A Wildflower Summer

by Caroline Flynn

She grinned, flipping through the pages. ‘Trust me, you’ve helped more than enough with that situation. And it’s going well, thank goodness. Paige chose one particular design right away. There’s a seamstress here in town—Shirley, I think?—who’s going to help me pull it off in time. She’s retired but Paige said she still does projects from home. Sounds good to me. I’ll take all the help I can get.’ There wasn’t a hint of anxiety to be found in her expression or her words. Lily was genuinely thrilled with her role as head designer, and Jason was thrilled for her.

  ‘I know Shirley. She knows her stuff, so I’m sure you’ll both learn a lot from each other,’ he replied. ‘If it’s not about the dress, though, then what have you got there?’

  Whether from nerves or anticipation, Jason couldn’t quite pinpoint, but Lily’s hands trembled as she fumbled with each page, searching for one image in particular.

  ‘This.’ She held out the sketchbook, hastily willing him to take it from her. As though she might change her mind before he saw what graced the page.

  Her nervous energy was contagious, permeating his pores and sending his own nerve endings into a series of tingles and crackles. Fear of the unknown had been Jason’s friend for a long while, and whatever he was about to see meant enough that it had Lily in knots.

  That meant it meant something to him, too.

  He turned the sketch, making sure no brightness cascaded in from the afternoon sun and hindered his first glimpse. Immediately, he was thankful for the forethought.

  Before him, in meticulous pencil strokes and various shadows and shading, sat his grandfather’s Panther Lima. Only the car he saw wasn’t just a mirror image of the car sitting out in his garage under a thick vinyl cover, it was a reincarnation of it.

  To scale, Lily had taken painstaking effort to redesign the old vehicle into a reinvented version of itself. An absolutely gorgeous version of itself.

  ‘I know that a hot rod is actually a classic American car and not a British one, and the street rod vibe has to do with the oversized engine and modifications for speed, but I thought maybe the sleek shape of the Panther Lima would be well suited with horizontal hot rods flames that stretched toward the rear of the car, depicting speed but also a fiery burst of rebellion and freedom.’

  Lily’s explanation came out furiously and fast, but her voice was distant, heard through a tunnel of memories and awe. Though the colors were far from traditional—classic hot rod flames would be a vivid mix of yellow, red, and orange on a black car—they were just as vibrant and even more inspiring. In her design, the car had been resurrected in a brilliant plum with metal flake, each sparkle and hint of glitter penciled individually to give the drawing depth. The flames, classic hot rod shapes reaching from the front grill, across the hood and stretching across the doors toward the back tires, were a blazing orange, but they were outlined in a feather of lime green. It gave the car an edgy look, mixing traditional with custom ideas. The rims were spoked steel, eye-catching. Jason’s finger brushed across the image, awestruck by the alluring conglomerate of chrome and color.

  ‘I’ve sourced the tires to an aftermarket company in California, and if you don’t like the spoked style of the rims, they’re fourteen inches and you can always—’

  ‘Lily.’ He breathed out her name, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears. ‘You designed my grandfather’s Panther. My Cruella.’ It was a fact, nothing more. He was simply trying desperately to wrap his head around it.

  Lily mistook his shock for disdain. ‘Like I was saying, you can always change things or completely ignore my idea. It’s just—’

  ‘It’s just beautiful.’ Jason reluctantly tore his gaze from the automotive beauty on the page. ‘Lily, this is amazing. There isn’t even a word for how amazing this is.’ He didn’t try to mask his bewilderment. ‘And I’m hearing you talk about fourteen-inch rims and American muscle cars … Lily, you didn’t know a fender from a ball joint.’

  Her sigh of relief coincided with her laughter, creating a gasping chuckle. Lily shrugged. ‘You can learn anything on the Internet with enough research.’

  Jason could picture her, huddled over her phone at Nancy’s dining room table, the room dark save for the eerie glow of the screen. One hand scrolling through diagrams and articles and photos found on search engines, the other scraping delicately across a blank page, turning the blank page into a work of art.

  Giving his grandfather’s beloved car new life.

  ‘Not this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You didn’t learn this. The names of things and the history of classic hot rod flames, sure. But no one just learns how to design something so breathtaking, Lily. Something so perfect. You’ve got a gift, and there are a lot of people in the custom vehicle world who would trip over themselves to get a chance to have a design like this created for them.’ He swallowed. ‘I have no idea how I’m going to thank you for this. But thank you.’

  ‘So, you like it, then?’

  He balked at her genuine surprise. ‘No, I love it, Lily.’ It wasn’t a word he tossed around easily. Loving something meant you wanted to hold it in your hands and keep it all to yourself. You didn’t want to let it go. It meant you felt something for it with every sense and synapse within you. With your heart.

  As Jason stared into the bluish gray gaze of the woman he had never expected to find, he realized with a deep, visceral conviction that, in that moment, he didn’t want to let her go, either.

  Chapter 15

  Lily

  Two weeks was such a long time in some ways, and such a short time in others. There was a time when Lily thought she would be in the middle of Chicago by now, moving out of a hotel room and into an apartment, with a handful of leads toward internships or employment opportunities in the fashion industry.

  Instead, she was exactly where her car had left her, with a job that wasn’t anything like the design jobs she had hoped for and a dumpster fire of a job interview under her belt.

  It had been two weeks going nowhere fast, spinning her wheels, no closer to the goal she had pushed toward in the beginning.

  And Lily was surprisingly okay with it. Always a stickler for things being a certain way, going according to plan, she never stopped to realize the upside to stepping off the path and traipsing through the unknown. Even away from that path, the sun still shone and the sky was still blue. There were still flowers to stop and smell, and there were still options as to which way to go.

  The key was to be brave enough to let one’s plans fall apart and not fall apart with them. Only then could one see that the obvious path was not the only way to get where they were going.

  Lily wasn’t foolish enough to believe she ever would have come to Port Landon of her own accord. She also never would have admitted defeat without crashing and burning in Chicago.

  But Port Landon saved her from all that. With its open arms and comforting ways, becoming stranded had prevented her from being burned by her own naivety and disorganization. If she had made it to Chicago, Lily was confident that, right now, she would be on her way back to Sherman, tail between her legs and heartbroken. It would have gutted her to admit how she had tried and failed so miserably.

  Breaking down in Port Landon hadn’t just saved her from that defeat, it had saved her from herself. All or nothing—that’s how she had always worked. And if she couldn’t have the life she thought she and Eden could attain in Chicago, then Lily would have retreated to her hometown and undoubtedly never tried again.

  Where she was now was neither all, nor nothing. Lily was somewhere in the middle, somewhere unexpected. But somewhere she wanted to be in that particular moment.

  ‘What in the world are you doing here?’

  Lily glanced up from the locker, her hands suspended in midair as she made to shove her purse inside it. Eden was already carting her dollhouse figurines toward the door that led to the storefront, and she stopped in her tracks as well. Allison stared at her with quizzical eyes, her auburn ponytail swaying with the breez
e that blew from the air conditioner vent.

  ‘I’m … working?’

  ‘The heck you are.’ Allison shooed her toward the back door. ‘Shirley called my cell because she didn’t have your number. The fabric and lace you ordered is available in North Springs. She drove there early this morning and picked it up as soon as the shop opened. Let the dressmaking begin, Lily!’

  ‘It’s here?’ Somehow, it still hadn’t sunk in that she was doing this. Working alongside someone she didn’t know, on a dress design that had come from her own mind and would be brought to life with a needle and thread.

  ‘We won’t talk about the expedited shipping charges,’ Allison replied. ‘But seriously, go on. I’ve got the front counter under control, and I’m sure you need all the time you can get to pull this off for Paige.’

  She fought to keep her expression neutral. Her boss was right, she did need all the time she could get. She also needed the money from the coffeehouse job to pad her bank account. She still owed Jason a hefty sum of cash as well.

  The logical part of her brain told her there were only so many hours in a day. The timeframe was limited for Paige’s dress; it was the following weekend. She had the weekend and the workweek to finish it.

  The Lily Brentwood from two weeks ago might have fought Allison on it, stating she could work her shift and then burn the midnight oil in hopes of completing the dress while also earning her coffeehouse wage. But she felt the difference that those two weeks had made. She was thinking with more than logic.

  She was thinking with her heart. And that part of her reminded her that there was no reason to run, no need to work so hard that she didn’t enjoy the here and now.

  Frankly, she wanted to work on that dress. Yearned to. Having the creamy satin under her fingertips, hearing the soft whir of the sewing machine as it transformed the spool of fabric into a luxurious gown …

  ‘If you’re sure that’s okay, then I’m all for getting started.’

  Allison held up her hands. ‘There’s not a soul in this place that won’t wait an extra couple minutes for their coffee if it means that Paige will get the gorgeous wedding dress she deserves. Everybody’s talking about it.’ She beamed, as though it was a good thing.

  Lily tried not to think about it. She didn’t need the pressure. She was good enough at putting pressure on herself.

  ‘I’d better get going, then. Shirley knows I’m coming?’ The elderly woman Lily had been introduced to was well into her seventies, but a couple minutes of watching the woman work at her sewing machine at the beginning of the week had proven that her age was no match for the expertise she harbored. Her movements were as quick and fluid as her voice was calm and confident.

  She could do anything on enough cups of tea, Shirley had said. Lily believed her.

  ‘She’s ready and waiting.’

  Lily was tugging her purse from the locker when Allison spoke again.

  ‘You’re coming to the wedding, right? You’ve got to see your own design during its moment of glory—Paige said so.’

  It had never occurred to her that she would see Paige walk down the aisle. Allison’s mere mention of it, however, lit a flame of want inside her. She ached to see her own design on the wedding runway. ‘I would love that,’ she admitted. ‘Can’t say no to Paige.’

  ‘There isn’t a person who would right now.’ Clapping her hands like an excited child, she emitted a stifled squeal of delight. ‘The whole town’s going to be there, you know.’ Her lips pursed together, suppressing a grin. ‘Everyone.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Lily replied, cautious, afraid to step on a proverbial landmine. She had a sinking suspicious she knew what—or rather, who—Allison was referring to. ‘I’d better get go—’

  Lily’s cellphone bleeped loud and shrill, announcing an incoming message. Pulling it from the back pocket of her jeans, she saw only five words and a time.

  Meet me at the pier, 7 p.m. A winky face was the only signature.

  Lily stared at Jason’s words. Just another thing to add to the long line of unexpected events lately.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Allison asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Too quickly, Lily stammered, ‘Oh, uh, Shirley.’

  Allison didn’t hold back, letting her laughter spill out like a tipped pitcher of sweet tea. ‘Please, girl. Not only has Shirley never sent a text in her life, there’s nothing that old woman could say that would have you grinning like a freaking fool. Tell Jason I said hello.’

  ***

  Shirley Jacobson’s house was as tiny and sturdy as its owner. Only two blocks from Main Street, from the driveway Lily could still hear the occasional splash of waves hitting the docks in the harbor. The house was more like a brick cottage with its sloped steel roof and matching grid-patterned windows peeking out onto the street on either side of the royal blue door.

  Stepping over the threshold was like stepping back in time. There was only one thing inside the house that had been manufactured after the late seventies—Shirley’s sewing machine.

  Lily had sighed out loud the first time Paige brought her there to introduce her to the elderly woman. Entering the bedroom at the back of the house that had been converted into a sewing room had been a milestone for Lily. Since she was retired, Lily thought perhaps the woman’s designated sewing area would reflect that, expecting small and homey.

  Shirley’s home office, however, would have rivaled any top industry mogul’s creative lair. Spools of countless silks and cottons and fleeces were propped up against each other, lining one wall. Hooks jutted out, displaying rolls upon rolls of lace and ribbon. A huge rolling cart with multiple compartments sat with some of the drawers ajar, revealing a mosaic of beads, stones, and other embellishments. And the sewing machine sitting atop the antique Edwardian desk was a gleaming, top of the line Singer. Shirley Jacobson could have created almost anything in that room, for anyone.

  ‘Let’s see this dress design that’s got Paige all in a tizzy,’ Shirley had said during their first encounter. Standing in the middle of Shirley’s room of creative chaos, Lily had put the sketchbook into the woman’s wrinkled hands. She held her breath, focusing on the dark spider veins that crept along her fingers as she regarded the drawing with raised eyebrows. A glance in Paige’s direction proved she was holding her breath as well.

  ‘This dress,’ Shirley glanced up, regarding Lily carefully, ‘you’re going to want ivory silk charmeuse.’

  Lily nodded, though the woman didn’t ask. It was all outlined there on the page. Even if it wasn’t, Shirley would have known it was the best choice. Less expensive than mulberry silk, it offered up the smooth finish and lustrous sheen, the perfect fabric for the design Shirley was scrutinizing.

  ‘I don’t have it here.’

  Lily and Paige deflated together, their shoulders sagging.

  ‘Well, I suppose that there are other alternatives we could look at,’ Lily replied, trying to be as accommodating as possible and keep her tone light. Paige didn’t need to know how distressed Lily would be if they were forced to attempt the design with polyester charmeuse instead. The fabric might look similar, but it was less ideal, tending to fray during handling and pucker at the seams.

  ‘I said I don’t have it here,’ Shirley stated, ‘But I never said we wouldn’t order it.’ She pointed a long, gnarled finger at the sketch. ‘We’ll design this dress exactly as it was intended. It’s beautiful, Ms. Lily.’

  That was the moment Lily knew she adored Shirley Jacobson.

  The adoration only built as she spent more time with the elderly woman. By the time Lily showed up on her doorstep, there was already a pot of coffee on for her, a pot of tea for Shirley, and the various materials, threads, and measuring devices at the ready. Shirley was just as keen to get started as she was.

  Though generations spanned between them, Lily was awestruck by the ease with which they collaborated. In between cutting and pinning this, and measuring and draping that, Lily heard about Shirley’s
life in Port Landon—born and raised, thank you very much—and the love of her life, her late husband, Alvin. Listening to her talk about him, one never would have known he’d been gone more than fifteen years.

  ‘Nothing divides love,’ Shirley advised her wistfully. ‘Not time, not distance, and certainly not death. I love that man just as much now as I did when I was twenty.’

  Lily was still thinking about that when she bid Shirley goodbye, hoping to get some supper on the go for Eden before she took the little girl with her to meet Jason. Her daughter wore her weariness of having spent an exciting afternoon at Shirley’s in the heavy lids of her eyes, but there was no way Eden would miss getting to check out the boats in the harbor with her and Jason.

  ‘Hurry, Eden. We’re going to need a miracle to eat supper and get there on time.’

  Her cellphone rang just as she buckled Eden into her car seat and climbed into the driver’s seat of her car. Shifting in her seat to retrieve it from her back pocket, she fumbled and dropped the darn thing. It slid off the console onto the floor by her feet, landing screen up.

  That was the moment she realized, in her haste, that she had pressed the button and answered the call. Mortified, Lily plucked it from the floor.

  ‘Hello?’ Lily asked, breathless.

  ‘Ms. Brentwood, is that you?’

  Lily gasped. She couldn’t have hidden her shock, but she knew that voice. Had dreamed about it since the week before. It was a voice she never expected to hear again.

  ‘Th-this is Lily.’

  ‘Marvelous! Must have been a bad connection or something. This is Lilo Ashby, dear. We spoke last week.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I remember. Thank you again for the interview.’ Lily squeezed her eyes shut, fearful her politeness would be conveyed as sucking up.

  ‘Oh, Lily, I should be thanking you. Between your portfolio and your sincerity, I’m thrilled to have had the chance to speak with you. That’s why I’m calling, dear. I do apologize for ringing you after hours, but I just simply couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I’ve spoken with my staff, Lily. We’d love to offer you the internship at Lash Fashion.’