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“It’s fine,” I mutter, squatting to fold the hem of her pants. But Sara Jean—and the whole town, for that matter—knows very well that I haven’t been on a date since nine months before Jared was born.
“Is it true that you’re finally moving out of your mother’s house?”
“Yep,” I say, pinning the hem of one of the pant legs.”
“That must be exciting.” The condescension oozes from her words like pus from a wound.
Margo’s cleaning out the dressing rooms, but her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Monster,” she mouths. I stifle a laugh.
Sara Jean is too self-absorbed to notice the exchange. She doesn’t wait for an answer before aiming another barb in my direction. “Your mother’s engaged and you’re not even seeing anyone… is that hard for you?”
“Not at all. I’m happy for my mother.” Spotting Margo’s deepening scowl in the mirror, I quickly change the subject to Sara Jean’s favorite—herself. “Your wedding was gorgeous, Sara Jean.” I gush. “Tell Margo about your dress.”
As expected, Sara Jean picks up the ball and runs with it, allowing me to tune her out.The quicker I get these pants finished, the sooner she’ll be out of my hair.I try to focus on tailoring the pants, but my thoughts drift to Bishop.
For the hundredth time, I replay the events of last night in my mind. Was he going in for a kiss? And if so, what does that mean? Was it a spur of the moment thing that meant nothing? Or could it mean…something.
Maybe it could meaneverything.
“Ouch,” Sara Jean cries, jumping backward. “You stuck me!”
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “It was an accident.” I’ve secretly wanted to jab Sara Jean with a pin ever since she nicknamed me Double-D in middle school for having bigger breasts than the other girls. But I’ve always managed to resist the urge, no matter how nasty she’s been to me. Sticking her just now was unintentional, but I must admit, it’s somewhat satisfying watching her rub her leg where the pin pricked her skin.
“As I was saying,” Sara Jean snarls, “the cake was five layers and—”
Margo’s phone chimes with an alert. She looks at the phone and shrieks. I flinch at the sound, nearly stabbing Sara Jean again. If she hadn’t jumped at the sound, too, I totally would have.
“What in the world?” Sara Jean hisses.
Margo bounds over to me much faster than I’d have thought possible with her degree of pregnancy. “Sorry, but I need Hazel.”
“She’s busy,” Sara Jean protests.
“It’ll only take a minute.” Margo leans down to grab my elbow, hauling me to my feet and dragging me into the bathroom. She turns on the fan, giving us privacy from Sara Jean’s prying ears.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask.
“Cara just sent me a message,” she says. Cara’s her best friend and one of the top hand models in the world. “She’d get in so much trouble for leaking this, so we have to destroy it immediately… but look!”
She holds the phone out and it takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at. It’s the cover of an upcoming edition ofIndigo Fashionmagazine. A famous pop star is on the cover, looking like a million bucks as she walks her dog. She’s wearing a chic mini-dress, stilettos, and—
I gasp. “Hazel and Honey!” A Grammy-Award winning superstar is gracing the cover of one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world wearing a Hazel and Honey sunhat that matches her Great Dane’s vest.
Next to the model are the words, “Channel Your Diva.”
Margo squeals. “Once this hits shelves, you’ll sell out of your entire inventory overnight. This is it, Hazel. Your big break. You’ll need to hire staff to help you keep up with demand.”
“A diva is wearing Hazel and Honey,” I say slowly.
Margo laughs. “Before you know it, all the divas will be. I bet Taylor Swift will place an order for your bowtie collars for her cats!” She pulls me into a giant hug, squeezing me tight. “Okay, take one more look. We have to delete it now and pretend we didn’t see it.”
As I walk back to the dressing room, the words “Channel your diva”run through my mind.Is there a diva inside me?If divas are wearing my designs, there must be.
“It’s about time,” Sara Jean complains.
Margo thrusts her hands on her hips. She opens her mouth to say something, but I step in front of her. “You’re right, Sara Jean. Itisabout time.”
Sara Jean nods. “Just get on with it. Pants really shouldn’t take this long.”
