“So, where do you find all of this stuff?” Jennifer asked from the front corner of the store.
She was practically drooling over the vintage Dior cocktail dress on the dress form, and easily the most expensive piece of clothing in the place. It was ice-blue satin with a ruched bodice and a sweetheart neckline. The crystals studding the dress matched the Swarovski crystal belt wrapped around the waist.
Secretly, I thought of it as the Cinderella dress, and every time someone approached it, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, worrying they might buy it. That was the problem with being a shopkeeper in such a kick-ass store—I wanted to save so many things for myself, and Lord knew, I did that already. Too much. But it just so happened that the Cinderella dress was in my size. It would undoubtedly make the woman who wore it feel like a princess.
Then I remembered that Jennifer—who that dress was way too big for—had asked a question.
“Oh, I have a network of people who keep an eye out for me. I also hit estate sales, keep up on eBay and a few vintage wholesale stores online. It’s basically a never-ending cycle of hunting down awesome stuff.”
“Wow. That sounds like a lot of work.”
I shrugged. It was a lot of work, but I loved my job. Harriet had entrusted the shop to me for this long, and I’d made it my own. She’d never once had to worry about not having it fully stocked with unique inventory. I had several regulars who came in weekly because they knew I was constantly finding new stuff. For a few special customers, I took requests and kept an eye out for the particular pieces they wanted.
Jennifer stepped away from the Cinderella dress, and I silently breathed a small sigh of relief. She moved to the stacks of Seven jeans and dug through for her size, messing up all of Levi’s perfect folding. It was a never-ending cycle. They messed; we straightened. She also pulled a skirt and a cherry-red dress out of the armoire and looked around the store.
“Fitting room?”
“Of course. Right this way.” I led her toward the back and pulled the black-and-silver striped curtain open for her. “Let me know if you need any help with the zipper on that dress.”
She smiled and shut the curtain. I crossed to the jeans table and began refolding and straightening. The task made me miss Levi, and also wonder where the hell Jennifer-the-temp was.
“So, how long have you worked here?” she asked from behind the curtain.
“Several years.”
“Did the store carry all of the same kind of stuff before you started working here and tracking it down, or did you do that?”
It was a more personal question than I’d expected, but I was proud of what I’d done here.
“It was more kitschy and commercial before I started. It took a decent amount of time to replace everything with stock that I’d handpicked.”
“Wow, so this place wouldn’t be the same without you, would it?”
Exactly. Which was why I was so determined to make Dirty Dog mine.
“I’d like to think I bring something special to the table,” I replied, keeping my tone casual.
Jennifer shoved the curtain open and turned so her back was toward me. “Could you do up this zipper?”
“Of course. I’m happy to.”
I was pulling the zipper tab up when she said, “I guess when I own this place, maybe I’ll have to convince you to keep working here.”
I froze, and my hands faltered on the hook and eye. I forced myself to finish and stepped away. “There. All set.”
She didn’t even look at me, didn’t acknowledge the bomb she’d just dropped. She just took two steps toward the three-way mirror and twisted this way and that to view the dress.
Objectively, it looked lovely on her, the red against her fair complexion and blond hair. I wanted to rip it off her and tell her to get the hell out of my store.
Jesus, Harriet was moving fast. My appointment with the bank wasn’t even until tomorrow, and she already had a potential buyer lined up?
I needed to talk to her. Tomorrow. After I had my ducks in a row. Determination steeled my spine and was the only thing that kept the tears burning in my eyes from falling.
Then the punches just kept coming.
“Do you think I could try on that blue dress up front?” she asked. “I think it could be altered to fit me.”
Years of training myself to hold a serene expression even when I was getting the hell knocked out of me helped me fake a smile. I swallowed back the words I wanted to scream, and instead said, “I’ll get it. Would you like me to unhook you from this one?”
She said yes, and I reversed the process I’d just completed, all the while keeping that vapid smile on my face. I’d taken three steps out of the dressing room when a phone started ringing, and it wasn’t mine.