“Oh, come on. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better for not noticing us little people. You had everything going for you. What did you have to be stressed out about?”
“Only being the oldest child of a highly successful, type A, workaholic lawyer. I’d do anything to get his attention, not to mention his approval.”
“Surely you already had it just because you belonged to him.”
“Try telling that to my mom when he left her for his artist girlfriend, ten years her junior.” Shelby clamped her mouth shut as if the confession had popped out without her permission.
A couple of college guys hogging the sidewalk forced Shelby to circle a Chinese elm. As Scott caught a low branch for her, he shot them a dirty look. “Shelby, I’m sorry. You know my parents are divorced too.”
“Yes, but your mom’s remarriage turned out well.”
“It did, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful.”
“Of course. My mom’s really struggled since the divorce. She never remarried. She’s only now getting her footing and identity back.”
The surprisingly intimate nature of the conversation made Scott lean forward so they could keep their voices low, even though he still walked slightly behind her. “What changed? The job you mentioned?”
“Yes, and finding God. I mean, she was always a Christian, but just the go-to-church-and-be-moral kind, you know. Now she’s really into it.” Shelby moved her big purse, cradling it more in front of her to make room for Scott at her side.
“That’s good. My mom used to read us the Scriptures about God being a father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow. She said that counted for those whose husbands left them.”
Shelby flashed him a surprised expression. “Your dad left too? I thought he died.”
Pressing the crosswalk button at Tenth Street, Scott offered her a tight smile. “He’s dead now. But after my mom put him through grad school, he decided he married too young and wasn’t ready for the responsibility of a family. Convenient timing, right? He went off to Atlanta to start his career in banking and left her behind. But at least he paid child support.”
“Oh, my gracious. Did you make up with him before he died?”
“When I was a junior, remorse got the better of him, and he started inviting me for visits. Yeah, we made up. Slowly. With the encouragement of my mom. I was thankful later … and even more thankful that my stepfather cared enough to show me how to be a man. So see? We have more in common than you thought.”
Staring at the flashing countdown sign, Shelby murmured, “I don’t talk to my dad much.”
Scott’s chest tightened at her vulnerability. “You might want to rethink that.”
“Oh, I’ve forgiven him.” Shelby sent him a quick glance, almost as if seeking his approval. “But I don’t like his wife.”
He laughed at her candor and, without thinking, grabbed her hand to pull her onto the street as the signal for “walk” appeared. When they reached the other side, he didn’t want to let go, but Shelby pulled away and pressed her palm against her skirt like he’d burned her. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. Stupid. She was using him, not dating him. That’s what entitled girls like Shelby were bred to do.
“The new store is just down there.”
It wasn’t hard to spot. In an area still plagued by empty storefronts, an unusual bevy of activity signaled the trendy addition. Shelby gave a nod in that direction as if expecting him to do her bidding even before losing her contest.
He possessed more self-respect than that. Scott raised his chin. “You have yet to ask your third question. Better make it a good one.”
Drawing a deep breath, Shelby froze, statue-like, and searched heavenward. The sunlight created a halo on the crown of her golden head. “Yep. Here it is. If I had a choice on a Saturday night of staying in and reading a book or going out to dinner with friends, what would I want to do?”
Scott tried not to look smug. “You really are handing this to me. In your heart of hearts, you want to scrape those windows, don’t you? You’d go out, because that would suit the public persona of Shelby Dodson.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I would go out. At least, I used to.” She straightened to her full height. “But I didn’t ask what I would do. I asked what I’d want to do.”
“I wasn’t finished. You’d go, but the whole time, you’d be looking forward to that moment you could get home, kick off your shoes, and run a hot bath.”
Shelby’s mouth fell open, then she frowned. “I totally clued you in. ButI have to admit, now that I get to stay home and read all the time, it isn’t as appealing as it used to seem when I had to keep up with an exhausting social calendar.” She gave a wistful sigh. Wait, could she actually be lonely? She brightened suddenly and raised a manicured hand to her purse strap. “Come on, let’s go window shopping.”
They strolled down the street until the storefront under a snazzy sign stating “Julian’s” offered design eye candy: a full bedroom layout, complete with fluffy robe, breakfast tray with flowers, and a stack of hardcover books. Shelby moaned. “Oh no. He’s not just selling. He’s staging.”
“What?”
“Before the TV show, this is what we used for an open house if we flipped a property before we had a buyer. And on the big reveal day for the TV show, you create cozy vignettes that arouse emotion. The books, the slippers, candles burning. Everything that says ‘home’ to people. The buyers come in and fall in love. It looks fabulous. He’s going to sell not only his merchandise, but his services. He’s done exactly what I would do.” Shelby’s shoulders sagged.
Scott pointed out the obvious. “But if you did this, you wouldn’t be decorating renovated houses anymore.”
“Right. I don’t see how that’s going to be possible in the future, do you?”
Scott bit his tongue to keep from blurting, “We could work together again.”
He knew she wasn’t ready to hear such a thing. Might never be.
He was so opposite of Chet, the Wentworth project probably proved painful for her in ways he could never imagine. Not even from his distinguished position of twenty-six years of lonely. “Well, if this is what you want, you should know exactly what you’re up against. And you can’t tell that from the window display.” Without waiting for a response, he entered the store.
“Scott.” Shelby hissed his name, darting in behind him.
The bell jangled. A tall, dark-haired woman swathed in an expensive-looking ivory dress, big gold jewelry, and the scent of floral perfume stepped forward. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“No, we heard about the new store and thought we’d check it out.” On impulse, Scott snaked an arm around Shelby’s waist and smiled down at her. “Didn’t we, honey?”
“Oh. Hee, hee.” Shelby’s laugh came out high-pitched. “We sure did. We’ve got a big new house to decorate.” She wiggled her fingers as if she couldn’t wait to dig into Julian’s fancies.
Well, that much was true.
“Wonderful. Have a look around and let me know if I can help you. Julian is at the consulting area in the back.” Gazing down a patrician nose, the woman smiled. Didn’t she recognize Shelby? If she did, she was probably too condescending to let on. “We have wine and cheese laid out.”
“Of course, you do.” Scott snorted back a laugh at Shelby’s muttered comment and the theatrical glare she fixed on the woman’s back as the sales associate glided away on stealthy heels. Then Shelby jerked Scott around a partition wall simulating an entryway and snatched his Augusta GreenJackets cap off his head.
“Whoa!” He put a hand to his head. “I have hat hair!”
“Well, fluff it up. You’re the one who decided to come in here. I can’t let him see me.” Loosening her own hair to fall over her ears, Shelby shoved her sunglasses back on, then added his hat.
“That looks very natural.”
“Shhh. Now, what am I going to owe you to video the back of the store even though you
won the bet?” Shelby perused the display, causing her to miss the sly grin that turned up Scott’s mouth. She muttered about Dash & Albert rugs and Christy towels, then turned around and caught sight of his expression. She snapped, “Fine, I’ll pay for lunch and scrape the windows. Just go. Circulate. Video.”
“I’m beginning to see how stress affects you.”
Shelby gave him a little shove. “Go. See what he’s doing back there while I drift through the front, close to the exit.”
He pulled out his phone. “Yes, ma’am. I must say, though, I feel not only lunch but a massive slice of Boll Weevil’s hummingbird cake coming on.”
Moseying away, he rubbed his stomach. Shelby growled. He was enjoying this way too much. Just like he enjoyed being around Shelby too much.
He pretended to check out fine soaps and linens while making his way to where he could see a tall, bald man in a tailored Herringbone suit, deep in conversation with a puffy-haired Southern matron. They reposed on a leather sofa amid a living room suite, the finger foods spread on silver trays atop the coffee table. The woman flipped through a style book and asked questions.
Scott lurked around the corner and held his phone out to take a surreptitious video, then switched the setting to allow a photograph of a shelf filled with bedspreads. He figured Shelby would want to read the labels. As he stepped back to include the entire selection, he bumped into a display, and with a clatter and multiple thumps, a half-dozen candles slid to the floor.
Before he could get to his knees, Shelby crouched beside him, picking up the boxes and frantically sliding them back on the glass table. “What are you doing?”
Scott tried to keep his answer to a whisper, but it came out more like a growl. “Taking the secret footage you requested.”
“Hello.” At the sound of a deep, cultured voice above them, they looked up like wide-eyed schoolchildren caught in mischief. “Is that Shelby Dodson?”
After yesterday’s downtown debacle, Shelby couldn’t wait to get back to the comfort of her church friends. Angelina, however, didn’t seem to share her anticipation. She dallied so long in the bathroom she almost made them late. Then she stopped in the door of the Sunday school class, scanning the chattering twenty- and thirty-somethings with a quirked brow.
“Remind me again why we’re going to a couples’ class when we’re both single?”
As faces turned toward them, Shelby smiled and adjusted the skirt of her tailored dress. Was it too short? Funny, she’d never have worried about that on Chet’s arm. He would have assured her it possessed the right label and boldness to outshine the other wives’ outfits. “Because this is the class I’ve attended since we joined this church. These are my friends, and I want you to meet them.”
The teacher, Tim Stafford, a man around forty, approached to shake their hands and welcome Angelina. After he walked off, Shelby turned to her sister with an encouraging smile. “Let’s get coffee.”
As Shelby slid her cup under the pump spout, a breezy voice said, “Hey, there. Did you make it to the market?”
Shelby glanced up into her friend Wendy’s glowing face. “Yes, I had a great outing.” No thanks to you. She pulled the tab, allowing fragrant, steaming coffee to spill into Styrofoam. “How was your class?”
“Oh. Terrible. They all are. It’s exercise. But it’s the price I pay for a slowing metabolism. Not like you, obviously. Have you been eating? Do we need to start bringing you dinner again?”
Angelina cleared her throat and nudged Shelby, prompting Shelby to say, “Wendy, meet my sister, Angelina.”
Wendy extended her hand to Angelina. “So good to have you. Are you married? Oh, never mind, you’re still in college. I hope you’re not married.” She dumped a liberal amount of artificial sweetener into her brew. “I’m so glad you’re keeping Shelby company. We’ve been worried about her. Now we can all relax, knowing she’s not alone.”
Did Wendy have no idea her statement sounded like they were relieved to be unburdened? Apparently not, for she offered what appeared to be a genuine smile as she stirred her coffee. Shelby aimed for bright rather than defensive with the tone of her reply. “Actually, I’m staying quite busy now, overseeing renovations on a historic house for an older couple.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Wendy slid the tip of her stirring stick into her mouth, passing her gaze over the rows of chairs. “There he is! Brad never stays where I left him.” Wendy squeezed Shelby’s hand and said to Angelina, “Enjoy the class.”
“Thanks.”
The seats were filling up fast. Shelby spied Christy occupying a row with her visitors and drew Angelina over to meet them. After a few seconds of chitchat with Christy’s South Carolina family, Shelby indicated two empty chairs on the end. “Are these open?”
Christy laid her hand on the back of the nearest seat. “Oh no. Sorry. My sister-in-law had to take her son to the bathroom.”
“Of course. So good to see you.” Shelby smiled and stepped to the periphery of the classroom.
Tim arranged his materials at the podium, and stragglers doctoring coffee darted wary glances over their shoulders and exaggerated their hurried movements.
“Do you see what I see?” Angelina whispered.
“Yep. Front row.” Biting her lip, Shelby led the way to the ignominious area.
Tim decided to make sport of Shelby’s hesitant approach. “Come on up.
Make yourself comfortable up here with me. Visitor’s section!”
Everyone laughed as Shelby and Angelina sat down and Tim started taking prayer requests.
“I don’t see Nicole,” Shelby murmured to Angelina. “She’s expecting and feels terrible in the mornings. She’ll need a place to sit when she slips in.” Taking a sip of her coffee, which tasted sterilized without liquid creamer or syrup, Shelby directed her eyes forward.
Halfway through the praise reports, the door opened and, to the tune of whispers and snickers, a gray-faced, petite brunette sneaked in ahead of her wellbuilt husband. Cal gave a sheepish shrug and pointed at the back of Nicole’s empire-waist jumper. Nicole smiled, and while waving to the room, caught sight of Shelby and waved faster. Shelby beamed in welcome and slid her purse off the chair next to her.
Nicole didn’t seem to notice. Hand clasped in her spouse’s, she filed to the very back, where Cal fetched a chair from the storage closet so he could join Nicole next to a platinum blonde with an unmistakably rounded belly. The two women put their heads together to murmur something sympathetic and patted each other’s hands.
Shelby swallowed. Yesterday, she’d been caught eavesdropping on Scott and Julian Etier both. Yet in the ten minutes she had been in this room, she felt far smaller and more out of place than she had during yesterday’s embarrassing moments—combined. And completely opposite of how Scott wanting to spend the morning with her had made her feel. Like it or not, her world had changed. It might be time to let some things go.
Feeling Angelina’s eyes on her, she glanced to the side. Her twenty-year-old sibling lifted one corner of her mouth in a surprisingly sensitive smile.
Chapter Eleven
By Monday night, Shelby hated her phone. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She hated its silence.
Sunday afternoon and evening, when Angelina headed to the library to write a paper, Shelby snagged Maltie and a bowl of popcorn and lost herself in a Hallmark movie marathon, trying to forget the humiliation of the weekend.
Monday, she had to face it—work on the bungalow represented the only thing moving forward in her life.
Workers had replaced the roof at the end of last week. But where plumbing, HVAC, and electrical work were concerned, even Scott agreed she was a liability. So donning old jeans and a T-shirt, she made a trip to her storage building and separated a pile of wall art, light fixtures, and knick-knacks to decorate the Wentworth house.
When a text dinged around dinner time, she jumped, then scanned Scott’s offer to pick her up in the morning for an outing to Savannah River Til
e and Stone. They could swing by the builder’s supply for the new front and French doors. Yes! Shelby loved this stage, the first step in making her visions come to life. And the first step back into her element.
Shelby pulled her iPad from her purse on Tuesday as she and Scott approached the showroom entrance. “I already know how I want everything to look, so this shouldn’t take long.”
“Let me guess.” Holding open the door for her, Scott whisked off his sunglasses—the ones that made him look annoyingly like a Top Gun pilot—and hung them on his shirt collar. “You’ve got a checklist.”
“Why, yes.” Shelby booted up the page that came as part of her design program and showed Scott the room-by-room columns. “I want the same tile in both bathrooms, with a nice, geometric mosaic design. Kitchen island and bathroom countertops in white Carrera marble. For the other kitchen counters topping the antique white cabinets, I’m more open. Maybe black or dark gray.”
“But we can’t give them specifications on the master bath counter because you haven’t found the dresser yet.”
Shelby gravitated toward the “glam tile” wall, running her fingers over the samples. “True, but we can reserve a section that will be pretty close. No need to cut anything yet. Oh my. Isn’t this Hirsch glass silhouette tile amazing? The glass tile we did a couple of flips ago sure turned out great.” Shelby’s voice trailed off as it hit her that the man standing behind her wasn’t Chet. Her world tilted on its axis, blurred, and rearranged all in the space of a heartbeat. The initial shard of pain left a fallout of regret and sadness.
“I bet it did.” The softness of Scott’s voice revealed his awareness of her near-lapse. “But don’t you think it would be at odds with the bungalow? Remember, we’re keeping the white beadboard waist-high in the bathrooms, like the breakfast area nook.”
Shelby lowered her hand. “Right. But my goal isn’t period correctness. It’s to give Lester and Ruby the beauty and comfort fifty years of marriage deserve.”
“I think we can do that with a nod to the architecture. They like rustic, right? What about this wood-inspired tile? It’s got a gray tone.” Scott tapped the display board.
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