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Seven
It had been a very long time since Nikki shopped the designers on Fifth Avenue or Madison Avenue. But some memories never faded.
If she was going to Joshua’s wedding—as Jake’s date—nothing in her closet was remotely suitable. She had a credit card for emergencies. This didn’t qualify. But even if the promised payments from Black Crescent didn’t come through, Nikki could pay off a purchase over the coming months.
She had trained herself, out of necessity, not to live on credit. Today, she was going to break her own rule. A woman deserved the occasional fantasy, and this was hers.
After working the very early morning shift at the diner and then spending time with her daughter, Nikki changed clothes and said goodbye to her mom and Emma. Because the wedding was close, she decided to postpone the movie date with her daughter. Catching a train into the city at one o’clock didn’t leave Nikki much time for shopping.
She dozed en route, exhausted. Yesterday’s double shift, followed by a 4:00 a.m. alarm this morning, had drained her. Even so, adrenaline pumped in her veins when she arrived at Grand Central.
In better days, Roberta Reardon had employed a full-time chauffeur. Now, Nikki was happy to use the subway. It was cheap and easy and took her where she wanted to go.
The first two stores she tried were a bust. Her mother had shopped with her at both when Nikki was a teenage girl. But Nikki’s tastes had changed.
She was getting discouraged when she spotted a small boutique wedged in between two well-known fashion houses that took up most of the block. The modest shop had a name on the glass door that Nikki didn’t recognize. The items in the window told her to go in and take a look.
Inside, a pleasant saleswoman honored Nikki’s intent to browse undisturbed. There were casual outfits aplenty. Deeper into the salon, Nikki found what she was looking for. Jake had told her the wedding would be in the early afternoon. Which meant tea-length was perfectly appropriate. The dress she spotted was a beautiful shade of ivory. Strapless. With a ballerina skirt that frothed out in layers of soft tulle.
“I’d like to try this one,” she said impulsively, although the price tag made her gulp.
“I’ll put it in a changing room for you,” the woman said. “And if you’re interested, that small rack over there is marked down. Last year’s items. You know the drill.”
Nikki wondered if the clerk had scoped out her customer and noted the inexpensive jeans and generic top. It didn’t matter. False pride was a commodity Nikki couldn’t afford. Though she had planned only to flip through the discounted items, her hand landed on a scoop-neck red cashmere sweater that might or might notclash with her hair. The black wool pencil skirt was a no-brainer. It would go with everything.
In the curtained cubicle, she tried the sweater and skirt first. They fit perfectly. A small pulled thread on the sleeve of the sweater and a missing button on the skirt explained another reason the items were on sale. The small imperfections didn’t daunt Nikki. She had learned to be handy with a needle. Jake wanted to see her again. If that involved a night out, this outfit would bolster her confidence.
Her choice for the wedding was even better. She smoothed her hands over the skirt and tugged at the bodice. The only thing holding her back was the color. Some people insisted that only a bride should wear white to a wedding.
The saleslady knocked on the door frame. “Any luck?”
Nikki held back the curtain. “I love this, but I don’t know if I can wear it to a wedding. You know, because of the color.”
The woman tilted her head and studied Nikki. “It fits you like a dream. And I don’t think most people care anymore. Besides, it’s a deep, rich ivory, not white. What if you add a pop of color? Hold on.”
When the woman returned moments later, Nikki nodded. “That might work.” She took the proffered scarf and draped it around her shoulders. It was soft, watered silk in pale, pale pink. When Nikki looked in the mirror, she smiled. “Thank you. I’ll take it.”
As the clerk rang up the purchases, Nikki battled her conscience. Any extra money she made over and above her household expenses went to doing things with her daughter and her mother. Movies. Meals out. This self-indulgence was hard to justify.
The saleswoman excused herself for a moment to deal with a call on the store’s landline. While Nikki waited perched on the edge of a chair, her cell phone dinged. Her heart gave a funny little jump. It was a text from Jake...
Dinner tomorrow night? Just us? Let me know...
There was no reason to get flustered. Jake wasn’t making a romantic overture. He clearly wanted to speak with Nikki about the future and how he would be a part of Emma’s life. Or how he might not. Nikki knew it was an important conversation. One she needed to have with Jake alone. She would have to act like a mature thirtysomething single mother and not the giddy cocktail waitress who had still adored Jake Lowell and let him coax her into bed.
Even more importantly, she absolutely had to decide what it was she wanted from him. She needed his body, his intense lovemaking. His rakish charm. But common sense said she couldn’t sleep with him and still make smart decisions about Emma.
What happened if Nikki didn’t make the right choice?
If she agreed to this dinner, she had little more than twenty-four hours to figure it out.
Other customers entered the store, and Nikki got up, rattled by the unexpected text. When the employee handed over two lilac-and-navy shopping bags, Nikki winced inwardly. On the other hand, a little part of her was already thinking about how perfect her new sweater and skirt would be for a night out with her daughter’s father.
Elegant. Not too fussy. Nothing that would suggest Nikki misunderstood Jake’s motives. But definitely flattering.
Outside, the wind had picked up, and the sky was gray. The pleasant temperatures were gone, replaced by a bone-chilling cold. Nikki leaned against the building only long enough to answer the text.
She dithered over what to say, even as her fingers began to freeze. Finally, she pecked out a response...
