Tempt (Cloverleigh Farms Next Generation Book 4)
Tempt: Chapter 16

After saying goodbye to Dex, I decided to go in to work, even though I usually took Mondays off. I didn’t want to face my empty, silent house, even though I usually cherished a chilly fall afternoon curled up with a cup of tea and a book or a few episodes of Antiques Roadshow. But even that didn’t sound appealing.

Sitting at my desk, listless and unmotivated, I was staring out the window at a bleak gray sky when Felicity texted.

Did you see the rings???

Rather than text back, I called her.

“Well?” she answered breathlessly. “How did it go? What did they look like? Did he buy one?”

I had to laugh. “It went great. They were all stunning, and yes, he bought one. The perfect one.”

“What does it look like?”

I described it. “He’s going to propose Christmas morning. The girls are going to help.”

“I’m so excited for her. For all of them!”

“Me too.”

“You okay? You sound sort of down.”

“I’m fine.” I tried to perk up my voice. “Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“You could. But you probably don’t need to.”

“So it’s still going on? He’s still here?”

“No, he’s gone. He flew back to San Diego this morning.” I glanced out the window again.

“Oh. Well, that’s probably best.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, I should go, I’m at work and I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do.”

“Oh, sorry! I thought you had today off. In fact, I was going to tell you that Hutton said to come over any time if you want help with a business plan. He was serious when he offered to help you out.”

“Thank you. I’m definitely going to take him up on it.”

After hanging up, I tackled some chores I’d been avoiding—I cleared out my inbox, reorganized my desk, cleaned the windows, dusted the furniture, and rearranged my bookshelves. When my stomach began to growl, I ordered some lunch and ate it while I scrolled through websites of wedding gown designers on my laptop. Looking at them restored some of my enthusiasm.

When I was finished, I saw that I’d missed a phone call from a downstate area code, but the caller had left a message. I figured it must be the owner of the bridal salon I’d reached out to yesterday, and quickly accessed my voicemail to listen.

“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “This is Alison Obermeyer from Bellissima Bridal returning your call. I’d be happy to chat with you about my business, and I’m available until five p.m. today. If that doesn’t work, I do have some mornings open this week. And if you’re in the area, feel free to pop in! Hope to talk soon.”

I returned her call, and she was so friendly and forthcoming with information, I found my spirits lifting even more.

“Best thing I ever did,” she said about leaving her job as an administrative assistant and opening the shop. “After my disappointing experience trying to replace a wedding dress as a plus-sized woman, all I wanted to do was make sure no one ever felt that way again. Every bride deserves to feel beautiful, and I love that I get to play a role in that.”

“That’s what I want to do too,” I said. I told her about my background and my career, and about conversations I’d had with local brides who had struggled to replace a dress that showed off everything they loved about their bodies. “Shopping for regular clothes is hard enough, not to mention dealing with critical mothers or fat-shaming doctors or tiny airplane seats or any of the other ways bigger women can be made to feel bad about their bodies. Finding the perfect wedding dress should make a woman feel celebrated, not humiliated.”

“Exactly,” said Alison. “And I know we’ve only been talking for thirty minutes and I already forgot your last name, but I think you should go for it—open that shop. I’m here to answer any questions and give advice if I can.”

I laughed. “Thank you so much. I’d love to come see your salon.”

“Please do! We’re open Tuesday through Saturday, but if a Sunday or Monday is best for you, just let me know. I’m usually there on my off days too.”

“I’m going to check my schedule and see what this week looks like,” I said. “I’m so excited, I’d like to come down right away.”

Alison laughed. “Do it. Sometimes a dream won’t wait.”

After rearranging a few meetings, I booked a hotel room in Detroit for Wednesday night and made the drive down that afternoon. I met a friend from college for dinner in Corktown and went back to my room around nine, got ready for bed, and slid between the sheets. I’d just turned on my Kindle when my phone vibrated with a text.

I glanced at it and gasped—it was a message from Zach.

Guess what I’m doing?

My heart hammered as I picked up my phone and studied it. There had been no word from him since he’d left my house Monday morning. Not that I’d expected him to reach out—in fact, I sort of figured he wouldn’t. I almost hoped he wouldn’t. How else was I going to get him out of my head?

But I replied to his text.

What?

Watching Antiques Roadshow.

I laughed out loud as I typed.

Really?

My phone hummed. He was calling me.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I considered not taking the call, but then decided I would. We could practice being friends.

“I thought you deleted my number,” I said instead of hello.

“I did. Turns out, you can undo that move.” He sounded all stuffed up.

“Uh oh. Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just a cold. Probably picked it up on the plane home—the guy next to me was coughing the entire flight. Hang on.” He sneezed three times in a row. Loud.

I laughed. “You sound demonic when you sneeze.”

“I know.” He blew his nose. “Jackson sent me home from work because he couldn’t stand the racket.”

“Awww. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just bored. I hate sitting still.”

“So you decided to try a little Antiques Roadshow?”

“I was channel surfing and came across it. I thought of you.”

“And?”

“And now I can’t turn it off. This lady found the creepiest fucking doll I’ve ever seen in some dilapidated barn on her family’s property. This doll literally looks like it’s about to murder you. Turns out it’s from 1880, and it’s worth like twelve grand.”

“Haha! Told you!”

“The guy before her had this helmet worn by his great uncle, a Naval officer during World War II who was in charge at Utah Beach on D-Day. He saw it on a table when he was a kid at his grandma’s house. She was using it as a flowerpot.”

“Stop it.”

“It had dirt in it!”

“What did it turn out to be worth?”

“Forty grand.”

I gasped. “Wow. Really?”

“Oh, yeah. D-Day stuff is always valuable.”

“Are you into military history?”

“A little. I like the World War II stuff. When I was a kid, my grandpa would tell me about when he was in the Navy at that time. He wasn’t at Normandy or anything, but he still had good stories.”

“Did you write them down?”

“No. But I should.”

“You definitely should! Before you forget them.”

“Because I’m so old?”

I laughed. “Exactly. Soon you’ll be senile, and you won’t even remember your name.”

“But I’ll remember you.”

My face warmed. “Thank you.”

“So how are you?”

“Good. I’m in Detroit, actually.”

“Oh yeah? What are you doing there?”

Settling down a little deeper beneath the covers, I told him about my phone conversation with Alison Obermeyer and the invitation to visit her shop. “I’m meeting her there at eight before it opens,” I said.

“Are you excited?”

“Yes. I have this feeling that my life is about to change,” I confessed. “It’s this feeling in my belly—like when you’re coming down on the Ferris wheel but your stomach stayed up at the top.”

“Is it a good feeling? Do you want your life to change?”

“I think so. Yes.” I plucked at a loose thread in the comforter. “I’m happy with my life now, but I think I’ve gotten into a bit of a rut. And to get out of it, I need to make a conscious effort to dream bigger and go for things.”

“I agree. Trust your gut and be brave.” He sneezed twice in a row, and I made a sympathetic sound.

“You poor thing. If I was your neighbor, I’d bring you some chicken noodle soup.”

“That sounds good. You know how to cook?”

“I know my way around the kitchen,” I said. “I’m not as good as Frannie, my stepmom, or my sister Felicity, but I enjoy it. And I love making soup on cold days—chicken noodle, pumpkin, minestrone . . .”

He groaned. “I wish you were my neighbor too. All that sounds delicious.”

“Do you cook?”

“Depends how you define ‘cook.’ I’m very good at the microwave. I know what all the buttons are.”

I laughed. “How about pots and pans? Own any of those?”

“I think I lost them in the divorce. My best real food-related skill is ordering takeout. I think that’s what I’ll do tonight.”

“What will you order?”

“You made me want chicken noodle soup. I’ll try to replace some. Although I’m sure it won’t taste as good as yours.” He blew his nose again.

“Maybe not, but it will be good for you. Got any ginger tea?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing. “You should drink some ginger tea with honey.”

“I’m fresh out of ginger tea. And honey.”

I sighed. “Fine. But make sure you’re hydrating.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And get enough sleep! You won’t get better without rest.”

“You were more fun in person. I’m starting to regret calling you.”

I giggled. “I’m going to bed, but I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

He coughed. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.” I ended the call and touched my phone to my chin.

It was definitely easier to be friends with him when he wasn’t right next to me. And that cold sounded awful.

But I still wished he was here.

“So how did it go?” Winnie asked. I had her on speaker as I headed north on I-75.

“It was fantastic!” I was bubbling over with excitement. “Her shop is so beautiful, and she’s such a cool person. I loved her.”

“That’s awesome! So did you decide?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “It makes my stomach all jittery to say it out loud, but after talking to her, I’m more convinced than ever that this is what I should do.”

Winnie squealed. “So what next?”

“Several things. I want to reach out to all the designers who are sending dresses and veils for the March show and tell them what I’m doing. Hopefully, they’ll all want to be stocked in my salon.”

“I’m sure they will!”

“I need to look for a space.”

“Frannie said she knows a commercial realtor, remember?”

“She’s my next call.” I took a deep breath. “And then I need to let Aunt Chloe know I’m leaving. Were you serious about taking over for me?”

“Yes, but I’ll need to give notice at Abelard, and I don’t want to do that until we know for sure Chloe would be on board with hiring me. She might have someone else in mind for the job.”

“Are you kidding? She’d never hire someone else if you wanted that position. You’re amazing at what you do, and you’re family.”

“Still, you approach her and let me know. She’s the boss.”

“I’ll talk to her right away,” I promised.

We hung up, and I placed the call to Frannie, who said she would contact the real estate agent right away. But first she wanted to hear all about how the visit to Bellissima Bridal had gone. I told her everything I’d just told Winnie, with even more exuberance.

“Oh Mills, that’s wonderful. I’m so excited for you.”

“Thanks. I really feel this in my bones—it’s the right move for me.”

“I think so too.”

“I’m nervous about talking to Chloe, though,” I admitted.

“Don’t be. Chloe will understand following your passion, believe me. Go see her tomorrow.”

“Gah, that makes me so nervous. You don’t think I should wait until I have some things in place first?”

“I think the sooner you tell her, the better, both for her sake and yours—this is going to make it feel more real.”

“You’re right. I’m just scared.”

“Of course you are. But you’re brave too. And you’ve got all our support.”

After we hung up, I began mentally sorting through all the tasks I’d have to complete in order to get a new business going. In addition to replaceing the perfect physical space and all the renovations that would be necessary, there was the matter of writing up a business plan and bank account, licensing and registration with the county and state, setting up vendor accounts, outfitting the shop with display spaces and mirrors and seating. Plus computer hardware and software—there were plenty of unsexy things about this business I’d have to deal with.

I needed to hire employees, first and foremost a talented seamstress. I had some talent and experience, but not with wedding gowns—and there was no room for error with those dresses. Alterations had to be perfect.

And money . . . I remembered Hutton’s offer to help me with a loan and a business plan. Then there was marketing and promotion. I’d have to get the word out about my shop—the ideal time would be at the fashion show. Would I be open by then? I needed a website and social media.

What was I even going to call this shop?

As exhilarated as I was, I also felt overwhelmed. I decided to drive straight to Hutton and Felicity’s house—Winnie’s unbridled enthusiasm was wonderful, but I needed some voices of reason in my head too. Both Hutton and Felicity had experience running their own businesses, and they were good with practical details and problem-solving.

It was dark when I pulled up, but I saw lights on in their house. I shot Felicity a quick text.

Hey. You guys home tonight?

Yes. What’s up?

I need business plan help. I’m in your driveway. Can I come in?

LOL of course

Grabbing my shoulder bag off the passenger seat, I hurried to their front door. Felicity pulled it open before I could knock. “Hey! Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I inhaled the savory aroma of whatever they’d had for dinner. “God, that smells good.”

“Eggplant lasagna! You want some? We just finished eating, but there’s plenty left over.”

“That sounds fantastic, thanks.”

“Hutton is at the table.” She shut the door behind me. “Go sit and I’ll bring you a plate.”

Two-and-a-half hours later, I left with twelve pages of handwritten notes for my business plan, assurance from Hutton that he would be glad to loan me start-up money once I had certain things in place, and a light-bellied feeling that was equal parts motivation and fear. Starting a business was not for the faint of heart.

Late that night I was lying in bed, wide awake and wondering if I should just stay where I was. I liked my job. I was good at it. Did I want to risk so much for a dream?

Sighing, I grabbed my phone and checked the time—after midnight. Normally I was fast asleep by now. Should I doom scroll? Or read? Get up and make some chamomile tea?

Tea reminded me of Zach, and I wondered if he felt any better today. I recalled promising him I’d check in and realized I hadn’t done it.

Hey. You feeling any better?

His reply was quick.

A little. How was your day? Want to call and tell me about it?

I hesitated for a half-second, then remembered how nicely we’d behaved last night. We’d proven we could be trusted, even if I wasn’t over my crush on him. I dialed his number.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice still gravelly.

I smiled. “Hi. How are you?”

“I’m okay.” He coughed.

“You don’t sound okay.”

“Yeah, this stupid thing moved into my chest. But let’s talk about you. It went well today?”

“Yes.” I told him all about the meeting with Alison, how inspired I’d been touring her shop, how many ideas I’d gotten for what I could do to make my salon my own, and the business plan I’d created with Hutton.

“Who’s Hutton again?”

“My sister Felicity’s husband.”

“She’s the middle sister?”

“Yes. And they were best friends in high school but never dated until this summer.” I laughed. “It’s actually a great story.” I recounted it while he listened, occasionally laughing or coughing. “And they tied the knot at Cloverleigh Farms just a few weeks later,” I finished.

“Wow,” he said. “And he’s a billionaire?”

“Yes, but don’t ask me what he does exactly. It involves the words math, algorithm, and cryptocurrency. I’ve never understood it and whenever someone tries to explain it, I zone out.”

Zach laughed. “I probably would too. Although I always liked math.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Definitely my best subject at school. Not that I ever did much homework, but I was a good test-taker.”

“Interesting.”

“What about you? What was your best subject?”

“I liked English and history. I was a fast reader, which helped because until I quit dance, I didn’t have a lot of time for homework.”

“You mentioned you were serious about dance once before. Was it hard to quit?”

“So hard,” I said. “I agonized over it.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. But it was the right decision for me. Once I got over feeling like a failure, I realized I was much happier. That’s when I took up sewing and got really interested in fashion design.”

“You can sew too?”

“Yes. I make a lot of my own clothes.”

“You’re a woman of many talents, Millie MacAllister. Some of them I can talk about, and some of them I can’t.” He sneezed.

I giggled. “Bless you. Did you get your soup last night?”

“I did.”

“How about the tea?”

“Ah . . . I failed at tea.”

“Do you have any aromatherapy candles?”

He laughed, which made the coughing worse.

I sighed. “I’ll take that as a no. Just make sure you keep drinking liquids and getting enough sleep.”

“Thanks,” he said when he could talk again. “Speaking of which, isn’t it late for you?”

“It is. I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I think I’m nervous about this business thing. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“What does your gut say?”

“That it’s right.”

“Then it is. You’ve got good instincts, Millie MacAllister. Trust them.”

I smiled. “I appreciate that.”

“And keep me posted.”

“Okay. I hope you feel better. Drink some tea!”

He laughed, and the sound warmed my body. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” I set my phone back on the charger and rolled over, pulling the blankets up to my shoulders.

I remembered falling asleep with his arms around me and waking up in the cozy warmth of his embrace. I thought about his voice, sometimes deep and serious, sometimes quiet and confessional, sometimes teasing and playful. I breathed in, hoping for a trace of his smell, but smelled only fabric softener and remembered I’d washed the sheets.

If only the feelings I had for him would fade as easily as his scent.

Instead, it felt like they were growing stronger.

The following morning at work, I spoke on the phone with the commercial real estate agent Frannie knew, a woman named Maxima Radley. The name sounded vaguely familiar, and Frannie said that was because it was Maxima who helped her start her own bakery years ago. I loved that, and so did Maxima.

“This is fate,” she said after I told her what I was looking for. “I’m going to replace you the perfect spot. I already have one in mind.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It’s an address right on Front Street. It’s a historic building with a ton of charm. It was originally a hatmaker’s—a millinery—but more recently it was a gift shop.”

“I think I know the one you mean,” I said, recalling the vacant storefront from my last few visits downtown. “Front Street would be perfect. But that’s probably pretty high rent.”

“Well, it’s not a huge place,” said Maxima. “In fact, you’d probably only have room for a couple dressing rooms, assuming you need a large mirrored area for fittings.”

“I would.”

“And there wouldn’t be a ton of room for racks or anything.”

“I can use rolling racks if needed,” I said, recalling what Alison had said about making the most of space. “And when I start out, I won’t have a ton of inventory.”

“Let’s just go see it. It has a lot of the things you’re looking for—high ceilings, tall front windows, exposed brick walls, and the location is excellent.”

“Okay,” I said. “It does sound amazing.”

“I’ll be honest and say it does need some work. But that might keep the rent down. I’ll contact the building owner and a few others and get back to you with possible appointment times.”

“Sounds good, Maxima. Thank you.”

After we hung up, I mustered my courage and sent an email to Chloe, asking her if she had any time to chat with me today. Before hitting send, I chewed my thumbnail for a moment. For some reason, this one thing felt like my biggest step so far—it meant actually leaving something behind. Once I left Cloverleigh Farms, I couldn’t turn back.

Then I remembered Alison’s words: Sometimes a dream won’t wait.

I hit send.

Chloe’s grin appeared before I even finished my prepared opening. “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “This is an amazing idea and you have to do it.”

“Really?” I was on the edge of my seat. “You’re not upset?”

“Of course not! Yes, you’re an outstanding event planner and I love having you at Cloverleigh Farms, but you’re family too! I want what’s best for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, relaxing into the chair across from her desk and placing a hand on my chest. “I was so worried about upending things around here.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be silly. You said Winnie might be interested in the job?”

“She definitely is. If you’re up for hiring her, she would leave Abelard. She said she could do it on good terms.”

“The position here is hers if she wants it,” Chloe said. “Just have her give me a call. Do you have any idea about a timeline?”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “I’m at the very beginning of this process.”

“We’ll make it all work.” She smiled again. “I love this for you. I really do.”

Back in my office, I closed the door, leaned against it, and allowed myself a little fist pump of triumph. Obviously there was a long road ahead, but I felt like I was on my way. I still had work to do here, though, starting with a wedding rehearsal this evening.

I decided to make myself a quick cup of tea in the kitchen before going over all the details one last time, and while I was waiting for the water to heat up, I got an idea that made me smile all over again.