by Laura Briggs
“Just leave me at this boutique on the next corner. Cal has a friend working there, who’s part-time at one of Kandace’s rivals. Maybe he’ll have a couple of thoughts on places I could try. Their selection of fabric was always pretty amazing compared to Kandace’s. Then again, they were never trying to design garments made entirely from Velcro, either.”
“Velcro?” echoed Blake, as if he misheard the first time.
“Just don’t wear one inside out.” Natalie emerged from the back seat and closed the door.
Tessa drove on, then pulled up a few streets away, in an open spot outside of a tiny coffee house where an employee was scraping the fall leaf motif off the picture window.
“Despite this month’s poor revenue, I really do have the money to buy you a cup of coffee,” said Tessa. “I owe you one, besides.” She glanced at him. “Do you have a few minutes to spare?”
He would probably say no—he didn’t look as if he was going to say yes, whether to having coffee with her personally or letting her buy it. Tessa suspected it was the latter.
He paused. “A cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt,” he said at last.
He didn’t see the brief pink shade of Tessa’s cheeks, which made her grateful. She pulled the keys from the ignition and tucked them in her purse as they stepped out of the car.
There was no way things were going to be normal between them unless she put things back the way they were supposed to be. A good start was sharing coffee with him as a friend. It should be easier to be normal with a table between them and a hot beverage to sip reflectively and keep one’s mind on non-romantic subjects.
“You were actually pretty brilliant at the florist’s,” she said, as she steeped a paper teabag in hot water, letting it rise and dive on the string’s end. “I know that none of us could have handled it that well. I think it’s more proof that you have a talent for this business.” She sipped her tea, finding it was still too weak. “Pretty soon we’ll have to make you sign an agreement never to work for our competitors.”
“What do you have in mind for me in the future? Designing a gown? Standing in for the best man?” He poured powdered creamer into his cup. “I need hints if I’m going to prepare. This gig could flex my creative muscle more challengingly than the one on Springer Street will.”
His smile was a dry, sarcastic one really, which kept Tessa from turning pink again. “I’m—we’re—not planning to strong-arm you into anything else in the future, I promise,” she said. “This was for an emergency only. We appreciate your talents, but we don’t intend to keep borrowing them in a crisis.”
“I didn’t mind it that much.” His own face turned slightly red, as if embarrassed to think his joke had gone too far. “I didn’t mean to make you think I felt… taken advantage of.”
“I knew you didn’t mind.” Tessa sipped her tea again after these words, studying him over the rim. His eyes flashed with perceptiveness.
“Calling my bluff,” he said. “Playing your cards with precision to make me guilty enough to volunteer another time. I can respect that level of savvy in the business world.”
“You’re not going to make me feel guilty in return,” said Tessa. “But I am being sincere when I say that we don’t mean to keep pulling you into our work. That’s not what the fourth partnership was meant to be.”
“Not a real partnership,” he clarified. “Maybe I should admit that I didn’t think your offer was fair. ‘Too generous’ being the better phrase. But so long as you’ve got it, it’s not like there’s any harm in pretending it’s real now and then. Today was a favor based on our verbal contract. But if you’d given me some warning, I would have provided my own wardrobe. My suits may not be designer labels, but they fit—and it must get boring for them being stored in those garment bags.”
Tessa smiled. “Thanks for saying so,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“A cup of coffee’s worth, sure,” he said, sipping from his cup. “But not enough to ask me to fix the transom grate—”
“You know, I think I might be willing to buy you dinner if it meant we wouldn’t have to talk about that,” said Tessa. “Any place with plates under ten dollars.”
“I’m not letting you buy me dinner,” said Blake.
“So you really are the old-fashioned type, like Nat suggested.”
“It’s not an old-fashioned opinion. It’s a preference for the gentlemanly gesture,” he said. “I accepted the coffee you just paid for, so I don’t think you can accuse me of chauvinism.”
“Sorry,” said Tessa.
“But if you do take me to dinner, I prefer Italian.”
Tessa almost didn’t see his grin because of the raised coffee mug, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “Are you still laughing at me?” she asked. “I’m just trying to be fair.” Thank goodness she wasn’t blushing at the idea of taking Blake to dinner—or the idea of him taking her, either. Blake in a suit like this one, with candlelight between them—Tessa added more sugar to her tea, stirring it furiously.
“I don’t think either of us is laughing at the other. We just disagree,” said Blake. “That’s how you and I work together, apparently.”
This idea did not sit with her as well as it should. “That’s not always true,” she said, shrugging a little. She sipped her tea, and managed not to gag at its sweetness now. “Not during Molly and Paolo’s wedding.”
“We made a good team for that event, it’s true,” admitted Blake. “On your career turf, we’re good, so maybe it’s only on mine that we run into problems. I think maybe you don’t completely trust my skill, or my ability to stay within your cost projection for repairs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I trust you.”
“Really?” he said. “That’s not the impression I’m under lately. Are you sure you’re not still holding the building’s original estimates against me?”
She blushed. That was not the problem when it came to Blake. Was there any chance he was thinking of the incident after Molly and Paolo’s wedding? No—that wasn’t what he was suggesting. She was imagining things because she had let the incident of a harmless kiss grow too big in her mind.
“It’s not you,” Tessa repeated emphatically. “I don’t trust myself. Not to make a mistake and topple our whole precarious business model, anyway.” She sipped her tea again, not noticing the sugary taste this time. “I keep coming back to the image of money disappearing and no new clients surfacing, and feeling intimidated by it.” Afraid was the better word, but one Tessa generally avoided. As it was, she couldn’t believe she had said any of this aloud.
She never talked like this around Natalie or Ama. Why Blake? Why was it always him to whom she confessed these things?
“Starting something new isn’t easy,” said Blake. “The beginning for me was with a loan I wasn’t sure I could pay back. It almost cost me everything.”
This was news to Tessa. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “I pictured you starting from scratch with just your skills and some small projects.” She thought of the handyman side of his work alone, not the big picture—the contractor who was a crew leader on Springer Street, for instance. Picturing Blake’s work had always been a picture of him—his tools, his concentration, a kind of intimacy and closeness with his project in this image that she hoped wasn’t some crazy metaphor from her subconscious.
“I paid it back ages ago. It took me longer than I hoped. But I didn’t even have ownership of my own place at the time, so there’s an advantage for your business decision,” he pointed out. “Your payments are giving you something brick and mortar in exchange.” He smiled.
“Every last rusty nail and termite-ridden timber,” said Tessa.
Blake rolled his eyes. “Your place is in better shape than that,” he answered.
“Or it will be when you’re done with it. Right?”
“I’ll drink to that.” Blake lifted his coffee cup. Tessa touched her cup of tea to its rim. Her fingers brushed the tips of his o
wn, but she managed not to make eye contact again. Remembering once before, when her hand was in Blake’s for a brief instant, and a deep-rooted thrill had passed through her with the speed of lightning.
“I guess whenever you’re ready, I’ll drive us back to work,” she said. “Unless you plan to wear the suit the rest of the day, since you evidently miss those formal dress opportunities so much.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to get out of this. I’m afraid I’m going to spill something on it and become its owner for life.” With one last swallow of coffee, Blake set his cup aside and rose from their table.
On Thursday, the box from the wholesale novelty items company providing the cut-glass snowflake frames Tessa had ordered for the wedding favors arrived. The deliveryman unloaded it in the foyer, where Natalie and Ama cut through tape and burrowed through layers of Styrofoam peanuts to unpack them.
Natalie paused after scooping out two armloads of packing material. “Uh, Tess,” she said. “I think we have a problem.”
“What is it?” Tessa glanced up from her laptop, open on the foyer’s reception desk.
“Is this what Nadia wants on her guests’ tables?” Natalie held up a pair of zebra-striped sunglasses.
“What?” Tessa sprang up from her chair. “No. No,” she said, digging through the box, which was filled with plastic novelty sunglasses, mini decks of cards, neon-colored slinkies, and cheap toy kaleidoscopes in zebra, tiger, and leopard patterns. Congratulations—your Walk on the Wild Side birthday supplies have arrived! said the invoice slip inside.
“How did this happen?” said Tessa. “This address is in Maryland. The name on it is Tolliver—that’s not even remotely like Wedding Belles!”
“Call them,” said Natalie. “And better do it quick. We got a fantastic deal from that company and it won’t last forever.”
“Great. We’ll have to haul this box back to the shipping company and have it sent back,” said Tessa, grunting as she moved it to a convenient hiding spot behind the desk. “It’s heavy for a box filled with plastic toys for a kid’s birthday party, and I would know. Did they order some rocks, too?”
“Maybe they could come pick it up. Some companies do,” suggested Ama. “Don’t you have a friend who’s a driver for one of the big delivery companies?” she said to Natalie.
“No, I don’t,” said Natalie quickly. “Tess, let me help you with that.” She began shoving the box’s far end out of sight behind the desk’s corner.
Tessa straightened her back again. “It’s just a little mix-up,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It won’t take any time to fix it. I’ll just call the company and they’ll send our order in plenty of time for the wedding.” She scanned the receipt for the customer service number.
“Just our luck,” said Natalie.
“Don’t say that,” said Tessa warningly. “Things are going perfectly fine for us now, remember?” Her call connected, and she switched to business mode. “Hi, I need to talk to somebody about a mix-up on my delivery,” she said.
Ama swept the stray packing peanuts into a nearby wastebasket. “Lucky for us it’s an easy problem to fix,” she said. “Not like something happening to the dress or the cake. Wedding favors—who cares if there’s a problem with a souvenir that most guests won’t keep anyway? If something has to go wrong for every wedding, this is the best possible thing, right?”
As she emptied the dustpan, her cell phone rang—a popular sitar tune that signaled the call wasn’t from anybody in her circle of family or friends. An unfamiliar number popped up on the screen.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hi. Is this Ama?” She didn’t recognize the voice, although she could tell it was a man’s. “This is her number, I believe.”
It was a very polite voice. That’s what told Ama it belonged to the would-be suitor from her father’s ad. “It is,” she answered. Her heart sank lower as she admitted this. Entering the parlor, she closed the door behind her softly, so Tessa and Natalie wouldn’t notice.
“It’s Tamir. I was wondering if you might possibly be free to have dinner with me this week.”
“Dinner?”
It wasn’t possible that he wanted to meet her again. Did he not notice his parents’ disapproval? Hadn’t they made him contact a more suitable choice by now—say, a girl with a nice college degree and normal, quiet Indian parents who were teachers or accountants instead of owning a somewhat kitschy restaurant?
“Yes. I thought I might meet you tonight, if it’s convenient.”
“Tonight? Uh—no. No, I have a… baking emergency,” supplied Ama.
“Oh. Well, how about tomorrow night?”
He hadn’t seemed like the persistent type when she met him. Ama racked her brain for another excuse that wouldn’t be too rude. An excuse that wouldn’t shame the Bhagut family, for instance. Tell him no, she thought—tell him that you have a boyfriend already, and the ad was a mistake.
“Tomorrow night,” she repeated. “The thing is…” She hesitated. “I’m… free then, I suppose.”
You great big chicken. We weren’t going on any dates with arranged suitors, remember? Not even to make Papa happy.
“I would pick you up at your home, maybe around seven. Would that suit?”
Would it suit? He sounded so formal that Ama wanted to cringe. “Sounds great,” she said. “I guess. I’ll see you then.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye, Ama.”
“Bye.” She let out a long frustrated sigh, and leaned back against the parlor wall.
In the foyer, Tessa hung up her phone with an equally loud sigh. “Can you believe it?” she said to Natalie. “They’re out of snowflake frames. Completely out. They don’t even have the white ceramic ones in stock.”
“What about your order?” said Natalie. “The one that presumably went to Maryland?”
“According to them, it was just a packing mistake. There was no box for me to get mixed up in the shipping department with anything,” said Tessa. “So now we have to lug the party supplies downtown to the shipping store, and we won’t be getting anything in return.” She glanced at Natalie. “What’s the name of your friend who’s one of the drivers?” she said, hinting. “The guy from your neighborhood you talk about sometimes?” An annoying childhood friend whom Natalie complained about in college and afterwards, in stories which clued Tessa into the existence of a complicated, unwanted crush in her friend’s past.
“It’s nobody,” answered Natalie. “I’m not asking him for a favor. I’ll take it myself, if you want.” She cast an eye at the big box of plastic toys, where an inflatable giraffe’s head was draped over one flap.
“I’ll have to find a new wedding favor to suggest to Nadia,” said Tessa, digging through the pile of catalogs that had came in that day’s mail. “Those frames were so perfect. It makes me so mad that they’re not available.”
“Just our—” began Natalie.
“Don’t say it,” Tessa cut her off warningly. “I don’t want to hear any more talk about bad luck or jinxes, okay?” She was dialing another number. “Hello, Novelties, Inc.? I was wondering if there’s any chance that you have the name of the company who manufactured your snowflake picture frame ornaments, item number two-seven-seven-zero-zero-four…”
Eight
“Someone named ‘Chad’ called for you,” said Roberto, as he poured milk over a bowl of puffed rice. Her brother was raiding their mom’s pantry—again—and Natalie wondered if Maria ever managed to make a box of dry cereal last for more than twenty-four hours so long as Roberto was around. “He sounded like a loser and a jerk, but I took a message for you anyway.”
“What was he doing phoning here?” Natalie snatched the piece of paper away from her grinning brother’s hand. “I gave him my phone number.”
“My guess is he dropped his cell phone while rappelling down the face of a mountain, like every other athletic man boy you’ve dated, and was forced to call from someone else’s using�
� wait for it… the psychic powers of the city phone book in order to find your home number.” Roberto rested his fingers against his forehead, as if channeling this answer.
“Please. Is that what this piece of paper says?” Natalie held it up.
“He says to call him at the number of some guy named Bebo. Number’s written on the paper, so don’t throw it away if you want to talk to this loser again.” Her brother sprinkled two heaping tablespoons of sugar over his cereal.
“I’ve got to get a phone at my place, and get the listing changed in the city phone book,” grumbled Natalie, as she dropped her embroidery manual on the table, beside a book on long-term small business strategy.
Someone knocked on the kitchen door. Roberto answered it. “Hey, Brayden, my man,” he said, holding out his hand for a low five. “Just in time. Let me get my coat.” He shoveled some more cereal in his mouth, speed-eating. Natalie was now intensely involved in looking for the paper her professor had returned in class today.
“No hurry,” called Brayden. “I just got off my shift. Mom doesn’t expect me at her place for dinner for a half hour.” His gaze wandered toward Natalie, its natural homing beacon, she thought dryly. He ventured a smile of greeting.
“Hi, Natalie,” he said.
“Hi.” It was uttered with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”
“Mutrucksbrkn, gvn me a rud,” said Roberto, as he wolfed down the last of his cereal. Translating this full-mouth speak, Natalie surmised that her brother’s truck was in the mechanic’s garage again, and that Brayden was the handiest person available to drive him to his job at the firehouse across town.
“Nice,” commented Natalie. “You two have fun.” These remarks from her professor seemed important to memorize. Very, very important. She frowned, trying to look deep in concentration.
“How’s the new business?” Brayden asked. “Roberto says you guys are doing great.”