Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

17

Isabel

Iwork longer than usual at the bakery again today. Trevor, Tina’s son, has a fever, so I’m covering the dining room and pitching in with the baking when I can.

It’s almost two o’clock, and I still have to do a dress fitting for Natalie and work a shift at the bar. I love helping these people out. They’re so sweet and generous. But I also need time to figure out what’s next for me.

When the last customer leaves and I lock the door after him, I sigh, turn, and slump against the door.

“We don’t have to do the fitting today,” Natalie says, putting pans in the industrial-size sink. “It’s been busy, and we’re shorthanded. That always makes the day long.”

“Oh, but I really want to.”

I move into the kitchen and start on the dishes while she cleans counters and ovens and puts equipment and supplies away. Blake finished up local deliveries around noon, and Natalie sent her mom home around the same time, or they would have fought over Betsy wanting to do more than her injured arm should.

Apparently, her original café, right in this very spot, burned down some time ago, and she received second- and third-degree burns in the process. She’s recovering well and has quite good range of motion, but it’s clear she would run herself into the ground to help Natalie.

“It’s like my reward,” I tell her. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m two-hundred-percent sure.”

We finish up the work, and I send Natalie to change into the dress. When she comes out, I have her stand on a stool. I pull out my measuring tape, pins, notebook, and fabric marking pen and get to work marking the dress with the changes we agreed on and jotting notes about the alterations.

“I’m getting the lace tomorrow,” I tell her. “I’ll bring it in to make sure it’s what you want.”

“You’re such a natural at this. Your sketches are just gorgeous. Can I get copies of the ones you made for this? I’d love to frame them.”

I smirk. “Really? You can have the originals if you like them that much.”

“You really don’t realize how talented you are, do you?”

I’m confused and uncomfortable. Am I talented? Based on the last five years of my life, I’d have to say a resounding no. I guess being a small fish trying to make my way in an ocean of sharks has made me forget all about any talent I may once have had. I can see how comparing myself to others for the last ten years—and always coming up short—has seriously damaged my self-esteem.

Maybe that’s how Aiden slipped past my defenses. He made me believe in my abilities again. But it wasn’t real. I’m beginning to wonder if anything in life is real.

“I guess I’ve been living in a jungle of competition for too long,” I tell her. “It’s impossible not to compare myself to other designers when we’re all competing for a few select opportunities. This is probably my favorite part of the process. Well, no, I also love sewing and watching something from my mind become reality. And, yeah, I love dressing models and taking pictures.” I laugh at myself. “So, I guess I love all of it.”

“That’s the same way I feel about baking.”

I kneel and place pins for a hem all around the bottom, tapering it into the train. I can’t get over the gorgeous buttons all down the back of the dress and the train. Such a simple but powerful design statement. “Damn, these buttons make my eyes glitter.”

“Right? They’re so…”

“Romantic.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Romantic.”

A few beats of silence pass, and I’m struck at how comfortable I feel with this woman I met such a short time ago. In fact, everything about Hood River feels good to me, and that’s not just my night with Logan talking either.

“So what do you think of Logan now?” Natalie asks. “Cole told me you two had a thing in high school.”

“He’s exaggerating. We were friends, and we made a pact to not go off to college virgins. That’s it. Seriously.”

“Oh,” she sounds disappointed. “That’s too bad. He deserves a good woman in his life.”

“What happened with Emily? There seems to be bad blood between them.”

“She fucked with his head. It was really—wrong.”

I stay quiet, hoping she’ll say more. I stand and start tucking the shoulders and the bodice to pin an outline of the new neckline.

“She was getting serious about him, but he wasn’t serious about her, so he broke it off. When she couldn’t beg him back, she told him she was pregnant.”

My hands freeze; my gaze darts to Natalie’s. “Oh, jeez.”

“Logan was pretty wigged out about it at first. Mostly because he didn’t want to be tied to Emily. But he came around to the idea of being a dad pretty fast. Was even excited about it.”

I continue pinning and adjusting. “What happened?”

“Turns out she was lying.”

“What?” I’m incensed for Logan. “Who lies about that? A kid between two people doesn’t keep them together.”

“Exactly what I thought. I’m the one who overheard the truth in the bathroom at a fundraiser.” Natalie grins. “Evidently, Logan’s amazing in bed.”

My brain explodes with mental images from last night. His hands in my hair, his gaze locked on mine because he loved watching me climax. His muscular body glowing with sweat, his muscles rippling. The sex wasn’t just sex. It was an event. An all-inclusive, no-holds-barred, VIP, luxurious, unforgettable event.

“So how long do we have you before you head back to all the lights and glamour?” Natalie asks.

That fake persona keeps coming back to slap me in the face. The longer I’m here, the more fake I feel, and my heart sinks a little.

“Oh, I don’t know. The break has been nice, but I need to get back to real life. I haven’t heard anything from the jobs I applied for in LA and San Francisco, but I’ll spread a wider net, see if I can get any bites.”

I’m uncomfortable with the topic so I change it. “Now that I have a reason to get my sewing machine out, I may replenish my Etsy inventory to keep myself busy until the right job comes along.”

“You have an Etsy store? What do you sell?”

“Boho workout clothes, a few dresses, tops, bags, whatever strikes my fancy, really.”

“Like a clothing line?” Natalie asks, her face bright.

I laugh. “It’s more of a way to keep idle hands busy, and a little fun cash doesn’t hurt.”

Fun, as in putting-food-in-my-belly fun. It’s also work from my heart. Designs that are fun and frivolous and not meant to impress anyone except the buyer.

Now that I have my sewing machine out and set up, I’ll unpack some of my fabric and play a little. It’s only a fraction of the fabric I had in New York. When I could, I picked up leftovers from whatever company I was working for at the time, crashed industry wholesale events, even pulled a few bolts from the trash.

It killed me to throw most of it out, but I didn’t have time to try to sell it or the room to bring it with me. Eviction is like that, and the New York City Marshals weren’t exactly sympathetic. I don’t blame them; they handle all the evictions throughout the city. I’m sure they’ve heard every sob story known to man and then some.

“Do you have the pieces with you?” Natalie asks. “Or are they back in New York?”

I’ve got absolutely nothing back in New York. “With me.”

“It would be fun to have one of those rep sales parties at someone’s house. Like Tupperware or Magic Chef, where you invite people over, hang out, eat, drink, talk, and shop.” She shrugs. “Just a thought. You’ve been working so hard for everyone else while you’ve been here, it would be nice for us to do something for you.”

I can’t think of a time over the last five years when someone did something for me just because. “That’s so sweet.”

“I mean, I know a designer at your level doesn’t need to do a small-town sale like this, and I imagine your designs are expensive, but there’s quite a bit of sleepy money around here. It would be a great way for you to meet people too.”

Do I want to meet more people? I know I said I did when I first got here, but I’m doing my damnedest to keep my past in the past, and meeting new people puts me in a really bad place where I have to either lie to keep the persona going or fess up to all the years of lying.

Coming here hasn’t turned out to be much of a sanctuary after all.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie says. “It was just a suggestion. We don’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay. The truth is I’m at a crossroads. The fashion industry… It’s not what I thought it would be. When I was in school, it seemed so glamorous, you know? Beautiful people, bright lights, accolades, validation. Later, I discovered it’s also one hell of a lot of work, which is fine, I was on board for that. But I also realized the industry is only glittery on the outside. On the inside…” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Gritty is the best way I can describe it.”

“I could imagine. I was in culinary college when Evan hurt his back. I quit to take care of him. I wasn’t there very long, but I saw both sides of it—the competition was fierce, the hours long and unrelenting. To be honest, the kitchen felt more like a battlefield. And you make shit for money.”

Wow, someone who really gets it. “Exactly.”

“I’m so much happier running my own place, but it really is a lot of work. After I finish here, I go home and plan out marketing with Tina. At night, I usually brainstorm new ideas and recipes. I work twice as much as I would at a regular job, but that doesn’t seem as unbearable when you’re working for yourself.”

“I’ve never considered working for myself. I mean, you can’t launch a line of clothes without investors unless you’re independently wealthy, so there’s that.”

“Isn’t what you already have, the beginnings of a line?” While I’m trying to form an answer, she adds, “And do you have to launch an entire line to be happy or feel successful? You could always skip an investor and grow slowly over time. I’m just throwing out options. Sometimes we get so caught up in that grind, we forget to stop and adjust our navigation. Maybe this is the perfect time and place to reevaluate. Take a few months, see what you miss and don’t miss. When you’re not in a meat grinder, you have time to think, make better decisions. But I also don’t know the problems you’d face reentering the profession if you took time off, so I’m certainly no expert.”

“I’m grateful for the suggestions.” I smile at her. “You’re all done. You can change.”

She steps off the stool. “Even if you’re not looking to make those kinds of changes in your life, a home party would be a great way to get a little cash and let your hair down.”

“Thank you. Yeah, let’s do it.”