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Chapter One
Marcie
“Chardonnay and…an old-fashioned,” the server said as he lowered the tray down to the little two-top table where I sat with my good friend, Francesca, who was also one of my employees at The Blind Hem.
“The wine is mine,” I said, reaching out with greedy fingers for the bell-shaped glass. It had been a long, hard week at the store, and I was dying to unwind a little bit with my best friend for our usual Friday night dinner and drinks. I took a tiny sip of the wine and sighed in pleasure as the full flavor hit my tongue.
“You definitely deserve that,” Frankie said, ice cubes clinking in her glass as she stirred her amber-brown cocktail.
Still gripping my wine glass, I slouched back in my seat and savored the relief that seeped into my tired muscles. All day, I’d been on my feet packaging online orders for my upscale boutique, The Blind Hem. Every month, the workload went up a little more. It was getting close to unsustainable with my current three-person staff—two if I didn’t count myself.
My little boutique, which specialized in local designers and upscale consignment, was taking off, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself and excited, too. At the end of every month, unsold sale merchandise went up on our website. This month, every single item sold, and we had to get all of it out the door.
And I wasbushed.
“You deserve it too,” I replied, and took another sip of my wine. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe itistime to hire another person. You and Kresley are busy enough on the floor as it is, and the e-commerce stuff is just going to keep growing.”
Frankie shrugged and sipped her cocktail. “Do what you need to do. If you can afford it and want to, great, but if it’s not time yet, we’ll figure it out.” She paused, then grinned. “But for the record, I vote that you do it.”
I toyed with the gold tassel dangling from one of the leather-bound menus on the table. “What’s the statistic about independent retail stores? Eight out of ten go out of business or something?”
“Well, that’s clearly not you,” Frankie pointed out. “The store is making money hand-over-fist, you’re paying us a pretty good wage, business keeps improving every month—something’s gotta give, and that something isyouif you don’t get some extra help around there soon.”
Frankie wasn’t wrong. Along with working the floor and handling merchandise, she was responsible for reconciling credit card charges and making cash deposits every day. She knew as well as I did how much money flowed into our bank account through in-person sales and the website.
“Anyway,” she continued. “When’s the last time you—you know,got your needs met?”
I groaned as she waggled an eyebrows suggestively. “It’s been kind of a while. I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumbled.
Frankie had just opened her mouth to respond—knowing her, it was an exact accounting of the last time I got laid—when my phone buzzed loudly.
Thank God for the interruption, I thought. Frankie had an uncanny ability to get me to spill everything, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to admit that my vibrator finally burned out the night before after several months of continued use—shit, maybe it was a full year—of solo action only.
I tapped my phone screen to unlock it and peered at the message.
Flying into Seattle for the weekend for some boring work stuff. Got some time for your dad to take you out to lunch?
I smiled. How long had it been since I’d seen my dad? Six months, probably. As busy as the shop was, taking time off to fly to Minnesota for a weekend wasn’t an option. Not until I bit the bullet and hired another employee, anyway.
Ireallymissed him. I couldn’t wait for him to envelop me in a bear hug and tell me goofy dad jokes. It had been way too long.
Absolutely,I typed back.Just let me know when you’re free.
“Hey, who are you talking to?” Frankie said, her eyes alight with hope. “Is it a guy? Are you finally going to break your dry spell?”
I rolled my eyes as I tucked my phone back into my purse. “No, it was Dad. He’s coming into town tomorrow.”
“Yourhotdad?” she said, perking up and flashing a devious smile. “Is he busy after your lunch date?”
I grabbed my wine glass and narrowed my eyes. “If you make a move on my dad, I’m going to call youmotherand you’ll hate that.”
Frankie made a face at me and quickly took another sip of her drink. “Forget I said anything. Wanna split the calamari appetizer?”
Two hours later, my belly ached from laughing and I could feel the alcohol-fueled flush in my cheeks. Frankie looked just like I felt—pink-cheeked and smiling, loose from a couple of drinks and a good dinner with a close friend. More than tipsy, less than drunk. It was the perfect, feel-good balance.
“Kresley would be horrified by us,” I said, giggling.
I motioned to the mostly empty highball glass in front of Frankie and my own half-full pint glass. Frankie’s third old-fashioned and my second beer after that first glass of wine. Kresley usually joined us for Friday night dinner and drinks, but she took off for the weekend to attend a wedding. And we hadn’t heard anything from her yet, which was…interesting.
