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Chapter 6
Alison strolled down the secluded road that held her rental home, heading toward downtown. She paused every few hundred feet to turn her face up to the sky and drink in the salty ocean atmosphere, taking in a deep lungful of pine scented sea air. All of those things were good for her soul, and she wasn’t going to waste any time starting to enjoy them.
She’d finally gotten out of her grubby jeans and T-shirt and felt a little bit more like herself. Well, like the small-town Oregon version of herself. She was well put together, wearing loose white linen slacks with heather gray strappy sandals and a coordinating brushed silk tank, but still considerably more pared down and casual than she would’ve been in New York.
In fact, in her old life—as she was already mentally referring to it, each of these individual pieces would’ve been the neutral base on which she would’ve built a completely fashion forward ensemble. Now she was combining three neutrals to create a look that was minimalist and slickly elegant, and although it took some getting used to, she actually really liked the results and how she felt in it. It was like she wasn’t trying so hard.
But, she’d realized when looking through her wardrobe as she unpacked, that she had absolutely nothing that would work to wear to dinner that evening. Every single dinner-appropriate piece she owned was far too decorative, looking at it in the muted light of the Oregon coast.
In fact, as she considered and discarded one piece after another, she’d started to wonder what she’d even been thinking when she packed these pieces. Or she thought with an inner cringe, when she’d bought them.
Aggressively asymmetrical hem. Rejected.
Calculatedly bold color blocking. Rejected.
Shocking sheerness. Rejected.
Rejected. Rejected. Rejected.
Finally, she’d gotten to the bottom of her luggage. Nothing left in the suitcase except her toiletries bag and an old, beat up pair of running shoes. And she had not one single article of clothing which had even made the cut into a “maybe” pile, let alone a “yes” pile.
Forget about a “hell yes” pile.
So, here she was, three thousand miles away from New York and yet going through the most single-girl-in-the-city ritual she could imagine—last-minute shopping for the perfect outfit right before a date.
She rounded the corner to the main downtown area of Valentine Bay and stopped for a moment to admire the quaint view. It looked like a postcard had sprung to life and nestled itself into the pine tree studded hillside, with the sound of the ocean a few blocks away just adding to the picture-perfect ambience.
The buildings were old-fashioned and cedar-sided, with each shop bearing a hand-painted sign over the storefront whose name it bore. Looking up and down the street, she didn’t see one familiar logo or business name. There were no chain restaurants or retail stores here. Every single one was a mom and pop operation, or at least it gave off that vibe.
She hoped there was a store that would carry something appropriate—spectacular—for her date that night. A tickle of nervousness skittered its way through her belly. She hadn’t even thought that there might not be a clothes store here with items she liked. She was so used to the hyper convenience of a place like Manhattan that it hadn’t even entered her mind.
She pulled her phone out of the side pocket of her bag and tapped lightly so the time would light up on the lock screen. Crap, there was no time to drive all the way into Portland and back, let alone shop there, let alone also have enough time to get ready before Troy picked her up tonight.
There was only one option left. Prayer.
She picked up her pace as she continued along down the main retail drag, inwardly grimacing at herself. Like walking a little faster was going to make all the difference. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense of urgency.
One block passed. Two. Still, there was nothing. Touristy T-shirt shops—that was the closest thing she saw to a clothing store, nothing that even approached the kind of little Oregon-chic boutique she’d been envisioning when she set out from the house.
That little flutter of nervousness was quickly blossoming into fully flowering panic, but she did her best to hold it down and keep it together.
Just when she’d reached the point where she didn’t know how much longer she could trust herself to keep from losing it, she spotted a possibility and hurried across the street to take a closer look at the storefront that had caught her eye.
It wasn’t a clothing boutique—not strictly. The window display featured glasswork, oil paintings, pottery, and all kinds of other custom-made pieces. But in among those artisan designs were shoes, handbags, and a few artfully displayed garments.
“Hallelujah, thank the sweet Lord,” Alison muttered under her breath as she opened the door and stepped into the shop, which she could see by the handcrafted sign was called Everything Ella. A bell above the door jingled cheerfully as she entered.
A pretty blonde woman smiled, welcoming Alison as she came out from behind the counter and crossed the shop toward her. “Hi, there! I’m Ella. Can I help you with anything?”
Normally, Alison’s M.O. would’ve been to browse around the shop until she saw something she was interested in and then ask the woman for a fitting room, but she didn’t have time for that. The store was charming, but not what you could call well-organized. Her best bet was to explain what she wanted and get some suggestions.
“Well, I’m new in town…” she began, but Ella jumped in before she could go any further.
“Oh, I know! You’re staying in the Grayson place, out on the bluff, right?”
That stopped Alison in her tracks. “How did you know that?”
Ella laughed. “Oh, honey. You’d be surprised how much people can know in a small town, and how quickly they can know it. So, are you looking for some knickknacks to give the place a little personality?”
