Southern Comfort: Chandler's Story (The Southern Series Book 1)

by Shelley Stringer

  I quickly wiped my eyes and stopped to gaze in. The window was staged with a quaint overstuffed chair covered in four different kinds of antique fabrics, with an old shawl thrown across it. A dainty chandelier hung to the side over a small table like a reading light, and on a Victorian wicker dress form was draped a darling tank top and vintage-looking skirt made from scraps of pastel t-shirt fabrics layered with several different kinds of lace. I just had to have that outfit. I pushed the door open, and soft, dreamy Celtic sounding music wafted out on to the sidewalk with a whiff of lavender.

  “Hi there. Can I help you, sweetheart?” The blond man behind the counter came around the front and offered me his hand. He had to be about the prettiest guy I had ever seen – sandy blond hair, cut short, but longer in front so he could flip his hair over like a girl would, pretty, naturally red full lips, and impeccably dressed in a lavender polo shirt, khaki pants and loafers. I was pretty sure he wasn’t date material for me.

  “I would like to try on the skirt in the window – do you have a dressing room?” I asked.

  “Sure, right this way.” He led me around recovered Victorian furniture, lamps, and antique architectural objects which would have sent most decorators into hyperventilation mode.

  “Oh, that will be just precious on you!” he exclaimed as he handed me the skirt and opened a narrow door. I stepped around him and into a closet-like room in the back. I paused to look back at the furnishings in the store.

  I turned to him and exclaimed, “Oh, your boutique is so beautiful! Can I just move in here and live in your dressing room?”

  “You like my style?” he asked me as he smiled.

  “Definitely. I could pick your whole store inventory and plop it in my empty house right now and love the way everything in it came together. It’s a little shabby chic, a little western eclectic, and a little homespun. I just love it!”

  “Why is your house empty, Darlin?” He smiled the prettiest smile I’d ever seen on a guy.

  “I just moved in three months ago, and I have been stripping, sanding and painting ever since. So far, I have a couch, table, lamp and laptop. I don’t even have a dresser yet – I get dressed out of boxes and suitcases every morning.”

  “Well, I won’t ask you about why you don’t have a bed – that’s personal. We’ll save that conversation until I’ve had the chance to look your place over. That is, if you will invite me.”

  It would be nice after all the sawdust and paint and stain, to just whip out a credit card or checkbook and have someone else finish my place, making it look like the cover of Southern Living magazine, but…

  I put my hand up and stopped him. “Whoa, hold it. I would like nothing more than to dive right into this, but my funds are too limited right now to hire an interior designer from a Baton Rouge boutique. I have tuition to pay and groceries to buy. My budget calls more for castoffs out of relatives’ basements, finding furniture by dumpsters, and the local thrift store. Sorry.”

  “Oh, sugar, just my kind of places to hang out! We will just have to make a play date, and look your abode over, honey!” He closed the door so I would have privacy to try on the skirt, and continued through the door, “Oh, and I love a little wine and cheese with my conversation, if you don’t mind. We’ll have you furnished and decorated in no time. We’ll borrow what we can, charge what we can’t, and I’ve always got lay-away for the finishing touches, okay? And my advice is totally free! Just leave it to me!”

  I answered him hesitantly through the door.

  “Well, okay then…I suppose you can be my first invited guest! How about Thursday night around 6:30?” I opened the door and glanced at my reflection in the Victorian stand up mirror in the hallway.

  “Oh, you just have to have that skirt! It makes your waist and hips look like a tiny, curvy package. Do you have some strappy, nothing sandals to wear with?” he asked as he circled me.

  “Oh, yes. No doubt. I have no less than 150 shoeboxes to unpack yet,” I answered, rolling my eyes.

  “I had a feeling we were soul-sisters!” he exclaimed.

  I almost laughed out loud.

  “Since we have a play date and are practically doing each other’s hair, maybe we’d better make introductions.” I put my hand out to him. “I’m Chandler Collins, Andie for short.”

  “Ohh, I love that name! Sounds like a character from a Danielle Steele novel. I’m Everett Lee Samuals. So nice to make your acquaintance! So where is this new blank decorating canvas I’m going to help you transform?”

  “505 Rue Dauphine.”

  It’s not far from here, is it, southeast of the campus? That’s a real up-and-coming neighborhood. Please tell me it’s antebellum?”

  “It has all the charm of the period, except for an embedded cannonball in the front porch,” I replied. “And, there might be one of those yet. I haven’t even begun to explore the cellar, attic or yard.”

  “I can’t wait!” he exclaimed, seeming genuinely excited.

  I decided on the clothes, a guilty pleasure, I told myself, but I justified it by my mortification at being caught in a less than feminine, attractive state last evening. The flirty, wispy, sexy outfit was much-needed therapy. I had been feeling way too dirty and dingy in the renovation rags I lived in these days, and I had the sudden urge to feel feminine and alluring. As he rang up my purchase I meandered around the shop, touching an old, worn leather desk chair, and flipping through some vintage fabrics stacked in an old armoire. Everett came over to stand by me.

  “So tell me, why did you leave Texas?”

  My stomach suddenly clenched into a tight ball, the ball that appeared anytime a subject came up skirting around the issue of my parents or my sudden, out of character lifestyle change. I hadn’t shed a tear in public in over two months now, and I preferred to keep it that way.

  “How did you know I’m from Texas?”

  “Well, the way you said you’d been sandin’ and paintin’ – definitely from Texas. You can’t hide that accent, Cowgirl.” He looked at me over the top of his half-readers.

  “Oh, I guess I definitely have an accent, though I didn’t think it would be apparent one state away.”

  “And you haven’t answered my question yet,” he smiled at me.

  Suddenly, I wanted to tell him, to have someone here in my new home city who knew a little about me. I took a deep breath, told myself I could do this without fanfare, and proceeded.

  “I’m a small town Texas girl…an only child. I never thought I’d ever leave home, even to go to college.”

  I glanced over his direction, and he listened intently, pausing over the receipt book to consider me over the top of his readers again. My voice shook as I continued.

  “My parents were killed a little over three months ago in a car accident, and I suddenly couldn’t stay there anymore. It wasn’t home. I was just surrounded by sad reminders.” The knot in my stomach suddenly seemed to loosen a little. I unfolded a beautiful antique quilt and studied the pattern as I continued.

  “So I packed my bags and headed to Louisiana to be near the closest relatives I have, a favorite aunt and uncle who live in Denham Springs. I still haven’t decided what I want to do with the rest of my life, so I figured classes at LSU would be a good thing to do in the meantime. I stumbled onto my fixer-upper when I was looking for a place to stay, and my uncle’s family thought it would be a good investment for me, instead of renting. I love to renovate, I love old houses and antiques, and it seemed a good diversion for me, you know, to keep me busy and keep my mind off my troubles. So here I am.”

  I couldn’t believe I just blurted it all out like that. I turned back to look at his face, and I thankfully didn’t see the usual, “Oh, what do I say to her” look, no sappy sympathy that usually just made me cry. Instead, I found an understanding…a glint in his eye, as if I had known him all my life and had just told him about a bad day.

  He smiled the most genuine smile, took my hands in his, and said, “Well, we will just h
ave to make you the most welcome new addition to Baton Rouge there ever was. My social calendar for the next couple of months just filled up nicely! I see visits to my favorite restaurants, flea markets, afternoons of margaritas and furniture refinishing…”

  He kissed my cheek as I left the shop, after he’d dragged my life’s story from me and saved my cell number in his phone. I sighed, walking down the sidewalk – my first Baton Rouge friend. Well, my third, actually, as my thoughts wandered back to the other two new acquaintances I’d made, but Jamie never called, and although technically Banton was just a neighbor so far, I could hope he would become a friend.

  I walked through my front door and thought, Not bad for a first day of normal life in Baton Rouge. I made it through my classes, got my act together, went shopping for the first time, and made a new friend who gave me that warm and fuzzy feeling like I had when I hung out with my childhood friend Laurilee or Constance. And I was finally able, without a complete nervous breakdown, to talk to someone about the recent tragic chain of events in my life. I felt like I had just passed a major milestone. I sighed.

  Laurilee! I glanced down at my phone, contemplating calling her. Just a quarter past four, Laurilee would still be at work at the bookstore off campus in Lubbock. I missed my childhood friend, the one person besides my parents who’d been the center of my world until now. I needed to let her know I’d finally made a friend. I’ll call her later tonight, I promised myself. Checking my watch as I lay my purchases on the table in the entry hall, I decided the computer research for my writing topic would have to wait until later tonight. My prospective handyman and gorgeous neighbor were due to arrive in an hour or so.

  I lingered in the old claw-foot tub longer than usual, shaving my legs twice. No way was I going to get caught looking anything but my best tonight – not with the GQ model coming! After I soaked , I lathered my skin in vanilla-scented lotion and took more time than I had before prom putting my makeup on. It suddenly dawned on me I hadn’t worn any makeup since I’d been in Baton Rouge, really since the funeral. And I was definitely ready to leave the depression phase of grief behind me. For the first time in months, I looked forward to something. My heart pounded as I thought of Banton.

  Chapter Four

  I lounged in the sitting room on the sofa with a glass of wine, trying my best at a sophisticated demeanor as I calmed my nerves. I had already checked myself four or five times in the newest addition to my house, an oval floor length mirror that had once been attached to a massive dresser. I passed inspection. My new pastel layered maxi-skirt and clingy soft tank showed off my curves nicely, with the help of a Victoria’s Secret push-up bra Constance had insisted I had to have on a recent trip with her to New Orleans. I’d pulled my unruly, thick, wavy hair up in a clip letting it cascade loosely down my back. It seemed the best I could do with it now. I played loosely with the glass of wine, enjoying the way it seemed to warm my insides with each sip. I let my mind wander, playing out the things I might say to the absurdly handsome man I hoped would soon be back at my door again. A knock startled me out of my daydream. I jumped from the sofa, and then slowed my walk to the front door and smiled as I opened it slowly.

  The smile faded. It wasn’t Banton. I assumed it was, however, the handyman-type roommate Banton had told me about. My immediate thought was how could two guys so good looking be living two doors down from me?

  I recovered and said “Hello,” as I extended my hand. He took it and gave it a couple of shakes.

  Smiling warmly, he said, “Hi – I’m John Calder, Banton’s roommate.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, John. I’m Chandler Collins,” I replied. “My friends call me Andie. Please, come in.”

  He turned and looked over his shoulder down the porch steps. “Hey, it’s about time.”

  I glanced over John’s shoulder and there he was. Banton bounded up the steps two at a time.

  “Sorry, Beau’s gone hunting again – I guess he will come back in a few minutes, or I may have to give your backyard a look again. I guess you two have already met.” He grinned and I melted. There was that dimple again.

  “Yep,” John replied. Banton followed John into the entry hall, and I shut the door and motioned upstairs. Banton’s appearance didn’t disappoint…my heart rate doubled just being in the same room with him. His tanned skin and deep, beautiful brown eyes made me wonder if I was hallucinating, or if all women felt the same when standing next to him. I suddenly felt less demure in the long skirt and tank top. As he strode confidently into the room, pausing to smile down at me, his eyes quickly sliding over me, I just felt silly dressing up for two guys who were decidedly older and more mature, and sure not to take much notice of me. Feeling a bit silly, I recovered and decided to get down to the business at hand.

  “The thing I need the most help with is the upstairs rooms.” They both started for the stairs with me trailing behind. At the top of the stairs, Banton turned to let me go around him and lead.

  “You look more rested than last night.”

  His deep, beautiful voice startled me. Rested? That wasn’t the look I was going for. Yep. Definitely felt silly about dressing up and going to so much trouble. “Well, I’m cleaner, anyway,” I mumbled. I led them into the first bedroom to the left of the staircase.

  John took a turn around the room. As he looked up at the cracked cornices and peeling plaster, I took in his appearance. He had wavy sandy-brown hair and faint freckles across the bridge of his nose. His face was rugged and chiseled, his blue eyes twinkling, softening his rough demeanor. He had a nice face. He was dressed in jeans, workboots, and a white t-shirt stained with sweat from the day’s work.

  “So what did you have in mind in here – re-plaster or sheetrock?” he asked.

  “I really hadn’t thought that far.”

  “Well, sheetrock would probably be the cheapest, labor-wise.”

  Banton had turned back to the landing at the top of the stairs, and was circling to peek in to the other rooms while we talked. I watched his back as he moved away from me, his shoulder muscles rippling slightly under the tight LSU t-shirt he wore. His jeans were low rise, sitting just above his hips, and although loose, touched him just enough to appreciate the curves.

  I reluctantly turned back to John.

  “I’m really not sure I can afford you. Can you give me a ballpark figure on what each room will cost to get it ready to paint? With my tight budget, I might have to take this one room at a time.”

  “Why don’t you let me wander around, take down some measurements, jot down some figures,” He was already making notes in a small notepad he pulled from his back pocket.

  I turned back to the landing, and found Banton studying me. I immediately blushed. Oh, why couldn’t I grow out of this awkward, self-conscious stage! You would think by twenty-one, some maturity or self confidence would set in. NOPE.

  I suddenly remembered my manners. “I was just having a glass of wine downstairs. Would you like some, or a beer, or some iced tea maybe?” I started down the stairs.

  Just treat them like good friends, Andie. Block the romance from your thoughts!

  Banton smiled as I turned to him when we reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “I’d love some wine. Just whatever you are drinking is fine,” he answered.

  John called down from upstairs, “Beer, please.”

  “Excuse me, I’ll just be a minute,” I replied.

  I hurried back to the kitchen and pulled another wine glass out of the only cabinet on the wall with a working door. Inside were two wine glasses and two iced tea glasses, two plates and a skillet. That was the extent of my kitchen wares, since Aunt Sue hadn’t made her trip down to bring my mother’s things. It was good John asked for a beer. I poured a glass of the blush I was drinking for Banton, opened the refrigerator door and located a beer for John, and hurried back to the front room. Banton was studying the freshly painted woodwork around the fireplace in the living room.

  “I kno
w, it was a crime to paint the oak,” I interrupted his study. “But it had too many water marks and damaged places to just refinish.” I handed him his glass of wine.

  “No, I was just thinking what a great job you did with the finish.” He rubbed his hand over the mantel as he replied. “How did you get it to look worn like this? Did you stain over the paint?”

  “It’s glaze. I love the way it brings the carved details out through the white paint.”

  Banton turned to study me as he took a sip of wine. “This house will be beautiful when you are finished. Are you going to live here, or are you going to flip the property?”

  I almost stopped breathing. Our close proximity allowed me an awesome view of his beautiful brown eyes piercing straight through to my soul. I struggled to find my voice, mesmerized by his gaze.

  “I’m here to stay, hopefully. I’m planning to acquire a roommate or two if I can find some older single college girls who can put up with me. If I can find someone to split the bills with and pay some rent, I will have a little ready cash to finish and furnish the place.” I walked awkwardly over and sat on the couch.

  “Sounds like a good plan. I’d hate to see you living down here all by yourself – it’s not the safest neighborhood. I’ll keep my eyes open for someone for you,” Banton followed me and sat on the other end of the couch. “So, are you going to LSU?”

  Disappointed, I decided he sounded a bit too brotherly in a protective sense.

  I replied, “Yes. Today was the first day of classes. I’m really excited.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m a part-time teaching assistant in the history department, so I guess you can say I started today, too. Are you a freshman?”

  I knew it. He thought of me as a kid.

  I replied, “No, I attended community college in Texas, and all my basics transferred. I lack six hours being a junior. I should be a senior, but I only went to school part time the first two and a half years, so I’m behind.”