She turned to face the mirror, staring over my shoulder at my reflection.
“Trust me,” she said, and something about her voice slipped into my head, easing my anxiety.
“Okay,” I said, because for some reason I really wanted to believe her.
A soft smile lifted her lips, and her gaze dipped to my back before rising again to my reflected face.
“Whatever has happened to your back?” she asked, but she didn’t sound overly concerned. Just curious.
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“Ah, it’s likely just as well,” she said, handing me the dress. “It looks painful.”
“It’s not,” I said as I took the dress. “I didn’t even know I had it until my daughter noticed it.”
“You don’t say,” the woman murmured.
I stepped into the dress and tugged it over my hips and up to my waist, surprised that it clung to my curves but didn’t make me look like I’d been stuffed into a sausage casing. After I slipped my arms into the long sleeves, I pulled up the top and started to zip the back.
“Let me,” Vee said, effortlessly pulling the zipper, and I stared at my reflection.
The style wasn’t all that different from the first dress I’d tried, but the fabric had more give since it was cut on the bias, and instead of a shallow scoop neckline, it had a deep V-neck that showed off my cleavage.
Reaching up, I tugged the fabric to try to cover more of my breasts.
Vee pulled my hands down. “You have beautiful breasts, breasts that have attracted men and nursed babies.”
“Saggy breasts,” I said. “Worn-out breasts.”
“They have served their purpose,” Vee whispered into my ear, “and they have done it well. Your breasts. Your hips. Your lips. Your hair. They are signs of your womanly glory, not to be looked upon with shame. Not to be hidden. They are to be celebrated.”
Just when I was starting to think she was really, really committed to this salesperson gig—were they paid on commission?—she began pulling the pins from my hair. Before I could react, it was hanging loose, slightly past my shoulders. I tried to protest, but what she did next silenced me. She lifted the blond streak and smiled, her eyes lighting up with…satisfaction? Excitement?
Her gaze lifted to mine, and she dipped her chin slightly as though offering me a sign of respect. “From the ashes, she has risen.”
Had Vee somehow heard about the fire? What the hell was she talking about?
“Mom?” I heard Harriet call in a panicked tone from the entrance to the long corridor of dressing rooms. “Mom!”
“Harriet?” I called out as I turned to open the door. But the second I looked away from the mirror, a poof of smoke rose up behind me. I whirled around, only to discover Vee was gone. Like disappeared gone.
I was losing my mind.
Shaking it off, I jerked the door open and rushed into the aisle to get to Harriet. Relief flooded through me when I saw she was okay. Her tone had worried me more than the strange woman’s disappearing act.
“Mom, the staff said that an older woman named Vee doesn’t work here. They have no idea who that woman was.” She glanced past me. “Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She was there one moment and gone the next.” Literally, although I didn’t feel the need to point that out. She was worried enough as it was.
Harriet took a deep breath, and only then seemed to process what I was wearing. Appreciation covered her face. “Well, whoever she is, she has great taste. Maybe she was just a helpful customer.”
“Hmm…” I said, but I knew better. Vee hadn’t been surprised by the markings on my back, and she’d been excited to find the blond streak. Like she was looking for it. That was worrisome. I had to wonder why I wasn’t freaking out more about her disappearing act, but maybe the shock hadn’t set in. Plus, I had to keep it together for Harriet. The freak-out could come later.
“Did you try on any of the other dresses?” Harriet asked.
“No, but I think this one will work.” Vee had been right about that.
“There was a gorgeous red one. At least try it on,” Harriet said, ushering me back into the room.
I took off the long-sleeved dress and tried on the other black one first. It also had a deep V-neck, but the wrap skirt hung on my hips, making them look full and sexy.
“I can’t decide which one I like better,” Harriet said, her eyes shining.
“That’s an easy choice,” I said, reaching for the tag. “Whichever one is cheaper.”
Good heavens. How had I not thought to look before?
Harriet checked out the price tag on the first dress while I read the second, which was twenty dollars less. Still, it would put a dent I couldn’t afford in my bank account. I was going to have to pull out the credit card for this one.
“Now try on the red dress, Mom.”
The red dress was actually a formal dress made of scarlet velvet. I knew I should protest—I wouldn’t be able to wear it anywhere, let alone rewear it—but the first two picks had been winners, and my withered self-esteem demanded to see how I looked in this one.
I turned to look in the mirror, and nearly squeaked in shock. It molded to my body like butter. It had long sleeves, an off-the-shoulder neckline that exposed my shoulders and collarbones, then deepened into a V to show a hint of cleavage. The back was open and dipped to my waist. The skirt was a wrap-like design with ruching at my hips, and a wide slit on the left side that went to midthigh.
Harriet and I stared at my reflection for several seconds before she finally said, “You have to get this dress, Mom.”
I shook my head. “I can’t, Harriet. I can’t afford it, for one thing, and for another, I never go anywhere that would require this kind of dressing up.”
“But, Mom! You don’t even know how much it costs! And it looks like it was made for you. Please, Mom!”
She was right. It did look like it was made for me, eerily so, but that didn’t negate my concerns. I just couldn’t afford such a luxury right now. Maybe this was an opportunity to teach her about money and budgets…I didn’t want to dash her excitement—I could see how much Harriet wanted me to get this dress—but I couldn’t justify buying it either.
With a small smile, I said, “Let’s see if they’ll place this one on hold. And I’ll get the black dress for tonight.”
Her eyes dimmed slightly as she studied me. Then the corners of her mouth tipped up again. “Okay. Good idea.”
Harriet was up to something, but I had bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact that I was losing my mind.
Oh, and that date with a thirty-three-year-old man.
Chapter Six
I arrived at Figaro’s promptly at seven, feeling guilty that I was wearing over two hundred dollars’ worth of clothing and shoes. Harriet had insisted on a new pair of patent leather black pumps (“Yours are scuffed and gross, Mom.”) and a new bra and Spanx underwear (“No matter who you are, you need to suck in your midsection. And your old bra? I’m burning it as soon as we get home.”). I disagreed about the Spanx, but I’d already let her down by not getting the red dress. I wasn’t going to break her heart with this too.
So now I was cinched up in tight fabric from my hips to just under my breasts. Uncomfortable, yes, but it made me look a size smaller. My hair was up, and my makeup was expertly applied by Harriet and Irene, who had found out I was going on a date and had insisted on being part of the “makeover montage.” They’d given me dark, smoky eyes, worked some magic with bronzer and blush to make my cheekbones look more prominent, applied fake lashes and a soft neutral lipstick. I found my diamond stud earrings in my jewelry box and wore no other adornments. I didn’t have a necklace that would work with the neckline, but Harriet and Irene insisted I didn’t need it.
As I’d predicted, Elena fed me a bunch of statistics about failure rates for second marriages, particularly when children were involved, plus some bonus stats about the number of rape
s that had occurred in Ubers.
“First of all, I’m not taking an Uber, I’m driving, and before you start giving me drinking and driving statistics, don’t. I’ll have one drink early in the meal and be safe to drive home. As for the other”—I grabbed her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes—“I’m not getting remarried, Elena. It’s just a first date.”
“But when you date someone, it’s because you’re looking for your future spouse,” she protested.
“Elena, I promise. It’s just dinner. I don’t even know if we’ll hit it off.”
“There’s no way he won’t want to see you again if you show up looking like that,” Jack’s friend Jeremy said, his eyes wide.
Jack elbowed Jeremy hard in the stomach. “Dude. You’re talking about my mom!”
“Your mom is hot!”
That nearly caused a fight in the kitchen, but thankfully the pizza delivery driver showed up, and since Jack was obsessed with food, the discussion was quickly forgotten.
When I finally walked into Figaro’s, I felt much more confident than I had two hours earlier. Maybe I’d spent money I didn’t have, but surely it was worth it just this once. I could pick up some extra hours at Cyn’s coffee shop to pay off the credit card.
If she didn’t kill me for not telling her about my date.
Parker was waiting inside the foyer, wearing a dress shirt and tie with his usual dress pants and loafers. He looked quite handsome, but he must have gotten a haircut after work. The stylist had cut it so short he looked like a young Justin Timberlake from his NSYNC days.
Parker’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Darcie, you look beautiful.”
I blushed. “You look pretty good yourself.”
I felt shallow for thinking it, but I missed his full head of hair. Come to think of it, I didn’t know Parker well—I’d only really noticed the shallow things. Maybe this dinner would be our chance to change that.
He smiled and reached an arm around my back, steering me toward the bar. “There was a mix-up with my reservation, so I thought we could get a drink in the bar while they sort it out.”
“Sounds good.”
The restaurant was dark, with wood floors and rich upholstery and brass wall fixtures and candlesticks on the tables. It had the look of a very old establishment, one that had aged well and didn’t look like it needed to be updated. The only tacky touch was that the candles themselves were the dollar store battery-operated type. The bar was busy, but we found two stools at the counter. I climbed onto mine—a dangerous balancing act given the heels and the shapewear squeezing my middle like a boa constrictor.
Parker didn’t seem to notice as he flagged down the bartender.
The bartender headed toward us, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary as a smile spread across his face. “How can I help you?”
Parker ordered a whiskey neat, and I asked for a glass of white wine. When the bartender came back with the drinks, Parker gave him his card for the tab and then sat back and shifted his gaze to me. “Thank you for agreeing to come to dinner.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “I confess that this is my first date in two decades. You were still in middle school.”
He laughed. “Darcie, I know you’re older than me. I don’t care.”
“But there is the fact you’ve been on quite a few more first dates than I have.”
He laughed again. “I’ll admit to that, but I’m not a serial dater. I’m looking for someone to settle down with.” He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a sip of his whiskey. “I know you have three kids, a set of twins—a boy and a girl—and a younger daughter, but that’s all I know other than that your son plays basketball. Tell me about them.”
We spent the next ten minutes talking about the kids and joking about work. I had to admit it was nice having a man who actually paid attention to what I was saying, but it felt like something was missing. Was I just off my game because I hadn’t gone out with anyone but Richard for two decades, or was this a sign the chemistry wasn’t there?
Either way, he was lovely to look at. I’d just started on my second glass of wine when Parker finished off his whiskey and got to his feet. “I’ll go check on our table.”
As soon as he left the bar, I heard a man behind me say, “Why are you wasting your time with a child?”
I spun in my seat to face a man who looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties. His auburn hair had a sprinkling of gray and his blue eyes were surrounded by crow’s-feet. He had the look of a man who had lived his life to the fullest and enjoyed every minute. The cocky glint in his eyes suggested perhaps he’d lived a little too much, especially where women were concerned.
“Excuse me?” I asked in a haughty tone.
“He’s merely a child. You need a real man,” he said with a grin.
“Let me guess,” I said, picking up my wine glass. “That real man is you.”
His eyes danced with mischief. “I’m not generous enough to play wingman to someone else. It’s every man for himself where romance is concerned.”
The wine was flowing through my veins, giving me a courage I didn’t normally possess. For one thing, I hadn’t been hit on in years, so to have two men interested in me at the same time? I was feeling a bit giddy.
“Somehow I don’t think there would be much romance with you,” I said coyly.
His brows lifted in amusement. “Should I feel wounded by your assessment of my character?”
“Tell me I’ve pegged you wrong,” I said before I took another sip of my wine.
He gave a lazy shrug. “I’m not looking for any cumbersome attachments, but I suspect little Caillou there wants a mommy to take care of him.” His eyes swept over me, then landed on my lips. “I don’t think you’re looking for anyone else to take care of. You’re looking for someone to take care of you, and thoroughly at that.”
A flush ran through my body and I tried to tell myself it was a hot flash, because Darcie Marie Weatherby was never affected by rogues. But I tried to keep my cool and said, “I’m surprised a man with your carefree and obviously child-unencumbered ways would know a cartoon baby by name. I suspect you’ve tried that pickup line before in an attempt to lure women from their unsuspecting dates.”
He grinned. “Touché.”
I leaned closer. “Perhaps this has had a high success rate for you in the past, but I’m sorry to report it’s not working for you this time.”
Parker returned to the bar with a big smile. “Our table is ready, Darcie.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied the man I’d been talking to. “Do you know him?”
“No,” I said with an icy voice. “I don’t.” I slid off the stool and turned to walk away with Parker.
“It was nice meeting you, Darcie,” the rogue called after me. “Until we meet again.”
I hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon.
Chapter Seven
If Parker was unnerved about my conversation with the mystery man, he didn’t let on. We were seated at a small, intimate table by a window overlooking a small pond. A single, flameless LED candle sat between us in the middle of the white tablecloth. The ambience was very romantic.
“I’ve heard the seafood is supposed to be excellent here,” I said, scanning the menu.
“The surf and turf is great,” he said, then glanced up. “You’ve never been here before?”
“Nope. Richard and I never went out much.” I resisted the urge to cringe. I’d tried hard to keep his name out of the conversation. It may have been twenty years since my last date, but I still knew better than to spend the whole evening talking about my ex. I’d successfully avoided mentioning him up until this point, so I watched for Parker’s reaction.
“I know you’re divorced, Darcie,” Parker said. “And I appreciate that you’re trying hard not to bring him up, but he was part of your life for twenty years, correct?”
I looked out the window, avoiding eye c
ontact. There were only nine years between us, but I felt like I was robbing the cradle. Twenty years ago, I’d been twenty-two while Parker had been thirteen.
Ouch.
“Darcie,” he said insistently. “I don’t care about our age difference.”
I turned back to face him.
He grinned. “It’s obvious it bothers you more than it bothers me. And I realize your kids are your number one priority. I’m not going to push to meet them. I’m not looking for an instant family to slip into, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I gave him an awkward smile. “It’s just this all seemed to come out of nowhere. Your interest caught me off guard.”
“I’ve been interested in you for months, Darcie. But I was involved with someone else, and it seemed too soon for you.” He shrugged. “I only went to Nikki’s Tupperware party because I knew you were going.” He laughed. “Didn’t you think it was odd that I went?”
I felt my face flush. “Well, Nikki did threaten everyone’s vacation requests, and I figured you might have lost your storage containers during your breakup.”
He laughed. “Nikki wouldn’t dare touch my vacation time, and I put my leftovers in glass containers. Everyone knows plastic’s bad for you.”
“Tell that to my mother.”
His mouth twitched. “Speaking of which, I heard your mother’s heading up the committee for the masquerade ball for the Perry Art Museum. You know, the Founder’s Day one. Did you know their new exhibit is still gathering dust in our basement at work?”
“Scandalous,” I said.
And it kind of was. Although I didn’t know much about the collection, it included several ancient Greek and Egyptian artifacts on loan from a museum in Europe. We were storing them because the shipment had been sent sooner than expected, and the museum curators wanted to keep the antiquities hidden until they could reveal them with a big splash at their fundraiser ball. I’d suggested to Kristie that the priceless artifacts likely needed better environment control than the basement of Lisman and Freud International Shipping—I’d seen the way museums displayed several-thousand-year-old items—but she’d warned me never to mention it within earshot of Nikki if I wanted to keep my job. But the museum thought we were treating their treasures with kid gloves, hence the thank-you invites.
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