In Love By Christmas. Cari Lynn Webb
your work.”
Josie had chosen her studio apartment for the unexpected large walk-in closet—a closet she’d filled with clothes she’d designed and sewn between shifts and many sleepless nights the past few years. Dresses, pants, jackets—all designed for a specific occasion and yet never worn. Josie hadn’t actually been invited to any of those special events.
Until now.
So far, she’d created her clothes for her own joy. Every hand stitch, every embroidered thread, every hand-dyed fabric made those hours between midnight and sunrise a little less lonely. “I need to concentrate on the wedding dress first.”
“That wasn’t a no. I’ll take it.” Mia gave Josie a quick and easy hug. “This is ranking up there to be one of the best days ever.”
Josie had to find inspiration and fast. Or this would become one of her worst moments ever.
“I’M ALL BOOKED UP, Mr. Taylor, until next fall. Best of luck to you.” The dial tone ended Theo’s conversation.
His prior conversations had circled around variations of the same theme.
Oh, this is for Adriana? I just noticed there’s a conflict on the schedule.
Even for that price, Mr. Taylor, I cannot find more hours in the work week. And I would need infinite hours to meet Adriana’s exacting standards.
I fear Adriana and I would clash, Mr. Taylor. Our aesthetics do not align, as it were. That can be very unpleasant.
Each phone call had been a dead end. Each one an unavailable wedding-dress designer. That totaled nine well-established designers unavailable or unwilling to work with Adriana. Theo was two hours into his workday and already things were descending into the discouraging and disappointing column.
If the designers on both coasts knew about Adriana’s reputation as difficult and micromanaging, then the TV producers likely knew, too.
A city bus shuddered to a stop on the street corner behind Theo. The gasping squeal of the brakes ratcheted his headache to another level. Theo’s phone rang. “Fran, tell me you found someone.”
Fran’s bluntness cut through the speaker. “No available dress designers.”
He rubbed his forehead. “What about my mother?”
“She’s refusing to let me return the exclusive Linden Topher wedding gown. She’s intent on getting married, Theo.” Fran’s tone was resolute.
Theo switched his phone to his other ear and pulled a business card from his pocket. He checked the address printed on the card and continued down the sidewalk. Frustration quickened his strides. “Tell me something good, at least, Fran. What did you find out about Josie Beck?”
“Josie is the sole owner of The Rose Petal Boutique.” Fran paused. The sound of her rapid typing drifted in the background. “It’s a unique consignment wedding-dress shop for every bride.”
Good news would’ve been Josie Beck had earned a bachelor’s degree in fashion design or apprenticed in top fashion houses in Europe. Theo clenched his phone and stared at the vintage exterior of The Rose Petal Boutique drooping in front of him.
He was anything but charmed.
The boutique reminded him of a neglected stepchild. The run-down building was smashed between two vibrant, profitable older sisters, their buildings renovated and restored. The boutique signage was simple and faded. The paint around the wood molding on the front windows was cracked, chipped and dingy.
If he was interested in an instant makeover, he’d paint the exterior lavender to help the small building blossom like a vibrant, rare rosebush on the block.
But his sister needed a wedding gown.
And Theo needed to know an unknown designer was worth his trust.
Theo tugged on the door handle. The warped front door never budged. Perhaps that was all the proof he required about Josie Beck. Certainly, if the boutique owner wanted more customers, even sidewalk window-shoppers, she would have repaired her door. Wedged as it was in the door frame, the welcome sign in the window should’ve read Go Away.
Theo yanked harder and forced the door open. A set of bells chimed and a woman’s voice called out from the back of the store, “Welcome to Rose Petal. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
There was nothing bland about the woman’s cheerful acknowledgment. Her voice, crisp and colorful, like the holiday celebrations featured in the December edition of Coast to Coast, invited Theo to linger and explore the boutique. Too bad she wasn’t outside on the sidewalk, greeting window-shoppers and drawing in potential customers.
Familiar photographs on a maze of wire-rack displays, stood before Theo and he frowned. The space was completely misused. Even worse, Mia’s talent as a photographer wasn’t being highlighted. That wasn’t the point. Theo was well-versed in Mia Reid’s talent. It was Josie Beck that concerned him.
Theo wove through the wire-rack maze, following the sound of voices in the back. He paused in front of a framed photograph of a blond woman and a mixed-breed dog, given its patchwork of brown, black and white fur. The dog’s paws rested on the woman’s shoulders as his pink tongue swiped across her cheek. The woman’s head was tipped back, her smile calling.
Theo leaned forward, then caught himself. He glanced around, prepared to argue—of course, I hadn’t been edging closer to see if I could hear the woman’s sunny laughter. That would be impossible. Still, he lingered until he scowled. He’d never been charmed by a picture before.
Theo stepped around the last row of displays and glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
A tall brunette stood on the platform, facing the mirrors. A woman, her blond hair tied back with a frayed piece of plaid fabric, wrestled a gown’s enormous white bow into submission, revealing the one redeeming element of the dress—a low-cut back. Then she gathered the bulky white skirt to tighten the outdated wedding dress around the brunette’s curves.
“Do you see it, Shanna?” The blond woman flattened one of the puffy white shoulders the way Theo used to smash a toasted marshmallow between graham crackers at summer camp.
Theo tilted his head. All he saw was that obnoxiously large bow popping free of the woman’s grip like a broken jack-in-the-box and an excess of ribbons. How had the woman convinced the bride-to-be to try on such an unappealing gown?
The blond woman folded the bow in indignant pleats, forcing it out of sight. She rattled off a series of alterations, her free hand sweeping gracefully along the woman’s side. “Can you envision the dress you described to me? The one we drew together.”
“I see it, Josie.” Hesitation slowed the woman’s words.
Josie Beck.
Everything slowed and rolled inside Theo as if he’d tripped over a speed bump. His focus locked onto the blonde with the colorful voice, but she couldn’t stop his fall into captivation.
“That’s wonderful.” Josie rose on the tips of her boots and peeked over the shoulder of the woman she’d called Shanna. “It’s enough if you can see it in your mind right now.”
“But I can’t afford all these changes to the dress, Josie.”
Josie released the heavy skirt and stepped around the cascade of fabric to face the Shanna.
The brunette’s height concealed Josie’s face, but not the tremor in her voice.
“The dress itself is in your budget, right?” Josie asked.
The woman nodded.
Josie moved closer to Shanna, her face still