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“Hello?” I called out.
“Fuck,” the woman muttered and then she raised her voice to a louder caliber. “Be out in a sec!”
Charlie and I exchanged a look and she raised her brows.
A moment later, the black curtain of the dressing room whooshed open and a tall, angry blonde stood with an assortment of clothes hanging over her arm.
She flashed a smile. “How are you ladies doing today?”
“Uh, good,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” The blonde sailed past us and began hanging the clothes up on the racks.
“We heard you cussing like a drunken pirate who had his peg leg stolen,” Charlie said.
“Oh.” The blonde shot us a sheepish look. “Sorry about that. I was kind of stuck in a pair of pants. They didn’t fit and my sister went next door to the sandwich shop to grab us food so I had no help to get out of them. I can’t even begin to tell you about the wiggle I just did to get them off.”
“Do you own the boutique?” Charlie asked.
The woman shook her head. “No. My name’s Willa. I used to work here, but now I just fill in from time to time when Laura—the actual owner—has an appointment or errands or something.”
“Ah,” Charlie said, looking around.
“How’d you find us?” she asked. “Social media? The internet?”
“Word of mouth, actually,” Charlie said as she picked up a black leather halter top. “I just got a tattoo at Three Kings and Brielle said we had to check this place out.”
“Brielle!” Willa exclaimed. “I love Brielle! Who did your tattoo? Virgil?”
Charlie shook her head. “Roman.”
“Oh. Roman.” She grinned. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“So hot,” Charlie agreed.
“Can I help you find anything in particular?” Willa asked.
“More clothes that will show off my shoulder tattoo,” Charlie said.
“Well you’ve already found that halter, which is one of our most popular items, but come this way.” Willa waved Charlie over, but I stayed put and perused at my own speed.
The front door to the boutique opened and a redheaded teenager walked in.
“Congratulations,” the teenager said as she approached the counter. “The most disgusting calzone award now belongs to you.”
“I’m with a customer,” Willa called back. “Maybe try and rein it in?”
“No offense,” Charlie drawled, “but we heard you say son of a monkey-cock. I’m so stealing that, by the way.”
Willa laughed.
“The pants?” the teenager asked.
“Yep,” Willa said.
“I told you to wait to try them on.”
“Waverly,” Willa said. “I’d like you to meet—oh sorry, I didn’t get your names.”
