense of this.
“You’re kidding.”
Was it possible? She’d never told me any of her grandkids’ names, but I knew how much she loved them.
