скачать книгу бесплатно
“Just remember,” Julia said, “Heartbreak’s comeuppance is long overdue.”
Which was not what Cathy intended, but Julia wouldn’t welcome the confession. Besides, Cathy was doubtful about whether she’d be capable of the duplicity necessary when it came to the crunch, let alone the too-farfetched-to-contemplate seduction aspect of the whole business.
Unless it really had been Zack watching her from the porch next door. If so, she’d mistakenly gotten off to the best—make that breast—start imaginable.
Hah. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a very good look through the curtains, at such an angle.
Then again, maybe he had.
She leaned against the wall, weighing her reaction to the possibility that he’d seen everything. Both her instant embarrassment and the subsequent attack of nerves were what she’d expected. More surprising was the exquisite seeping warmth caused by the thought of continuing the game. Imagine seducing Zack, she thought, and her lips parted in anticipation. She expelled a soft breath. With her new friends’ help, she might even be able to do it successfully.
“Now, Cath,” Julia said, bringing her back to the conversation. “Please stop worrying. You’ll do splendidly.”
“But I can’t—I’m not—I have no…va-va-voom,” she said, having unexpectedly caught sight of herself in between the scarves she’d draped around the cheval mirror. “It’s plain to see.” Disregarding the limpid look in her eyes, she dragged her fingers through her tangled hair, adjusted the drooping towel. “What you want is someone with more, uh, obvious enticements.”
Julia tsk-tsked. “Not for Zack.”
“He’s a guy, isn’t he?”
“But a guy with discerning tastes.”
He almost married Laurel, Cathy realized. How discerning could he be?
Oh, that wasn’t fair. Laurel Barnard was certainly lovely. And often friendly, if slightly reserved. She managed her dress shop with skill and pride. Her personality was, at times, pleasant. She was just…a tad weak in the character department.
And Cathy set great store by character.
She made a face at her reflection. Pot calling the kettle black. For goodness sake, she was about to embark on a superficial seduction ploy of epic proportions! She, the woman who ranked appearance below “showers daily” and “knows how to read” among the qualities she looked for in the opposite sex.
It won’t be superficial if it’s about love, whispered the hopeless romantic part of her that had yearned after Zack since fifth grade.
And, woo, girl, you sure could use the help, countered the self-doubting voice that she’d never quite been able to vanquish. The cruelty she’d once endured as a homely, chubby, social outcast had blighted her confidence. Even to this day, though rationally she understood that she’d always been a worthy person. School yard taunts shouldn’t—didn’t—matter.
Way back when, the friendship of a spirited, confident ten-year-old boy named Zack Brody had been the only kindness she’d known. He was the one new schoolmate who’d seen the girl she was inside, not out. Long after she’d moved away and grown up and become “beautiful,” she’d remembered Zack for that.
And she’d remembered the little town of Quimby.
Cathy turned away from the mirror. Toward the window. Toward Zack.
“We’ll coach you every step of the way,” Julia was saying reassuringly into her ear when a light blinked on next door.
The bottom dropped out of Cathy’s stomach. Oh, my.
There was a racy black sports car parked in the driveway of the Brody house. Inside, another light came on.
Cathy’s fingers clenched, putting creases into the miniblinds. She closed her eyes. Zack. Zack Brody.
Heartbreak was home.
And—
Oh. My. Stars.
He’d seen her.
3
THE NEXT DAY, Cathy worked at Scarborough Faire alone all morning. Its herbal-scented atmosphere soothed her fitfulness. Amongst the shop’s cornucopia of gnarled branches and vines, sheaves of dried flowers, weathered barn-board shelving, old jelly cupboards and pie safes stocked with ribbons and wrapping papers, stationery, pen nibs and bottles of ink, she was as at home and confident as never before in her life. Peace had its price in this instance; few customers stopped in. Distracted from issues of commerce, she did not particularly care.
Quite naturally, Cathy was occupied with thoughts of Zack Brody. Worriedly, at first, but after a few hours in the shop, she began to see things from a different perspective. A buoyant, emboldened one.
And why not? She was attractive enough. She was intelligent. She was capable.
Upon realizing how dissatisfied she’d become with her humdrum life as an accounts supervisor for a small advertising firm in Virginia Beach, she’d single-handedly researched, plotted and executed a successful escape. She’d ditched the job, cashed out her savings and moved cross-country to turn Kay’s Krafts into the storybook arts and gift shop she’d long dreamed of.
Such drastic change took courage. Ergo, she’d already proved that she could handle anything.
Even, perhaps, the legendary Heartbreak.
Humming beneath her breath, Cathy rummaged through an old sea chest of fabric remnants. Zack had nearly caught her that morning when she’d scurried from the house to her car, wearing dark glasses and a scarf knotted over her hair like a celebrity dodging the paparazzi.
He’d stepped onto his porch and shouted a neighborly hello; she’d been reversing out of the driveway and had pretended not to notice. All she’d seen was a quick glimpse of him in her rearview mirror. Upraised hand, fading smile. Thick brown hair. Lots of shoulder.
Imminent Heartbreak.
Cathy pulled out a piece of gingham, then discarded it. Whether or not anything developed between her and Zack, she was willing to be a martyr for the cause.
Unfolding a length of dotted swiss, she thought of his engaging smile, the light in his eyes. Her stomach did a slow roll of sensuous proportions. Yum. There were worse fates.
At one o’clock, Kay Estress arrived for the shift she put in four days a week. As the store’s previous proprietor, Kay had agreed to stay on part-time during the changeover of ownership. Seven months later, though appreciative of the practical advice Kay freely—and frequently—offered, Cathy was ready for the arrangement to end. She hadn’t yet figured out how to ease Kay out the door in a properly respectful manner.
The tall, raw-boned woman gave the new baby-bootie-and-receiving-blanket display a once-over. Cathy had gone a little wild with the dotted swiss and trailing yellow ribbons.
Kay, whose style was relentlessly straightforward, even militant, sniffed. “Cute,” she conceded, her dark brows rising to meet the fluff of silvery-white bangs that were the only soft thing about her. “But it doesn’t pay to overstock on these type of knitting patterns. The profit margin is minimal.”
Cathy took off her apron, wadded it up and stowed it on one of the shelves beneath the checkout counter. “A person who buys the patterns will need needles, ribbon and two kinds of yarn,” she pointed out. “We—I’ll see a decent return.”
Kay shrugged her wide, bony shoulders. “It’s your funeral.” She slipped a pristine apron over the neat silver cap of her hair, straightening her starched collar with a tug. Her displays had been practical, not imaginative. Her shelves had been stocked on schedule, not on whim.
Cathy smiled at Kay. Nicely. She understood that it was difficult for the older woman to adjust to a more creative way of doing things. Having grown up under the watch of Admiral Wallace Winston Bell, Cathy had plenty of experience dealing with rigidity. Her father was career Navy—he’d run the proverbial tight ship. His awkward, bookish, imaginative daughter had baffled him to no end. He’d never completely succeeded in shaping her up, which was perhaps the one failure in his illustrious career.
“I’ll be gone for at least an hour,” Cathy said, tightening at the thought of her impending makeover. “Maybe two.”
Kay took out a bottle of Zap, her favorite spray cleaner. “No problem.”
Cathy waved from the door. “There haven’t been many customers, so you should do fine alone. I’ll be next door at Laurel’s if you need me.”
Kay doffed the bottle as Cathy departed. Looking back, she saw that her employee had yanked the apron out from beneath the counter and was whipping it into a tidy package like a color guard folding a flag. A woman after her father’s heart. Banish the thought.
Outside, the June sunshine was glorious; it made the pavement shine and the parking meters sparkle. Quimby was as quaint as Cathy had remembered from her yearlong stay as a child. Beneath mature sugar maples and grand old elms, the residential streets were cozy with modest Queen Anne cottages, Craftsman bungalows and wood-frame houses with wide front porches. The downtown business district thrived on what passed for bustle in the small town. Cathy did not regret her move, even though it had meant leaving several good friends and her one dominant family member behind.
Luckily, her second sojourn in Quimby had thus far not been as socially inept as the first, when she’d been sent to stay with her grandparents while the Admiral was at sea. She’d made plenty of friends this time around, and even gone out on a few pleasant dates. In fact, the residents were so friendly she rarely stepped outside of her little shop without being greeted by several of them.
“Hallo, Mrs. Timmerman,” said Reggie Lee Marvin, his face completely guileless beneath the bill of a grimy, faded gimme cap. The handyman parked his three-wheeled bike at the curb. A toolbox, spade, rake and other assorted supplies were strapped to the basket in the back.
“Hey, Reggie Lee. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“Sure is, Mrs. Timmerman.”
“Going to lunch?” Cathy had given up trying to get Reggie Lee to call her Cathy, or even Ms. or Miss. She’d never felt much like a Mrs. Her marriage to Chad Timmerman, handsome hunk but faithless husband, had lasted all of two years, including the divorce process.
Reggie Lee nodded, his full cheeks turning ruddy. Cathy suspected he had a bit of a crush on her, as was also the case with Laurel, Julia and perhaps even Faith. She’d seen Reggie Lee watching Faith with an absorbed expression.
The handyman was far too shy to be overt toward the opposite sex. He ducked his head when addressing her, avoiding eye contact. “You coming to the café, Mrs. Timmerman?”
Cathy stepped under a white canvas awning and opened the door to Laurel’s store, Couturier, which was as high style as Quimby got. “Not today, Reggie Lee. But I’ll see you around.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Allie was tugging on Cathy’s arm before she’d even made it over the threshold into the elegant store. “Come on, chickie. We’ve been waiting for you. There’s lots and lots to do.”
“Well, gee, thanks,” Cathy said with dry amusement.
Allie chuckled. “Cripes, Cath. You know what I mean.”
“Sure. I know.” She pressed a hand to her tie-dyed head scarf, feeling at odds with Couturier’s many mirrored surfaces and its refined decor of monochromatic pewter accented by touches of glossy black. “I’m…ready.” The makeover was dreaded, but necessary. Part of her even wanted it. For Zack.
“Ewww.” Laurel came out of the back room with puckered lips and an armful of garments. “You must take that rag off your head, Cathy. It’s so very sixties. And the blouse…how ethnic.” She shuddered. “That won’t do.”
Cathy dragged off the scarf and shook out her hair. “What’s wrong with ethnic?” Her closet was filled with imported clothing. The pieces she’d collected were inexpensive, colorful, unique and easy to wear. No binding straps, formfitting skirts or low-cut necklines to worry about.
“Since this is a makeover, I’ll be straight with you.” Laurel’s smile made a token apology. “First of all, you couldn’t seduce a marine fresh off the ship in that gunnysack.”
Cathy tucked her hands into the roomy pockets of the plain dress and turned to examine it in a triple mirror. The ticking pinafore was both comfortable and suitable for her work; she’d paired it with a red cotton embroidered blouse from Mexico. It looked okay to her. But Laurel knew fashion, and she certainly knew what attracted men.
“This one will bring out the blue in your eyes.” Laurel held up a periwinkle slip dress. It dangled from a hanger on skinny straps, shimmering in the artfully arranged lights that beamed from brushed steel fixtures overhead, spilling in subtle pools here and there on the plush gray carpeting.
Cathy gulped. “But there’s nothing to that dress.”
Laurel’s lips curved. “Exactly.”
Allie was looking at Cathy’s chunky sandals. “You’ll need heels.”
“I can’t walk in heels.”
“Oh, great.” Laurel rolled her eyes an instant before she turned her face aside.
“I know.” Ignoring her scraped pride, Cathy took off her glasses and squinted. The details of her reflection were becomingly blurred. “I’m a major project.” As much as the prospect of lipstick and heels and daring hemlines dismayed her, she didn’t ask the women to quit. A psychologically interesting development. Perhaps now that she’d accomplished a career switch, she was ready to change her appearance as well…?
“Add contacts to the to-do list,” Laurel said.
“I have contacts. They make my eyes itch and water.”
“You can do this, Cathy.” Allie was encouraging while she searched her purse for the list they’d started at the calligraphy class. “We can do this.”
Julia and Faith arrived, both on their lunch hour. Gwen was peeved that she couldn’t get free from her job at the post office and was missing all the makeover fun.
Faith seated herself on an unobtrusive brushed aluminum chair and opened her neat little brown-bag lunch. Julia flipped through the garments, munching on a juicy apple, ignoring Laurel’s murmurs and fluttering hands.
“Whew. Hot tamale.” Broodingly, Julia admired a slinky, strapless dress in a deep shade of brick-red. When her gaze turned toward Cathy, she frowned. “You know, it occurs to me…” She glanced at the other women. “Sure, we can glam Cathy up like a living doll, but how will that make her different from every other girl Zack has already had?”
Julia pitched the apple core and wiped her hands on the piece of silver wrapping tissue Laurel hastily provided. “I’m thinking this seduction has to be as emotional as it is physical.”
Laurel narrowed her eyes. “And how does one accomplish that?”
“With a provocative brain tease, not slam-bang, bam-between-the-eyes lust.”
Apprehension nibbled at Cathy’s composure. Each glimpse of Zack, in photographs or in person, had been like a kick in the gut. Was that lust or was that more?
“Nothing too obvious,” Julia continued. “Heartbreak shouldn’t know he’s being played.”
Cathy winced over the previous evening. Prancing around naked definitely fit under the “obvious” category.
“These clothes are subtle,” Laurel said, miffed. “I’m not offering peekaboo bras and crotchless panties.”
“Yes, of course. But clothes are beside the point.” Julia advanced on Cathy, watching as her face colored with discomfiture. “Oh, Cath. You’re so innocent. We need to play up that sexy, who-me? quality of yours.”
Cathy caught at her lower lip. “I didn’t know I had one.”
“Exactly.” Julia took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. “You’ve been hiding your light under the proverbial bushel up to now. Let yourself shine. Use your smarts, your smile. The genuine you will get Zack’s attention, not the fancy frills. All we need to do is set the proper stage.”
Julia’s words worked a transformation on Cathy. She drew a deep breath, lifted her chin. She was strong, she reminded herself. She was smart. As for sexy…well, she could always fake that.
Because she was woman. Incomparable, undeniable, phenomenal woman.
You can do this, she told her reflection, momentarily entranced by the lift of her amused smile, the slant of her chin. The gleam in her squinting eyes. Zack’s worth the effort. And the potential humiliation.
“Yes.” Julia gave her a squeeze. “Go for it.”
Faith goggled, a bitten tuna sandwich suspended halfway to her mouth.
Allie said, “Wow,” and dove her head into her purse.
“But remember, this is only a make-believe seduction,” warned Laurel, her airy tone edged in ice. She held up a pair of tweezers like forceps. “The purpose is to give Heartbreak a taste of his own medicine.”
“Of course,” Cathy murmured, scarcely listening.
Though Julia lifted a discerning brow, she didn’t say a word.
