What a waste of time, Dominic thought to himself. His foot twitched as he waited for the chance to speak with Waverly. Back at the hospital, he knew they’d shared more than just a moment together, where he realized they were on the same page in life. He wanted a family. Given his history, or lack thereof, with his deadbeat father, Dominic had never wanted children until today. First he needed to get her out of this stupid witch hunt.
If Dominic hadn’t seen this with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed such a thing existed. The reporter he met on the docks at the Magnolia Palace sat in the front row, jotting down notes. Dominic hated the helpless feeling of watching Waverly in a chair on the stage of the conference room in city hall. He folded his arms across his chest to keep from crashing the stage and choking the mayor. There’d been no physical altercation. Dominic had seen it himself when he walked back into the waiting room with beverages for everyone. Someone did, however, film the confrontation and send it to the local news. The video showed more of a scuffle than anything else, but someone in the span of twelve hours already managed to turn a few photos of Waverly into a meme, superimposing her face on a bull and Vera’s onto a matador and shading her in red. Someone went even as far as placing a red tiara in Vera’s hands.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Vera said, pressing her hand to her chest. “She attacked me.”
“If she attacked you,” Kimber spit out toward the stage, “you wouldn’t be here.”
“See what I’m dealing with?” Vera whined.
Dominic probably would have seethed as well, but his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Since he recognized the area code, he swiped the red icon to end the call. He needed to focus on Waverly. He knew how important getting into the Miss Georgia Pageant was to her. This scuffle might cost her the second chance she’d been given, and despite his growing feelings for her, wouldn’t want to risk her dream.
“Vera, please,” Mayor Ascot said. “You both have signed a morality clause for your designated pageants and you both are skating on thin ice. I’ve got reporters from all three surrounding cities hounding me concerning this bickering the two of you have been doing at the joint fairs and events.”
Waverly sat onstage with her hands folded in her lap, knees together. A smile was frozen on her face. Dominic couldn’t tell what was going on in her mind and it killed him. His phone buzzed again, and again Dominic declined the call.
Three ladies sat in front of the stage at a long table. The woman who did the most talking wore a pair of cat-eye black-rimmed glasses on top of her pinched nose. She read from a pink-and-silver clipboard and pushed her glasses up on her nose once she looked up.
“Ladies,” she said, “I can’t express how disappointed I was to hear of this unfortunate interaction between you two. Miss Vera, you were at the hospital for a visit to the children’s wing. What if the parents or, worse, the children, saw you two?”
“Miss Lexi Pendergrass Reyes was in labor,” Vera said as if that explained it all.
It must have. The three committee members nodded their heads in unison.
“If I may,” Mayor Ascot said, speaking up, “it is my understanding both women are vying for a spot in the Miss Georgia Pageant.”
“Prior to this altercation,” said the spokesperson, “they were. As of today we don’t know what to do. Neither of you ladies act like you want the title.”
Waverly raised her hand while Vera scoffed.
“Mrs. Ramsey,” Waverly began. “Vera and I have pageanted all our lives. This is all we know. We were both emotionally charged at the hospital. Our coach was in labor and underwent an emergency Cesarean. To say our stress levels were at the highest is an understatement.” Waverly rose from her seat and walked toward the edge of the stage. “While our actions were not mature or a representation of the Pageant Morality Committee, I beg of you all to take into consideration that this lone incident dealt with Lexi, and it will never happen again.”
The thought to start a slow clap crossed Dominic’s mind. If she didn’t have the voice of an angel to woo judges, she needed to get into acting or at least do a monologue for the next portion of her pageant. His phone buzzed again but Dominic focused on his beauty queen onstage.
“We understand the emotional stress between the two of you,” Mrs. Ramsey began, “but we cannot allow these shenanigans to continue, especially by contestants participating in the Miss Georgia Pageant. We arrived today in Southwood with a simple solution. We cannot have you or the other contestants in the region in the next-level pageant.”
The crowd, Dominic included, booed.
Mrs. Ramsey turned to everyone and shushed them with a finger pressed to her lips, then turned back to the ladies onstage. “With all of the local entries for Miss Georgia, we have decided there are too many girls to put forward. Therefore we recommend a runoff before the Miss Georgia application. Whoever wins this region will get the full support of the Morality Committee.” Before the booing began again, Mrs. Ramsey hammered her gavel on her table. She and her committee left the conference room swiftly.
While Vera rushed off the stage in tears, Waverly stood in her spot, frozen. Dominic’s insides ached at the sight of her. She looked lost. The crown meant that much to her. Waverly’s group from the hospital bombarded the stage and patted her back. He waited patiently for his opportunity to approach her. Once again his cell phone buzzed. This time Dominic answered.
“This better be good,” he growled.
“Dominic Crowne?”
“This is him.” Dominic pulled the phone away from his ear and double-checked the number. “Who is this?”
“Mr. Crowne, this is Dr. Brock Rayland, a neurologist at Phoenix General. I’m here with your father.”
Confused, Dominic shook his head at the phone. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because your father is dying of chronic traumatic encephalopathy, and he listed you as his next of kin.”
* * *
After the embarrassing showdown in the waiting room at the hospital and the humiliating results of the hearing, Waverly didn’t blame Dominic for needing a break from whatever it was they were working on. Last month seemed so long ago. After learning about the absurd runoff, the first person Waverly needed to speak with was Dominic. She needed to apologize for the drama she’d dragged him and his shop into.
The radio silence killed her in the beginning. Was he fed up with her and the pageant world? Waverly wanted to give Dominic the benefit of the doubt, that he didn’t abandon her. Waverly tried to reason with logic. Maybe he had to go out of the country. He did mention his friends overseas. At least he could have given her a call or sent a note or something, right? She’d thought they were friends. A friendship shouldn’t ache as much as it did. Waverly even did the proverbial drive-by at his ranch with her coworkers. Andrew Mason, who ran Grits and Glam Gowns as well as Lexi’s pageant-focused Grits and Glam Studios, located on the first floor of the building next door, took Waverly out for a ride one night. Fall leaves gathered around the piled-up newspapers, and cars lined the driveway, but there was no sign of life. Waverly pathetically traveled down to Alisha’s apartment on the pretense of borrowing a cup of sugar, and even she had left. Her neighbors said they hadn’t seen Alisha or her pet pig in weeks.
Waverly’s French-manicured fingers hovered over the one photograph she had of her and Dominic together, taken moments after she’d won the crown. She frowned and pushed herself away from the cash register at Grits and Glam Gowns. She’d spent this morning listening to the band at Southwood Middle School prepare for the upcoming Christmas recital and it was painful to listen to. The tap-dancing session next door in the studios didn’t help the headache threatening behind Waverly’s temples.
“Girl, you look beat,” said Chantal, coming through the kitchen. Waverly adored Chantal Hairston, who gave up a financial career with her father’s
firm in Orlando to follow her dreams of teaching dance. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, stretch your legs...or eat a cupcake? The Cupcakery is kicking off their fall pumpkin menu early this year.”
Waverly glanced down at her hips and shook her head no. “Maybe after the runoff.”
Chantal frowned and turned up her nose. “So silly,” she mumbled with a shake of her head. It was easy for Chantal to eat whatever she wanted; the woman danced every day. “I’m serious about getting some fresh air. Go for a walk and bring me back a cupcake. I’ll hold things down.”
Not wanting to argue, Waverly slipped her heels back on her feet and headed out the doors onto Sunshine Street and turned the corner onto the Grits and Glam Studios side of the street. Through the windows, Waverly smiled and waved at the group of preschool girls standing in two lines, practicing their tap-dancing routines. Despite the bright sun, a chill whipped through the air. Waverly tugged the long sleeves of her thin, dark blue T-shirt. She took the tiara off for a brief moment to loosen her hair from the bun on top of her head. Her tresses warmed the back of her neck. With school still in session, the streets were quiet except for the faint sound of the band practicing in the distance. The sweet smell of apples floated down the street from The Cupcakery. Waverly hadn’t stepped foot in the bakery since the announcement of the runoff. She figured she’d follow the fragrance coming from the oven. Passing in front of Crowne’s Garage would be a sheer coincidence, right?
“Care for a cup of coffee?”
The deep voice startled her. Waverly spun around in her heels and found Anson coming out of the old post office building. “Anson,” Waverly breathed as she clutched her heart. Anson closed the doors to the old gray building with a set of large brass skeleton keys. He shoved the key ring into the pocket of his black peacoat. The weather was breezy but not that bad. “This building has been closed since I got here. I didn’t expect anyone to come outside.”
“Sorry.” He half smiled. “I didn’t mean to scare you. And this building won’t be empty for long. I’ve got the City Council to agree to sell it.” Anson nodded his head across the street toward the business next door to Grits and Glam Gowns. “I’ve even got Reyes Realty in the works.”
Lexi’s husband owned the space next door to her business. Stephen Reyes was the number one real estate agent in town. “Cool,” Waverly managed to say.
“And with any luck, we’ll get rid of this eyesore on the corner,” Anson said, pointing toward the corner of Sunshine Boulevard and Sunshine Street. Grits and Glam Studios faced an entrance of Crowne’s Garage. A lump formed in Waverly’s throat. Clueless, Anson continued, “Crowne left town, left his workers and even left a stack of bills. Bastard put a few people out of work because of his disappearing act.”
“No one’s heard from him?” Waverly asked, trying not to sound too eager. The two of them fell into step. In the weeks since the hospital incident, Anson had paid special attention to Waverly. Why she was so startled when he came out of the building baffled her. Anson managed to pop up wherever Waverly went these days. She expected to see him at the local events and the Christmas Advisory Council, but he also turned up and offered to walk her home on the nights she worked at Grits and Glam Studios.
Anson shook his head. “It seemed like the two of you were friends,” he said, then bumped his shoulder against hers, “or at least, I thought you two were just friends.”
“We are, or were,” said Waverly.
“Not as close as you thought, huh?”
She didn’t know how to answer. What was she supposed to say? “Well, who knows?”
“No one knows,” answered Anson. “Which is why going on with shutting this place down is for the better. We don’t want Southwood to turn into a ghost town.”
Shutting down seemed so official and final. Waverly shook her head and kept walking, crossing over to Main Street toward The Cupcakery. Just because she couldn’t indulge didn’t mean Chantal couldn’t. Anson still followed.
“Waverly,” he began. “I know you and Dominic worked out some deal where he drove you around to pick up the clothing Kenzie Swayne requested, but I want you to know I’m here for you if you need someone to drive you around. I know he’s disappeared on you.”
“I appreciate that,” Waverly mumbled. She hated to think of having to rely on Anson. His favors came with an unspoken price tag. “I don’t want to count Dominic out too soon.”
“You don’t owe him a thing.” Anson seethed. “What has he done for you?”
Taken aback by the mayor’s bluntness, Waverly stopped walking. “I at least owe him the benefit of doubt, Mr. Mayor. Without Dominic’s help, I wouldn’t have this crown.” She pointed to the top of her head, where the Miss Southwood tiara she had to wear whenever she was in public caught the sunlight and flickered off the glass window of The Scoop.
Anson shrugged his broad shoulders. “I get that you represented Crowne’s Garage for Miss Southwood. You garnered more business for him while he was here. But that’s all the man wanted from you. Unlike me. I couldn’t care if you went on to be Miss Georgia or anything else. Your best role would be by my side as Mrs. Wilson. We’re destined to be together.”
Not appreciating the dismissal of her hard work as a beauty queen, Waverly rolled her eyes and tried to remember her manners. “We’ve had this conversation before, when I first arrived in Southwood. You know I am not interested in settling down with anyone,” Waverly clarified in a clipped tone. She averted her eyes back toward the garage.
“I hope you’re not waiting on him,” Anson sneered.
Waverly shook her head, hating the uncomfortable turn of this conversation. “I have my goals.”
“Good, because I hate to be the one to break it to you, Waverly, but you were nothing more than a project for Mr. Crowne. Like his cars, he put you back together, and now you’re off for the next big thing. Which brings you to me. His job is done and now I’m here to help.”
Waverly wanted to dispute Anson and put him in his place. Every fiber of her being told her Anson was wrong, but as the official fall season kicked in and holidays slipped from Halloween to Thanksgiving, Waverly accepted the hard truth: Dominic was gone.
Chapter 6
Over the weeks since she’d accepted Dominic’s departure, Waverly concentrated on her runoff. She told herself she was no longer torn by glimpses of the traditional life outside the pageant. With the runoff coming, Waverly was ready to secure the support of the committee and be nominated to go forward to participate in Miss Georgia. The floor-to-ceiling window offered the perfect view of the evening hustle and bustle of the townspeople of Southwood, Georgia. Christmas garlands outlined the doors of the local businesses, accompanied by a big red bow above the doors. Red, white and green lights hung from building to building, crisscrossing the streets. The view offered an inside look of what some families were getting for dinner tonight—Chinese takeout from across the street or pizza from the parlor adjacent to Grits and Glam Studios. Cars heading to their suburban homes crowded the cobblestone streets, along with people getting ready to head home or who came to town for some of Southwood’s fine restaurants, like Sonya’s, right around the corner, or Valencia, which Waverly had helped open with a giant pair of scissors four months ago.
Waverly knew who was heading on dates and who was getting some early Christmas shopping done. But most of all, for Waverly the view offered the biggest piece of gossip for the night. The doors to Crowne’s Garage were finally reopening.
Dominic had returned.
Whether she said his name out loud or in her head, Dominic’s frame was conjured up and appeared at the rolling garage door to his shop. Even with the sunset shadowing his face, Waverly knew his body. A low, guttural sound rippled in the back of her throat at the sight of his wide, muscular shoulders and tapered waist. His large arms lingered over the handle above his head
, causing his biceps to bulge. The fitted jeans he wore hung a perfect inch or two just below his hips and hugged those massive tree trunk legs.
Waverly controlled her pulse beating against her wrists by pulling her hands into her lap. How could he cause this much nervousness after three months with no word? She ought to march right over there and thank him for leaving. This had allowed Waverly to shine at pageant appearances without the threat of gossip. She delved into not just the pageant but making new friends in town. She had a life. Turning her face from the window, Waverly rested her right hand on the arm of the hot-pink sofa to block out Dominic and focused on the two little girls standing in the center of the stage used for the talent portions of pageant shows. Old glitter twinkled under the fluorescent lights on the floor beneath the twins’ pink patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Black scuff marks were scratched into the black topping of the stage from the tap dance showdown yesterday for tryouts for the Christmas pageant. Little handprints smudged the mirrored walls along the ballet barre. Larger handprints also smudged the glass at a higher point. Chantal taught beginner ballet to some of the ladies in town.
Maybe we need to get new flooring, Waverly thought as Novella and Keisha Irby hit the high note at different times. Waverly winced from the noise, and the back of her neck ached when she tried to crane her head toward the window. This time of year, the sun set earlier than usual. The figure at the garage, however, remained.
“No. Oh my God,” cried the girls’ mother, Rhonda, from the other end of the hot-pink couch. Rhonda turned out to be the lady from the initial Christmas Advisory Council meeting in all leopard print. When the news of the squabble spread around town, Rhonda approached Waverly and let her know she was all right in her book. Rhonda now set down boxed Advent calendars Waverly had put together for the parents of pageant girls, and pressed her gold nails against her temples. A dozen gold bangles around her wrists jingled.
A Tiara Under the Tree Page 8