Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  “And what’s your name, young man?” Ms. Eckert offered a hand, which he shook. She was thin to the point of bony, her hair scraped into a low, short ponytail of black and silver, emphasizing her best feature, a long, graceful neck.

  “Wyatt Abbott. Nice to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

  “Abbott, Abbott … Any kin to Howie Abbott?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A second cousin. My brothers and I own Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration over the river.”

  “How nice.” The woman turned back to Sutton, and without the woman’s assessing gaze, he relaxed and shuffled to the counter, propping a hip against the side.

  Sutton got the woman set up in a dressing room and joined him. “Sorry about this. She came in five minutes ago needing a dress for the gala.” Her voice was so low, he leaned closer to hear.

  “I don’t mind, but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I don’t know anything about”—he waved his hand and knocked the necklace covered tree with his elbow, catching it in time to avoid dumping everything on the floor but bumping into her—“this sort of thing.”

  She caught his forearm on a slight laugh. Her eyes were tired and a little sad. Before he had a chance to think beyond the need to make her feel better, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “How are you doing?”

  “I haven’t been sleeping great, but I’m okay.” Although she seemed reluctant to admit it, he was glad they were beyond a polite, “fine, thanks.”

  “Has Tarwater come back around?”

  “No and I’ve ignored his calls and texts. Unfortunately, I can’t drop off the face of the earth entirely. I’m on the gala planning committee, and besides prom and Christmas, the gala is our most lucrative time of the year.” She glanced to the side. “But I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

  Had she been eager to see him or be seen with him? He didn’t know and tried not to care. Before he could respond, Ms. Eckert emerged from the dressing room. “What do you think?” Sutton took a breath, but the woman held up a hand. “I want the young man’s opinion.”

  He tensed while the woman’s gaze travelled the length of his body down to his black boots, not in a sexual way but rather like she was sizing him like a female praying mantis before she devoured her mate.

  He ran his hands down the legs of his jeans again. He would rather rebuild a blown transmission than have to tell the woman the truth. It was too low cut, too voluminous, too adolescent. Basically, too everything for her.

  He glanced over at Sutton. Her eyes danced with laughter, even though she kept it confined to one corner of her mouth.

  He swallowed. “I think you look real pretty, but…”

  Ms. Eckert put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “But?”

  “It seems to me that a black dress would be more suited to a woman of your obvious elegance.” A ding, ding, ding went off in his head. He pushed off the counter and headed to a promising-looking rack of floor length dresses.

  “What are you doing?” Sutton asked with a hint of panic that told him if they had been playing a game of hide-and-seek he was getting warm.

  “Looking for the perfect dress.” He panicked a little himself when he wasn’t sure if he would recognize her design amidst the masses, but he needn’t have worried. He flipped a pink dress to the side and there it was, its quality obvious. He pulled Sutton’s dress out and glanced from it to Ms. Eckert. She looked about the same size as the headless torso in Sutton’s workroom.

  Sutton grabbed a sleeve of the dress and tugged. “Not this one.”

  He dropped his voice. “Let her try it on. If she hates it then no one need be the wiser.”

  They engaged in a staring contest. She blinked first and let go of the dress with a huff. “Fine.”

  Wyatt presented the dress to Ms. Eckert with a dramatic flourish. She ran a hand over the lace at the top before taking the hanger. “It’s lovely.”

  The minutes that passed seemed long. Sutton kept her distance and fidgeted with the rack of dresses between pacing. Finally, Ms. Eckert emerged, performed a twirl that swung the skirt around her knees, and faced the floor-length mirror. “It’s almost perfect. I’ll need someone to take up the bust and shorten the sleeves a tad. I didn’t see a label or price, though, dear. How much is it?”

  Sutton’s mouth opened and closed, but no words or numbers emerged.

  Ms. Eckert spun this way and that looking at herself in the mirror, a self-satisfied smile not doing much to soften the sharp planes of her face. “This dress will make anything Mrs. Carson shows up in look like rags.”

  Wyatt took the tag off the nearest dress. The name Vera Wang was printed above a price that almost made him choke. Instead, he rattled off the number and waited for a response.

  “Excellent. Ring me up while I change, would you, dear?” Ms. Eckert didn’t bat an eye and retreated to the dressing room.

  He stood to the side while Sutton bagged the dress and completed the transaction. Ms. Eckert handed over a credit card without a change of expression. She turned to grace Wyatt with another of her mantis-devouring gazes, but directed her question toward Sutton. “Who is accompanying you to the gala, dear?”

  Sutton’s gaze pinged to him and back to the register. “Mr. Abbott is.”

  “Isn’t that interesting.” It was a statement that didn’t require an answer. Sutton handed over the dress, and this time Ms. Eckert smiled at him. “I very much look forward to seeing you, young man.”

  “Likewise, ma’am.”

  Sutton followed Ms. Eckert to the door and flipped the sign to CLOSED. Not sure how she was going to take his meddling, he braced his hands on the counter and leaned back.

  She waved out the window then turned, hands on hips. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Can’t believe it in a good way or bad way?”

  “Both, I guess. You made Ms. Eckert pay the same for my dress as a Vera. That’s crazy.” Her tone veered toward shock as she approached him.

  “Crazy good or crazy bad?”

  Now that she was closer, he could see the spark in her eye was due more to excitement than anger. In fact, her multihued eyes danced, any hint of sadness stomped out. The thought he’d had anything to do with her happiness made him feel like he’d been dropped into a vat of warm, furry puppies.

  “She didn’t even argue. Just pulled her credit card out. All because of you.” The way she looked at him added more adorable puppies.

  “You’re the one who designed it. Sewed it up and stuff. All I did was find the dress on the rack. I wasn’t even sure it would be there.”

  She moved behind the counter, and he turned to watch her close up the register. Her movements spoke of routine, yet she did it with grace. Like she did everything. “I sold a dress. What should I do now?”

  “Sew up another and sell it too.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Doesn’t have to be hard.” He gestured toward the door. “Didn’t her reaction give you any confidence?”

  She shut the drawer to the register and stared at him for a moment. “Let me put this in the safe and grab my purse.”

  After she disappeared through the curtains with a zippered bank bag, he wandered to the nearest rack of clothes and lifted the price tag. “Holy hell, I’m in the wrong business.”

  “Sticker shock?” Her voice had him whirling around.

  “I could buy a top of the line socket wrench that would last twenty-five years for how much this costs.” He waved the silky arm of the shirt around. “Seems to me you could have charged even more for that dress.”

  Sutton adjusted the hangers so they were equally spaced out and led him toward the front door. “What women will spend and do to look good borders on insanity.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure the average male even cares.”

  They stepped out into the night. Darkness had crept closer, and the common area had cleared out, most of the vehicles gone. The sound of the river was amplified between the
buildings of the street.

  “You’re cute if you think women are buying clothes to impress a man.” She threw a teasing smile over her shoulder before turning back to lock the front door of the shop. “Women dress to impress other women.”

  He fell into step next to her and linked his hands behind his back. “Is the lingerie you sell to impress other women too?”

  Her pace picked up as if his words had spurred her forward. He mouthed a curse and wanted to kick his own tail. He caught her arm and forced her to face him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’re right, the lingerie is to impress men.” The concrete of her expression cracked into something that resembled a smile, but her eyes no longer danced.

  “Do you wear all that lacy stuff?” The question shot out of his mouth in a need to fill the silence.

  A slight tease eased into her smile. She slipped out of his grip and continued on, saying over her shoulder, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Hell yes, he wanted to know. More than he wanted to know the secrets of the universe. He caught up with her in time to open the pizza restaurant’s door and gesture her through. She led the way to a booth, and he slid in across from her. The few people in the restaurant didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.

  A teenaged waitress approached and exchanged pleasantries with Sutton. The girl was sullen but polite and plopped waters and two menus down.

  “Thanks, Amy.” Once the girl retreated Sutton laced her fingers over the menu and stared at him intently, but a lightness was back in her attitude. “The moment of truth. What do you like on your pizza?”

  He leaned over to match her stance, putting their faces only a few inches apart. “As much of everything that can fit.”

  “Me too. Tony’s specialty is my favorite.”

  “The only pizza worth ordering.”

  She gave a little cheer. “Andrew never let me order anything but a veggie pizza.” Her gaze skated off to the side. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for now?” He wanted to force her eyes back on him, but didn’t.

  “I shouldn’t bring him up when I’m with you.”

  Although he didn’t particularly want to discuss Tarwater’s pizza habits—or any of his habits for that matter—Wyatt wasn’t her new boyfriend. He simply had to keep himself from becoming too attached to her smiles and dancing eyes. Temporary and fun.

  “No worries. How’d your parents take the news?” he asked.

  “With minimal wailing and gnashing of teeth actually.” The waitress returned and they put in their order. Without him having to prompt her for more information, Sutton picked up their conversation. “Mother’s wringing her hands raw about what everyone is saying but she’s mad as a wet hen about Andrew. Daddy ruffled his morning paper and grunted and then went out to shoot birds.”

  “What’d you tell them?”

  “As little as possible for the moment. They know Andrew was messing around on the side, but I didn’t tell them it was Bree. And if they’ve heard any rumors about us, neither one of them has mentioned it.” She touched the blank space where her engagement ring used to be as if fiddling with it was a hard habit to break.

  “I’m glad they’re supporting you.”

  “Underneath all the social posturing and formality, my parents are great. Maggie is too.”

  A silence that had a tinge of first date awkwardness fell between them. He searched for a new subject. “Who did you name the shop after? Is Abigail your mother’s name?”

  “No, we inherited the name when we bought it. It’s a tragic story actually. Abigail was considered the catch of the county back in the fifties—runner up to Miss Mississippi in fact. The governor’s son was courting her, and everyone thought they would marry, but she ran off with a man from over the river and was never seen again. Her parents renamed the store as a plea to return or a memorial. No one knows for sure.”

  Her story niggled a memory. “She never returned?”

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Some people say the man murdered her and that’s really why the town split.”

  He chuffed. “She wasn’t murdered.”

  “You sound like you know her.”

  “If it’s the same one, then your Abigail married an Abbott.”

  “Get out.” She playfully shoved his arm, and her fingers dropped to play with the rolled up cuff of his shirt. Her voice turned dreamy. “Abigail Abbott. Do you know what happened to her?”

  He didn’t move, afraid he’d scare her off. “Her parents disowned her. Renaming the shop was their way of thumbing their noses at her. She and her husband moved a couple of parishes over and raised a passel of kids. They came to a family reunion when I was a teenager. If she’s still alive, she’d be pushing ninety now.”

  “Were they happy? Did she have regrets?” Her hand tightened on his forearm.

  “Does anyone make it through life without regrets?”

  Chapter Eight

  Sutton couldn’t tear her eyes away from Wyatt’s. The longer she stared, the more colors she could see. Gold and even green ringed his iris. She felt like she was standing on the high dive and looking down into the water with a combination of nerves and excitement.

  She’d never been nervous around Andrew. They’d known each other since they were young, so things had felt natural and comfortable. Too comfortable. She hadn’t fallen in love with him; she’d fallen into a relationship with him.

  Wyatt was different. Her stomach and heart played dodgeball in her chest, the feeling not in the least bit comfortable. Yet at the same time, she wanted to scoot closer and prayed for an oven malfunction so their pizza would take all night getting to their table.

  “Here ya go.” Amy materialized out of nowhere and slid the pizza on the table. Sutton pulled her hand away when Wyatt broke eye contact to smile and thank the girl.

  Amy’s braces flashed before her lips pressed closed around the metal as if she forgot it wasn’t cool to exhibit any form of happiness at her age. She backed away and tucked her frizzy blond hair behind an ear, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” he asked around his first bite of pizza while fanning his mouth, looking genuinely perplexed at her question.

  The man had no idea he mounted a charm offensive every time he smiled or opened his mouth. “First you win over Ms. Eckert, and then you make a girl, who is painfully aware of her braces and every other perceived fault as only a hormonal teenager can be, smile and blush.”

  He glanced toward the other side of the restaurant where Amy was delivering waters to another table. She glanced toward them before quickstepping back through the swinging kitchen door.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said defensively.

  “Don’t worry, you weren’t being creepy. You were being sweet.” Sutton propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, toying with the pizza on her plate. “Girls like Amy desperately want to hide yet at the same time long for someone to actually see them.”

  “Seems a little counterintuitive. You weren’t anything like that as I recall.” He took another big bite and was almost at the crust.

  “Are you kidding me? I was painfully shy and skinny and a late bloomer. I had no boobs to speak of until I was almost out of high school.” That was only a slight exaggeration. “I didn’t get asked out on a single date. Not even to prom.”

  He dropped another slice onto his plate and sat back. “I don’t believe you. You were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

  She stared at him, nonplussed. He looked sincere. “Are you teasing me? Because I have photographic evidence to the contrary.”

  He shrugged and took a bite of pizza, chewing and swallowing while he continued their staring contest. “Not teasing. I remember everything about you back then.”

  “You didn’t hate me.” The realization was like a lightning strike.

  “… course I didn’t. Why else would I have been picking
on you?”

  “Why else indeed?” she murmured.

  “Those Mississippi boys must have been blind idiots.”

  She’d long ago left teenage insecurities behind, but his statement bolstered her present-day battered self-confidence with a bolt of happiness. It was so acute, she smiled automatically. “Maybe they were, but it was okay. I had Bree.”

  Her smile dropped. For an instant, she’d forgotten about the painful Bree-sized aneurism on her heart. They had been partners in crime and had laid out on her driveway and dreamed as big as the stars they stared at.

  “Have you talked to her?” he asked gently.

  “Nope. She called and texted, but I’ve ignored her.” She took a bite of pizza but more for appearances’ sake than real hunger.

  “You think you’ll ever be able to forgive her?” Wyatt finished his second piece.

  “Even if I can, it won’t ever be the same, you know?” She picked off a pepperoni and popped it into her mouth. “Have you ever been betrayed like that by a friend?”

  “A friend? No.” He hesitated with his pizza halfway to his mouth and then put it back down. “But a brother? Sort of.”

  “Not Jackson?”

  “God, no. Jackson has my back no matter what. Mack too. It was Ford.” Resentment was stamped on his face and colored his voice.

  She leaned forward, instinctively wanting to give comfort. “Did he cheat with your girlfriend?”

  “Something way worse.” His voice dipped into grief. “He bought a car that was meant for me.”

  His answer took her by surprise, and she cleared her throat to try to rid herself of her inappropriate giggles. “I’m sorry.”

  “It probably sounds ridiculous to you, but that car was going to be my first. I was sixteen and had worked since I was twelve, saving and scrimping money. I pored over the used car ads in the Cottonbloom Gazette every week for two years, waiting and watching for the perfect car. I’d know her when I saw her.”

  He pulled his wallet out and unfurled a creased newspaper cutout with a grainy color picture and the title “With some TLC, she could be your Beauty! 1970 Hemi Barracuda.” The car was red with powerful lines. The hood was up, showcasing the engine. A couple of the panels looked damaged, but otherwise, it really was a beauty.