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A little voice in my head warns me I’ll regret it. I lived with my cheating ex and the apartment was in his name, so when I left I had to rely on the generosity of Danny and his now ex-wife, sleeping on their couch until I could find my own place. As kind as Danny and Linnea were, I hated it. I lost my home and the man I thought I loved.
Timothy would never do that to me. I know it, and yet, the little voice is still there, telling me I’m being reckless. Telling me I won’t be enough for him, this thing we have will fizzle out, and then what?
It creeps in again while Timothy’s out playing mini-golf with Jax and I’m trying to finalize my embroidery for the autumn release. I can’t get my pumpkin spice latte right—not the new machine’s fault. This is all on me and my lack of actual artistic ability. Daisies are easy. Last year’s fall leaf was easy. A takeaway cup with a pumpkin on it? Impossible.
If I’m after a beige cylinder with an orange spot, I’ve nailed it.
My phone rings—Charlotte video calling me—so I quickly swipe to accept the call. Maybe she can draw a cup that actually looks like a cup when my machine is done with it.
“Guess what?” she bursts onto the screen with a smile, then shakes herself. “Oh, wait. How’s Timothy? You two still—all the time? Am I interrupting?”
Lexi crowds next to Charlotte. “For this, she can multitask. Tell her.”
“Timothy’s out,” I say with a laugh.
Charlotte makes an impatient noise. “You remember the shop on Grand and Aspen?”
I draw a sharp breath. “Yeah.” I know the shop immediately. I lived in a small apartment with Lexi and Charlotte before Nan died, and we used to pass the family-owned bridal shop on the way to our favorite café. The window displays were always soft, romantic, and beautiful.
It reminded me of home.
After the accident that claimed my parents, my grandmother moved us from California to Connecticut to be closer to her family. Her sisters ran a boutique bridal shop a lot like the one on the corner of Grand and Aspen, but they had to close the business the summer before I graduated from high school.
For two generations before that, the Andrei name walked brides along the East Coast down the aisle. My childhood was the sound of gossip and quiet concentration as my Nan and her sisters hand-sewed tiny seed pearls onto bodices or created gorgeous lace by hand for a select few customers with deep pockets. I learned to sew and helped out in the shop until I was old enough to work on the dresses. When I had a bad day at school, they made me hot chocolate and settled me in a cozy corner with old catalogs. When I was lonely, they told me stories as they worked.
That shop was home. The shop on Grand and Aspen had the same feel.
“My dad bought the building some ten years ago,” Charlotte says. “The Chandlers are retiring and none of the kids want the business. The lease is available from January, and he’s willing to keep it off the market for a few weeks to give you time to decide whether you’d want to take it on, so would you want to? Dad will drop the rent ten percent for you and we’ll get my cousins to do some free reno so it’s a great deal. You can give Wild Things a home.” She’s out of breath now, beaming at me on the screen.
“Youcould come home,” Lexi says softly.
“It’s perfect,” Charlotte adds.
It is perfect. I can see myself in it, expanding to include T-shirts and dresses. A workroom in the back where the sound of shears and sewing machines mingle with the music my employees and I take turns choosing. Shelves of fabrics I saved from landfills in an array of colors and textures. A wall covered with inspiration. The shop out front, where customers browse, happy to warm up on a cold winter’s day.
I miss winter. LA’s been sucking me dry. My once-interesting wardrobe job on a period drama—before I lost it—had become a slog and I’m not looking forward to finding a new one. It’s not what I want to do. I want Wild Things so bad I can taste it.
Except it isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I can safely afford. I need to keep my feet on the ground, where I don’t have so far to fall.
Charlotte gives me a rundown of costs and for a moment, I dream of it. I have until January to save. Timothy’s undercharging me. With my experience, it’ll be easy to get another wardrobe job, and if I pick up some bartending shifts on the weekends…it’s so close to doable but it’s not a sure thing. I’m not willing to risk it.
“Even with cheaper rent,” I finally say, “I don’t have enough money to comfortably expand yet. And I don’t have any connections out there.” The idea of starting over and finding places out East to source fabric is not appealing. It’s nauseating.
If I leased the shop and overextended myself, promised things to customers I couldn’t deliver, or if I couldn’t afford employees and couldn’t fill a shop…A full shudder runs through me. It would all be for nothing. Everything I’ve built over the last five years would go up in flames.
No, I’m not ready to expand. One day. Maybe in a couple of years.
“So make some connections,” Charlotte says, like it’s easy to go begging for someone else’s trash.
“It would be nice to have you back,” Lexi says.
“I would love to be closer to you two,” I say, “but I can’t do it now.”
“Remember Matthew McJackass of cheating ex-boyfriend fame?” Charlotte’s eyes harden as she says his name. “He said you’d never get this off the ground, and look at how well you’ve done! You have a waitlist, Wild Things has attracted heaps of followers online. Opening your shop would be like standing on his nuts.”
I want to stand on those nuts. Jump on them. Feel them pop beneath my heel. “I’ll work on building my brand a bit more, wait until I’m ready. Then I’ll jump on those nuts.”
“Except youareready.”
