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The closer I got to her door at the top of the stairs, the louder her music became. Evidently, it was a grunge rock kind of day. Gavin Rossdale and the heavy guitars of Bush met me when I opened the door. As usual, the spicy lemon scent of whatever it was Kinleigh always had in her various diffusers was the first thing I noticed.
The bell over the door tinkled and Kinleigh’s voice came from the back.
“Feel free to look around. I’m back here if you need anything.”
The shop had been mostly de-Christmassed though there always seemed to be an abundance of twinkle lights wrapped around dress forms, furniture, or shelves. Her Christmas tree had been stripped of all the interesting ornaments she always seemed to have.
Instead, they were artfully arranged on a table beside the tree with a chalkboard sign stating they were at a reduced price. Now the tree was full of pink, red, and white Valentine’s Day type items.
I shook my head. Only Kinleigh would make a Valentine’s tree.
I spotted a sweet little harp that would be a good gift for my mom though. Shifting the box to my other hip, I set the bag down as I plucked two more things off. One for Ivy and Rhiannon.
Shopping done.
Add some flowers and I’d be a hero for about three minutes. Then again, that was all it took some days to make the women in my life happy.
Except the one I wanted more and more as the days went by.
I tucked the fluffy baby rattle attached to a flamingo, the dainty harp, and the sparkly ice cream cone into the crook of my arm.
Then nearly lost it all when Patches tried to trip me.
“Really?”
The cat purred and wound her way around my ankles. She sat and curled her tail around her feet, the white tipped end twitching.
I set everything down on the huge old table Kinleigh used for her checkout station. I’d been about to bend down to give Patches a little loving when she sashayed her way under a table. Unshockingly, another female in this building had decided I wasn’t worth their time.
I headed to the second level of her store. It was the pointed part of the place that had given her spot the name Kinleigh’s Attic.
The beams were decked out in fairy lights—I knew since I’d helped her and Ivy staple them up there when she opened a few years ago. Back then, all the little chores I’d been dragged into from my sister had seemed more like a pain in the ass than anything else.
But looking at it now with fresh eyes, thanks to Kinleigh blasting into my brain with that kiss back in October… Yeah, everything seemed even more important. My stamp had been all over her life for years and I’d never opened my damn eyes to it.
The closer I got to the woman herself, the more disorganization I encountered. Things were always a little chaotic when it came to Kinleigh’s place. At least compared to my orderly space downstairs. She had doodads and bright colored trinkets tucked into corners, on tables, and stacked on shelves. Mysterious racks of clothing were arranged all over the place.
Her filming lights were up, and her tripod stood off to the side. The box lights gave off a diffused glow. Right now, they flanked a pair of jeans hanging by painted clothespins across a wire. Half a dozen pairs were draped over as many chairs.
And in the middle on the floor, Kinleigh was surrounded by threads in every color of the rainbow. Swatches of fabric stuck out of a quilted bag that reminded me of something my grandmother had in her craft room. An array of patterns made my eyes hurt. Some neon, some floral, and still others that were probably older than both of us put together.
She was sitting in the center of it all, patiently stitching some design into the back pocket of the shredded pair of jeans. Each former hole in the denim had a scrap of colorful fabric patched with amazingly detailed stitches.
Her hair was gathered on top of her head with a bandana trapping her curls away from her face, save for one stubborn lock that floated forward to catch the light streaming in from the hexagon window. She hadn’t bothered with makeup—or, more likely, she’d been working all through the night and day.
Kinleigh on a creative tear always put a hum in the air.
“Hey.”
She jolted and hissed, bringing her finger up to her mouth. Her huge blue eyes darted to mine, and then down again. “Ouch.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t. Well, you did, but the needle…” She shrugged then set the jeans she was working on aside. “What are you doing here?”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “Had something you might be interested in.”
“Oh. For the shop?”
