Chapter 20
Amy held her breath as she stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. She placed her hand on her abdomen, the silky feel of her formal gown smooth and soft underneath her palm. But inside, her stomach was on a roller coaster. Was this how Britt often felt?My poor girl.
Britt had left earlier today to work on her project at K&Bs. She’d been spending so much time there, Amy barely saw her anymore. Earlier this week when she told Britt she was going to stop by the shop and see her progress, her daughter had been adamant that she wait.
“Next week,” she implored. “All will be revealed next week.”
Amy acquiesced. Britt had no idea that her words held a double meaning because Amy had decided to tell her about Max. Even if tonight’s outing ended up being a bust, she’d come clean about him. She’d never kept a secret from Britt, other than not telling her the worst details concerning Daniel’s bad behavior. But she’d never been deceptive about herself, and the guilt was starting to get to her.
Switching her mental focus, she turned to the side and checked her profile. The caramel-colored dress complemented her moderately tanned skin—thanks to her constant battle with the flower beds. Her makeup wasn’t too heavy, but not as light as she usually wore. And the fit was perfect. Comfortable even. Theonly downside was that the hem was a little too long, but that would change once she put on her heels. She’d practiced walking in the three-inch sandals a little bit around the house earlier today. Although she wasn’t graceful, she wasn’t an oaf either.
Glancing at the time on her watch, her eyes widened. Max would be here any minute, and here she was preening in the mirror. Okay, not exactly preening. More like trying to calm herself down. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this nervous.It’s just a party... It’s just a party...Except it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. And now she was wishing she’d told Britt about the party and Max so she could lean on her daughter for moral support.
She quickly slipped her feet into the gold straps, yanked up the back strap on both shoes, and turned to head for the door. Two steps in, she stumbled... and heard a ripping sound.
“Oh no!” She looked at the hem of her dress, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t see a tear. Maybe she’d imagined it. But just as she almost stopped looking, she saw it—a small hole right above the seam on the right side. “Oh no, no,no!”
She lifted the dress up to her knees, her heels clacking on the wood floor as she hurried to the junk drawer in the kitchen where she kept a tiny sewing kit for emergencies. She flung it open and fished around. “Where are you!” she yelled, as if the drawer would just hand her the kit on demand.
The doorbell rang and she shot straight up. Max. She couldn’t go to the party with a hole in her dress. Maybe she should just pretend she wasn’t here. No, that was dumb. She sighed, still holding the bottom of the dress with her left hand, and went to the door. Taking in a deep breath, she opened it. “Hi, Max.”
His brow shot up as he looked her over. “Interesting sartorial choice,” he said, noting her dress.
She glanced down and realized the hem wasn’t just past her knees, but on the edge of indecent territory. She instantly dropped it, the fabric hitting the ground. “Sorry for the show.”
“I’m not.” He grinned.
Amy couldn’t help but chuckle. He wasn’t leering at her, just making a joke. “C’mon in,” she said, opening the door wider. “I’ve had asartorialcatastrophe.” She shut the door behind him.
“I can’t tell.” He paused. “You look lovely, Amy.”
Her face heated, and she actually dipped her chin in anaw-shuckskind of way. “Thanks, Max. I’m sorry, but do you mind waiting for a minute? I ripped the bottom of my dress, and I can’t find the sewing kit. I think it’s in my daughter’s room. I know we’re going to be late, but—”
He held up his hand. “Just tell me where to sit.”
“The kitchen’s that way. I’ll hurry.”
Max smiled again. “I don’t mind being fashionably late. Isn’t that what all the fancy people do?”
“I wouldn’t know.” She hurried to Britt’s room, thankful that Max was so understanding, and yet still wondering why she wasn’t attracted to him. Even in her embarrassment, she’d noticed how exceptionally handsome he was in his tuxedo. And as usual, he was being so nice. She should be head over heels for him by now. Or at least have a butterfly or two.
Amy entered the room and glanced around. She rarely came in here, respecting Britt’s privacy, and she didn’t want to be in here now, much less searching her room for a needle and thread. But she was desperate, and she’d add it to her list of explanations regarding Max when she talked to Britt about him.
The walls were covered with all sorts of Britt’s colorful art. Most of her décor was seventies inspired, even down to the round orange shag rug in the middle of the floor. Everything was neat, except forher desk, and that only had a sketchbook and a charcoal pencil on it. She decided to start there first, carefully walking across the shag rug so she didn’t get her heel caught on the fluffy fibers.
When she reached the desk, she was about to open the drawer when she saw Britt’s sketchbook. She paused, taking note of the mostly complete sketch of a young man who made handsome Max look like chopped liver. Amy couldn’t resist picking up the book and studying it for a minute. This was on another level, almost photographic in quality.Yowza.
She set the book down and opened the drawer. The sketch was obviously of a model from a magazine or the internet. Britt often used photographs to practice portraiture.She’d hit the jackpot when she found that guy.
Unfortunately, all she found in Britt’s desk were more art supplies, and she was about to lose hope when she saw the small kit on her nightstand. Amy snatched it up, lifted her dress to a modest level this time, and clacked back into the kitchen where Max was dutifully sitting, staring at the refrigerator.
She bustled into the room and sat down in the chair. Then she remembered her southern manners. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some iced tea I made yesterday, but it’s still good.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. There’ll be plenty of refreshments at the Picketts’. Probably an overwhelming amount.”
She grimaced, her nerves bundling up again as she pulled out a needle and the small spool of white thread. It was either that or black. “I can’t believe I did something so stupid.”
“You ripped your dress on purpose?”
