Friday came and went so slowly, Wyatt was convinced the shop clock needed new batteries. But the sun in the sky didn’t lie, and the workday stretched to forever. He tried to squash his eagerness to see Sutton, but it welled up through the alarms his logic issued.
“Any word on Tarwater’s car?” Jackson asked as they cleaned up the pit and sorted tools back in the box.
“Not yet. I’m surprised he hasn’t stormed out here to pick it up himself. I’ll ask Sutton tonight.”
“What are y’all going to get up to?” Although Jackson’s tone veered casual, Wyatt knew better. His brother was attempting, in his stoic way, to impart a message.
“Grabbing a pizza over the river. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” They continued with their work, the clang of the tools into drawers filling the expectant silence. Wyatt waited his twin out. Jackson closed the drawer and turned back to face Wyatt.
Wyatt was the anomaly looks-wise amongst the brothers with his almost-black hair and gray eyes. Jackson had inherited the Abbott brown hair and hazel eyes, but he’d gotten something from their mother too. A streak of wildness ran deep beneath his calm, quiet exterior. People thought Wyatt was a risk taker, but watching Jackson dominate a dirt track wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Still, he could be counted on to keep his cool under the stress of family drama and gave good advice—whether you wanted to hear it or not. The problem was Wyatt had a feeling Jackson’s advice would be in direct opposition to what Wyatt wanted.
“Sutton Mize was engaged as of earlier this week,” Jackson said.
“Yep, but she’s not anymore.”
“I heard the jabber about why, and I saw the tail end of that kiss you shared in our parking lot. But I also know you weren’t seeing her before she brought Tarwater’s car in, so what gives?” Jackson planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.
Lying to his twin wasn’t only inadvisable, it was impossible. They had a way of seeing past each other’s bullshit that was sometimes welcome, sometimes annoying. “Short story is that Tarwater is a dick and was cheating on Sutton with her best friend. She broke off the engagement and to save face insinuated that she and I had been a thing for a while.”
“You and she are going to keep up the charade to make Tarwater feel bad?”
“Something like that.” Wyatt turned away and picked up the dirty, blue, shop towels.
Jackson grabbed Wyatt’s arm and forced him around. “You like her.”
“Everyone likes her. She’s nice.”
“I mean, you like like her. You have since we were kids—I’ve not forgotten how you walked around with cow eyes around her—and that kiss out front wasn’t pretend. You two nearly melted the asphalt.”
Jackson’s twin powers had veered sharply annoying. “I maybe, sort of like her. What’s wrong with that? She’s single; I’m single.”
“She’s been single for less than a week. She’s using you.”
“I’m using her too. In return for me squiring her around, she’s going to get her judge daddy to talk up the garage at the country club. Send some more projects our way to make up for the Camaro.”
“That kiss was all a selfless act for the garage?” Jackson’s sarcasm was not appreciated.
Wyatt had to look away from his brother’s gaze which prompted a muttered curse from Jackson.
“Do not fall for this woman, Wyatt. Whether she means to or not, she’s going to rip your heart into little pieces and feed it to the gators before she goes back to her old life.”
“We’re not getting serious. In fact, we agreed that after I take her to the gala, it’s over.”
Jackson didn’t look pleased with the news. He looked worried. “As long as you don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s anything more than that. She’ll be back with Tarwater or someone like him by Christmas.”
Because the thought had already burrowed into his chest, Wyatt’s reaction was knee-jerk and defensive. “Someone like him?”
“You know, sophisticated. Worldly. Rich. Well-connected. Well-groomed.”
“Fuck you,” Wyatt shot back, but there was little heat to it. Jackson was right. “I’ve been told I clean up real nice.”
Jackson’s smile revealed his dimples. A rare sight since their pop had died last year. “Doesn’t count if it’s from a female relative over the age of sixty.”
“Sutton and I are putting on a show until the gala. That’s when it ends. No need to worry yourself over me.” They finished tidying the pit and took up posts on opposite sides of the open bay door. The sun trekked toward the horizon and threw orange and purple across the sky like a finger painting by a three-year-old.
“You ever think about the family curse?” Wyatt finally asked.
“What curse?”
“The one about Abbott twins never getting married.”
“I’d call it more a blessing than a curse. And I don’t even want to know why you’re worried about it all of a sudden.” Jackson sent an eye roll in his direction and headed toward the office where Mack worked on spreadsheets.
Thankful for the privacy, Wyatt headed to the loft to clean up, taking time to scrub the grease from under his nails. Jackson’s warnings reverberated in his head. He might not be invited to the governor’s mansion anytime soon, but Hyacinth and Hazel had taken it upon themselves to domesticate them after a fashion. He knew enough not to fart in public or eat with his fingers. He could even manage a credible two-step on a dance floor. He was plenty sophisticated enough for either side of Cottonbloom, dammit.
Wyatt might not be rich like Tarwater, but the garage provided a good living. And as their reputation grew in classic car restoration circles, they might even pull business from bigger cities like New Orleans or Jackson, Mississippi. Unless things nosedived into the swamps.
It didn’t matter. Jackson was right about one thing. Whatever he and Sutton were doing was temporary. The milk in his fridge had a longer expiration date than their fake relationship.
Instead of grabbing the first available clean shirt, he flipped through his closet and waffled between two different plaid button-downs, finally settling on the green-and-blue because Aunt Hyacinth had told him once it brought out his eyes.
Although he hadn’t invoked it in a while, temporary and fun would be his mantra until it stuck. He would enjoy the PDA and her company and that’s all. It shouldn’t be an issue considering he was a certified expert in temporary and fun.
Wyatt grabbed the keys for the Hornet. The growly engine rattled the restlessness and worry out of his bones. He rolled down the windows and enjoyed the gloaming through the pine trees that lined the two-lane road into town. The scent was earthy and familiar and comforting.
The last streaks of the sun were fading when he crossed the steel-girded bridge and turned onto Mississippi’s River Street. In a fit of pique or spite or maybe idiocy, the road that paralleled it on the Louisiana side was also called River Street, making giving directions and mail delivery a crapshoot.
He parked down the street in an isolated spot to avoid the possibility of a flung-open truck door marring the Hornet’s paint job. Several couples and families were out enjoying the common area by the river. Children played tag, their squeals and laughter carrying over the soft background of the flowing river.
He hesitated at the corner. Abigail’s Boutique was the first business on the street that ran perpendicular to River Street. He was a few minutes early. A shadow moved in the store.
He approached the door and rubbed his hands down the front of his jeans. A line of headless mannequins displayed a variety of clothes from a simple sundress to a floor-length beaded gown. A crimp in his stomach so unfamiliar that it could only be nerves made him hesitate. He resisted the urge to lurk outside and forced himself inside the shop.
The first thing that hit him was the attractive feminine scent. The next was an unfamiliar woman looking at him like he was there to rob the store.
“Uh, hi.” He held up both hands where she could see them, waving one, and tried on his most charming, non-threatening smile. She continued to stare.
“I believe this is the one you’re referring to, Ms. Eckert.”
Sutton’s voice drifted from behind a curtained room at the back of the store a second before she emerged. Her flower printed skirt rippled as she brushed by the curtains, her torso obscured by voluminous fabric that reminded him of a giant peach.
“Wyatt.” Surprise lilted her voice high and for a moment, he panicked.
Did he have the day wrong? Or had she not really wanted to get together? Maybe she regretted their deal and hoped he’d crawl back into the greasy pit from whence he’d come. Or even worse, maybe she and Tarwater were back together. A lot could happen in three days.
“Do you mind if I finish up with Ms. Eckert? Come on back and I’ll find you somewhere to sit.” She hung what turned out to be a peach-colored dress with a very full skirt in a dressing room. “Actually, we could use a man’s opinion, if you’re up for it.”
“I’ll give it a shot.” The relief that chased his panic away made his voice veer way more enthusiastic than he’d ever felt about ladies’ clothing—unless it was on his bedroom floor.
He weaved his way through the racks of clothes to where a counter flanked in weird tree-like structures draped in jewelry and scarves faced two dressing rooms.
“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?”