Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace

Smooth as Silk

by Alicia Hunter Pace

Thanksgiving Eve

One of the best things about living in the American South was that you could eat ice cream in November. Not that it was banned in the Highlands of Scotland, in Switzerland, where Robbie had gone to prep school, or in New England, where he’d played junior and college hockey. You just wouldn’t be as inclined.

“Best one yet.” He raised his towering cone of mocha praline fudge and smiled at Constance, the owner of Double Scoop.

“That’s what you say every day.”

“Not every day.” He licked his cone and headed for the door.

“Near enough.” Constance laughed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

He was probably eating too much ice cream, if there was any such thing. Double Scoop made their own and had new flavors every week. The cheery little bell chimed behind him as he stepped out onto Main Street. The Laurel Springs shopping district didn’t look too different from his village in Scotland—pretty little storefronts with harvest decorations on the sidewalks.

The other thing he liked about the American South was Southern women. Really, he liked all women, but there was something intriguing about how Southern women wore pearls with blue jeans, drank straight bourbon, and put their initials on everything they owned.

And the sunglasses. Never had he known women who had sunglasses appear like magic in their hands the second they put foot to threshold. Maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was more like those claws that shot out of Wolverine’s hands when he needed to fight, except these women were only fighting the sun.

He hadn’t had much female company of late—at least not like he’d had when he was in Nashville. He’d left the Nashville Sound for the new Birmingham, Alabama, team when his best friend, Jake, had, figuring they’d continue on as they had before—keeping company with charming companions, exploring bars, and shutting down parties.

It hadn’t turned out that way.

First off, Jake had, for reasons Robbie still wasn’t all that clear about, decided he was tired of his partying ways. Then, before the season started, the head coach had been fired for sexual harassment, and Nickolai Glazov, the acting head coach, had threatened Robbie with benching if his bad boy ways showed up on the pro hockey gossip blog The Face Off Grapevine. Even if those things hadn’t happened, nightlife wasn’t exactly hopping here. The Yellowhammers’ practice rink and offices had been built in this little outlying village rather than in the thick of downtown Birmingham, and most everyone connected with the Yellowhammer organization had settled here because it was more convenient.

And now Jake had started keeping steady company with his childhood pal Evans—and he was fair besotted, too, from the looks of things. Sure, Robbie could have scared up some excitement if he’d wanted to, but it was too much trouble. He’d lost his running buddy and, after skating and working out, he never felt inclined to drive all the way downtown to hunt a good time that was likely to get him in trouble anyway.

So he was bored.

Apart from some right fine victories on the ice, the most fun he’d had lately was playing piano at the bridal shop for the Laurel Springs Fall Festival last month right before Halloween—even if Hyacinth had gotten her dander up at him. Or maybe that had been part of the fun. He hadn’t seen her since that night and wondered if she’d gotten over it yet.

Her shop was just up ahead. Maybe he’d pay her a little visit, see if she was still all wound up. He didn’t have anything else to do. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving and Glaz had called practice off this afternoon to give a head start on the holiday, since they had to report back midday on Friday. Hockey didn’t pay much mind to Thanksgiving and the Yellowhammers had a game Saturday afternoon.

He crossed the street right in the middle. You could jaywalk in Laurel Springs without getting run over.

The window of Trousseau could use a little work. There were two headless mannequins wearing wedding dresses, and that was the first problem. He hated headless bodies—they gave him the heebie-jeebies. The pumpkins and leaves were okay for this time of year, but Hyacinth needed something that would catch the eye, like blinking lights or an animated scarecrow. Maybe a turkey or two, though he could never understand why Americans decorated with the thing they were going to kill and eat. Santa Claus had better be on guard. Cannibalism might break out anytime.

Speaking of the right jolly old elf... If Robbie put his mind to it, he could think of some really good window decorations for Christmas—silver trees, twinkling stars, and maybe a snowman or some unicorns with flashing horns. People loved unicorns these days. His little nieces fancied them above all else.

Some motion beyond the display caught his eye. What on God’s green earth was that and why was Hyacinth allowing it?

There was a woman on a little platform in front of a three-way mirror. Hyacinth and Brad—who’d kept Robbie in water the night of the festival—were hovering around. Hyacinth had a Professor McGonagall look going, all dressed in black, with a tight little bun—but that wasn’t what horrified Robbie. It was the bride.

That dress absolutely did not belong on that woman.

Robbie knew everything about weddings that was worth knowing, and not only because he’d been involved in his sisters’ weddings—six so far, and two to go. He’d seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of brides and he’d never encountered one in such a train wreck of a frock.

She was wearing a straight dress with a dropped waist that was meant for a tall, very thin woman with not much up top or in the bum area. This bride had a lovely hourglass figure with a small waist that was made for a ball gown. Now that he thought about it, her shape wasn’t so different from Hyacinth’s. Hyacinth had to know this dress was all wrong, so why had she allowed the bride to try it on? Hyacinth smoothed the skirt, smiled, and said something to the bride when she ought to be hauling her back to the dressing room and getting her out of that dress. If his granny were here, she’d march right in there and tell Hyacinth that she was about to ruin this poor woman’s wedding day.

Holy Family and all the wise men! Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, Brad settled a jeweled band with feathers coming off it around the lass’s head. It suited the dress but, given that the dress didn’t suit the woman, they had no business encouraging her with that little bit of frippery. If somebody didn’t put a stop to this, Hyacinth was going to run herself out of business.

He had to go in there. It was his duty as a wedding authority and citizen of the universe.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try a ball gown? Or an empire? Both would be so lovely on you,” Hyacinth said to Daisy Dubois, who identified with Daisy Buchanan and was set on having a Gatsby-themed wedding but did not have the body for this dress. So far, Daisy had ignored Hyacinth’s subtle suggestions.

Lois, mother of the bride, bit her lip and looked at the floor, probably wishing she’d never named her daughter Daisy. The four bridesmaids lined up on the sofa were no more enchanted with the dress than Lois. This had been going on so long that they had gone from sneaking peeks at their phones to blatantly scrolling and texting while they knocked back the cheap champagne that Hyacinth served.

There was no chance any of them were going to be honest with Daisy. Hyacinth had been down this road enough times to know that there were two kinds of bridal posses: the overly vocal and critical ones, and the ones who made the consultant be the bad guy. This bunch was firmly in the latter category. Hyacinth would be the bad guy if it came to that, but everyone would be happier if Daisy wised up on her own.

Daisy turned and pulled at the fabric around her hips. “Is it too small? It doesn’t feel right.”

Hyacinth pretended to study the dress and waited a few beats to say what she already knew. “Not too small. A larger size would swallow your shoulders and waist. This is just the nature of a column dress.” Altering wouldn’t fix the problem. “Let’s try something with a flared skirt.” She had already pulled a half-dozen dresses that would be a dream on Daisy. “Maybe a trumpet?”

“Would it have the Gatsby look?” Daisy asked.

Hyacinth exchanged looks with Brad. They both knew there was no way to sell that.

“To be honest, no,” Hyacinth said, “but it would show off your beautiful small waist.”

“And we could do some accessories that would give the feel of the period.” You had to hand it to Brad. He always gave it the old college try.

Lois nodded and the bridesmaids looked up from their phones, hopeful.

“No,” Daisy said stubbornly. “I don’t want the feel. I want to look authentic. I want to try another drop waist.”

They’d already been through this three times with three different dresses and there were only two more in the right price range. It wasn’t going to get better. What Hyacinth needed was that Wonder Woman golden lasso. It would go a long way in getting people to do what they ought to. But she didn’t have a magic rope and she was running out of options. Maybe it would be best to let Daisy try on the other two dresses and hope she saw the truth of the matter. If she didn’t, Hyacinth would have to be blunt—and maybe confess that she couldn’t help her.

“Of course. Let’s get you back to the dressing room.” Hyacinth held out a hand to help Daisy from the pedestal when the bell above the door jingled.

Hyacinth turned around, set to greet the newcomer, but she froze.

Robbie McTavish. That was the last thing this room needed right now, though it was her own fault he was here. He’d left his grubby kilt and shoes in the dressing room the night of the fall festival and she had procrastinated about calling him. If only she had, she could have directed him to pick his things up on her schedule. Now, not only was he here in the middle of a difficult bridal appointment wearing a faded I heart New York T-shirt with yet another worn-out kilt, he had a chocolate ice cream cone the size of the Statue of Liberty’s torch.

The disastrous fall festival cake notwithstanding, Hyacinth did not allow food in her store beyond the champagne and cheese straws she served clients. She had a little whimsical sign outside over a trash can that said, “Check Your Coffee at the Door! Someone’s Silk Dream Is Inside.” Apparently she needed to add ice cream to that sign.

“Hey, Robbie,” Brad said.

Robbie nodded. “Brad, my friend. You owe me a Mortal Kombat rematch.”

“And you owe me a burger. I paid last time because you didn’t have your wallet.”

Brad had befriended this soup sandwich of a man? That was news to her, but none of her business. They were just an unlikely pair.

Robbie settled his eyes on Hyacinth. “And the lovely Hyacinth.” He gave a nod to Daisy and then to her entourage. “Ladies.”

“You must be here for your shoes and kilt,” Hyacinth said. “I’ll get them for you.”

Robbie looked surprised. “I left them here? I wondered where they got off to. I had to get new gutties.” He held up a glow-in-the-dark green running shoe. He had a scrape on his knee that needed some Neosporin and a bandage. It was when she was wondering idly how he’d hurt himself that she noticed his leg—and then the other one. They were chiseled, strong, and very attractive. How had she missed that before? “Do you like them?” She might have thought he was referring to his legs if he hadn’t pressed a button on the shoe, causing the soles to burst into a light show. “Fancy, huh?”

“I didn’t know they made those for adults.” If he wasn’t here for his belongings, why was he here? Not that it mattered. Good legs or no, she had to get rid of him. Bridal parties were notoriously protective of their time. But when Hyacinth turned to gauge the mood of the room, Daisy and Lois were smiling so bright you could practically see moonbeams swirling around them, and the bridesmaids sat a little straighter and had put down their phones. One crossed her legs and another pushed her hair off her face.

Okay, so he was hot. Annoying, but hot.

“Excuse me a moment,” she said to the bridal party. “I’ll be right back.” She turned to Robbie. “Come with me. I’ll get your things.” Once they were out of earshot, she added with a hiss, “You need to take that ice cream and get out of here.”

“What?” He licked the cone.

“The ice cream. I don’t allow food in the store.”

“What about the haunted house cake?” He continued following her as she turned the corner and advanced toward the counter—licking as he went.

“That was different.” She turned around. “Stop right here. Stay clear of that dress display.”

But she’d stopped too quickly and he’d been too hot on her heels. She knew what was going to happen by the look on his face before the huge scoop of chocolate sailed off the cone, over her shoulder, down the front of the new Rayna Kwan that she had put on display just this morning.

His mouth formed an O.

“Fuck,” she said. (She never said fuck. Never thought it, it seemed, unless this man was around.) But nothing called for bad words like eight thousand dollars’ worth of ruined beaded silk.

“Holy Family and all the wise men,” he whispered, his brogue more pronounced.

They were both frozen in time.

He went into action first. “Sorry. I’ll fix it.” He removed the paper napkin from around his now empty cone and started to dab at the stain—and what a stain it was. There was a four-inch-wide band of chocolate from shoulder to waist—not unlike a royal sash—and splatters peppered down the front of the skirt.

“Stop! You can’t fix it.”

“I’ll pay for it.” He scooped up the ice cream from the floor and stood looking at it melting in his hand.

She grabbed the small trash can behind the counter and held it out to him. “Here,” she said wearily.

He looked at the ice cream mournfully before he dropped it in. “I’ll pay for it,” he repeated as he wiped his hands on his kilt.

“I just put that out so it would be ready for an appointment I have on Black Friday.” After numerous conversations with Connie Millwood about what she was looking for, and many hours of searching, Hyacinth had deemed this perfect for her. “The bride is coming from Georgia for the appointment.”

“Did she ask for this dress?” He pointed at the ruined gown. “This particular one?”

“No...” she had to admit. But it had everything she wanted—the corset bodice, sweetheart neckline, mermaid skirt, crystal embellishments, and all the rest... Now it was a chocolate mess.

Robbie McTavish had the audacity to smile. “No problem, then. There can be another. And, as I said, I’ll pay. I promise I can afford it.”

“Not the point. Do you have any idea how much time and effort I put into finding a dress that fit this particular bride’s body type, vision, and budget? How many hours I spend finding the perfect thing for every bride who walks through my door? You can’t put a price on that.”

“Well.” He gave a backward glance to where Brad was helping Daisy onto the platform in yet another unflattering flapper dress. Robbie looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “That right there is indeed a product of genius.”

The burning bush that was her head burned brighter—though to be fair, this might not have been the best time to point out her styling skills.

“You need to leave. Now. Out the back door. You’ve done enough here.”

But did he do that? Of course not. He shrugged, threw a smile over his shoulder, and advanced on the bride. Hyacinth had to practically run to keep up with him.

“Lass, aren’t you a vision. You’re getting married. I fair love brides.”

Daisy blushed. “I am. In eight months. It’s going to be a Gatsby-themed wedding. I want it to be like the party in the movie—the one with Leo DiCaprio. I love that movie.”

“Aye.” Robbie nodded. “So do I.”

Hyacinth would bet every inch of lace in the place that he’d never seen it.

“You want to look like Daisy? A flapper girl?” Robbie asked.

All right. Maybe she would have lost her lace, but she had trouble trusting haphazard people—and she knew haphazard—had cut her teeth on turned-off electricity, lost keys, and chronic, habitual tardiness. But no more. She’d fought to stay away from chaos all her life—fought hard—and now it had invaded her ordered little pristine world in the form of red hair, a faded kilt, and neon flashing shoes. And good legs.

Her heart raced.

The bride of the moment, however, had no sense that chaos was swirling about her. “My name is Daisy.” She blushed some more.

“Ah, a beautiful name. Did you know it’s sometimes a nickname for Margaret?”

“No. I’m just plain Daisy—named for my grandmother.”

“Never just plain. You could never be that.”

He was getting more Scottish by the second and Daisy was eating it with a spoon. Hyacinth’s heart raced even more. She’d lost control and had no idea how to recapture it. But she had to try.

“My name is Robbie, named for my grandda.” His attention was fully on Daisy.

“You’re from Scotland.” Daisy stated the obvious.

“Aye. My family has a wedding business. Our ancestral castle’s the most popular spot for hitching in the whole of the country. We’ve had more weddings than Gretna Green.” That was interesting, but was the mayor of Haphazard City telling the truth this time? He had no reason to lie, but neither had her dad had a reason to say he’d played guitar with Eric Clapton. “I’ve seen more brides than stars in the sky, but none more bonnie than you.” He reached out like he was going to take Daisy’s hands in his—hands he had not washed.

Chocolate hands! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

One ruined dress was one too many. She would be damned if there were going to be two. She grabbed the champagne bottle from the bucket on the table, tore off the damp cloth napkin, and slapped it in Robbie’s hand.

“Ice cream,” she said as if that explained everything. She scrubbed first one hand and then the other. It was impossible to ignore that his hands were big, strong, and warm. But she didn’t care about any of that. She only cared that they were clean before they touched another thing in her shop.

But then...but then...he circled her palm with his thumb. Slowly. And her body betrayed her by wanting him to do it again. And her body betrayed her again by raising her face to look at his. He dropped his eyelids to half-mast and smiled like he had a secret. Her stomach turned over. And no wonder. She hadn’t had sex in nearly two years, hadn’t been touched by a man except in passing in nearly as long.

And he squeezed her hand—but she would not let her body betray her again and squeeze back. Hell, no. She couldn’t control everything—or really, maybe much of anything—but she could control this.

She jerked her hands away.

The silence in the room was deafening. Clearly they all thought she’d lost her mind. Well, let them think it. They weren’t the guardians of thousands of dollars’ worth of silk, satin, and lace.

“Thank you, lass.” There was an edge of laughter in his voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve needed someone to clean me up.”

Before she could suggest that he run along now, he took right up where he’d left off with Daisy. This time, he succeeded in taking her hands, and he spread them wide as if to get a better look at her. Someone from the bridesmaid gallery sighed.

And all Hyacinth could do was stand there clutching a chocolate-stained napkin and watch it happen.

Daisy smiled at him like he’d been invented for her alone. Best case, he was going to convince her that dress had been made for her. Worst case, she was going to throw her engagement ring against the wall and follow him to the ends of the earth. And it would be preserved for posterity because one of the bridesmaids seemed to be videoing now. Hyacinth vaguely wondered how long that had been going on.

“There was a Scottish queen called Margaret—Margaret Tudor, wife of James IV of Scotland. She was Henry VIII’s sister. Her marriage was a love match and James called her Daisy.”

“Oh...” Daisy put her hand to her heart. More lies and Daisy was eating it up.

“She was a princess when she got married. Every girl ought to be a princess at her wedding, don’t you think?”

Daisy nodded wide-eyed.

“I know you’re going to get married in that flapper dress—and it looks wonderful. It truly does. But you know what I’d love? To see you in a real princess dress. Would you like to try one on, for fun?”

“Well...” Daisy cocked her head to the side and chewed on her bottom lip. It was all too obvious she wasn’t going to tell him no. Hyacinth suspected that few did.

“Hyacinth won’t mind, will you, Hyacinth?” Robbie gave her a crooked smile.

“Not at all.” What else could she say? Besides, maybe this little development would turn things around. Here was the chance to get Daisy in the ivory A-line with a tiered skirt and portrait back. But she had to get rid of him, without sounding like a bitch in front of these people. She bit her lip and tried hard to channel her classy friend Ava Grace. “I know of just the thing. But I can take it from here, Robbie. I know you are a busy, busy man. Thank you oh-so-much for your assistance. Daisy, come with me.” Hyacinth held out her hand. “Goodbye, Robbie.”

“But Robbie wants to see me look like a princess.”

Mother of pearl. This was the biggest nightmare in Nightmare City.

“Yes, Hyacinth. I never miss a chance for a princess sighting. I go to Disney World twice a year for that particular pleasure.”

Every woman in the place burst into delighted laughter. And so did Brad. Traitor.

“Of course,” Hyacinth acquiesced through gritted teeth. No getting rid of him yet. “Daisy?” She held out her hand again. “Let’s see what we can find.”

“Brilliant!” And before Hyacinth could stop him, Robbie went tearing around the showroom flipping through dresses. “I’ll find something.”

Lois and the bridesmaids chattered and giggled. Hyacinth picked up a word here and there—charming, so funny, isn’t he the sweetest?

She stomped off after Robbie. “Stop it,” she called. “That’s the ball gown section. Daisy has made clear she will not have a ball gown. I’ve tried!”

By now she’d caught up with him and she was close enough for him to whisper. “Daisy doesn’t know what she wants. She only thinks she does.” And he continued to flip through the dresses.

“What do you know about wedding dresses?” she hissed at him.

“More than you think. Ah!” He didn’t look at Hyacinth, but turned back to Daisy and her posse. “This! This! I’ve got it!” he called across the shop. And he presented Daisy with the biggest, blingiest ball gown in the shop—the Simone Donatella with the silver-beaded bodice and hem.

Daisy put her hands on her cheeks. “I could try it on—you know. Just for fun. But is it my size?”

“No.” Hyacinth put her hands on her hips. This dress was a six and Daisy needed an eight.

“It’ll fit,” Robbie said. “Numbers don’t matter. I have an eye for these things.”

Brad took the dress from Robbie. “I’ll take you back. Patty’s waiting to help you.”

The dress was two thousand dollars over Lois’s budget, it wouldn’t fit, and Daisy wouldn’t go for it anyway. Yet this could be productive. Maybe Daisy had begun to think outside the box a little. While a ball gown was too far in the extreme from Daisy’s vision, maybe they could get her in a romantic lacy empire or the ivory A-line.

Meanwhile, Robbie was leaving the minute he saw Daisy in this dress—and she intended to tell him that right now. Having collected herself, she walked back toward the seating area, where Robbie had made himself comfortable in the chair across from Lois.

“You have a real, live castle?” one of the bridesmaids asked as she handed him a glass of champagne—champagne meant for customers. “Does it have a name?”

“Aye. A wee one, as castles go. Thank you, lass.” He accepted the glass and took a sip. “Wyndloch’s the name, though my mum calls it Castle Crumble.”

No way was he telling the truth. He’d happened on her shop, started wreaking havoc, and now his family was in the wedding business. That was all too convenient. Besides, wouldn’t he have mentioned it when he was here for fall fest?

But apparently these people believed him. “And how did your family castle ever end up turning into a wedding venue?” Lois asked.

“Aye.” Robbie nodded. “Came a time when keeping sheep didn’t pay the bills. My great-grandma had the idea to let out the homestead for parties and weddings. Now Wyndloch is right popular.”

Time to call his bluff. “Where might I have seen it advertised?” Hyacinth asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe you wouldn’t have. We don’t have to advertise.”

“Mmmm. I see,” Hyacinth said. “Waiting list?”

“Four years.”

Despite herself, Hyacinth found herself buying into this—and she wasn’t sure why she wanted so badly for him to be lying.

She could find out, here and now. She whipped out her phone and googled Windlock Wedding Venue Scotland. The site came up, despite her incorrect spelling. So he wasn’t lying. She might have still doubted him had there not been a picture of the McTavish clan—including Robbie—standing in front of the “wee” castle—which had to be forty thousand square feet at the smallest. There were at least thirty McTavishes and they were all wearing tartan—the men in kilts, the women in skirts. She squinted. A small redheaded girl stood in front of Robbie, totally obscuring his legs. He had his hand on her head.

“Look at me, Mama!” Daisy swept into the showroom with Patty and Brad carrying her massive skirts.

Everyone—even Robbie—went silent as Brad helped Daisy onto the platform.

It was the perfect fit.

Daisy beamed at Robbie. “It feels...right.” Lois and the bridesmaids gathered around her. “I could still have my Gatsby wedding, couldn’t I? It wouldn’t ruin it if I wore this dress, would it?”

“Of course not,” Lois said, with the bridesmaids backing her up like a relieved Greek chorus.

“I think a princess does what she likes,” Robbie said.

“But how much does it cost?” Daisy asked.

Now for the bad news. Maybe Robbie would buy it for her. It would serve him right to have to pay for this dress and the Rayna Kwan. He’d started this. Hyacinth never showed a bride a dress out of her price range.

“Your grandma Daisy said if you found the one she would pay the extra, up to four thousand dollars.” Lois cast a questioning look at Hyacinth.

Relief settled over Hyacinth. It would probably take that. A veil to go with a dress like this was considerably more than a feathered headband.

“That will cover it,” Hyacinth said. “How about we try some veils?”

“And a tiara?” Daisy asked breathlessly. “Could I have a tiara?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t want one,” Hyacinth said.

“And I think a crystal-and-silver-beaded belt to accentuate your small waist,” Brad said.

This was the best part of a bridal appointment—when the dress had been chosen and the bride was truly delighted. The choosing of the veil and accessories and making appointments for fittings was all high-spirited fun—sort of like picking up last-minute stocking stuffers on Christmas Eve after the hard holiday things had already been done. Or at least that was how Hyacinth imagined Christmas was for most people. Since her grandmother had died, she only had her staff, Claire, Evans, and Ava Grace to buy for. That had been done since August.

It was almost closing time when Lois slipped her credit card to Hyacinth. “Tell Robbie thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t think we’d have a dress if he hadn’t charmed her into trying it on. It’s almost as if you planned it.”

Hyacinth barked a little laugh as she ran the card. “I can assure you that I did not plan for Robbie McTavish.”

Where was he anyway? She’d all but forgotten him. Evidently he had no opinions on veils because they hadn’t heard from him in a while. Her eyes cast quickly about the store—he was nowhere to be found. Thank goodness he’d left. She let out her first full breath in a half hour.

But after she’d ushered Daisy and her posse out, Hyacinth caught sight of him sitting on the floor, leaning against the accessories counter, eyes cast down, looking as sad as she’d ever seen a man look. A chord of sympathy chimed inside her, though she had no idea what she was sympathizing with. Maybe Trousseau made him miss home. Maybe Daisy had reminded him of a lost sweetheart.

“You’re still here.” She came up beside him.

He turned. “Hello, lass. All well with Daisy?”

“Yes.” She was considering asking him why he seemed sad when she caught sight of where he’d been looking—the small trash can that contained the remains of his ice cream cone. The little sympathy chime turned into an iron clanging bell. “Please tell me you weren’t considering eating ice cream out of a trash can.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and squinted his eyes mostly shut. “Naw,” he said around a yawn. “It’s melted.”

“It’s melted? And that’s the only reason you didn’t consider eating out of a trash can?”

He shrugged. “How dirty could it be? It’s not like you’re butchering hogs in here. You’re selling wedding dresses.” He looked down at the can one last time and ambled to his feet. “It was excellent.”

“If it was that excellent, why didn’t you just go away and eat it instead of coming in here ruining dresses and causing chaos?”

“That girl needed help. You needed help.” His green eyes bored into hers and he took a step closer.

Every hair on her body stood on end.

“I needed help? How do you figure that?”

“How do you figure that you didn’t? The dress was all wrong for the girl. In the wedding business, your reputation is everything. And there is no repeat business—or at least not enough to count. What would people have thought if you had let Daisy go down the aisle wearing that dress?”

“If I had let her? Let her?” She wanted to scream. “For your information, I knew the dress was all wrong for her. I had done everything I could to steer her in a different direction. There was nothing else to do but hope she would figure it out for herself.”

“She wasn’t showing any signs of it.”

“How do you know? You’d been in here all of fifteen seconds before you insinuated yourself in the situation.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

She would have rolled in mud wearing the most expensive dress in the shop before admitting that she’d been about to lead Daisy away to try on more of the same.

“She knew it wasn’t right.” That was true. “She was coming around.” Debatable.

“Would you have sold it to her?” Robbie lifted his chin. “No matter how bad it looked?”

“Not without telling her point-blank that it wasn’t flattering.”

“Have you ever done that?” He took another step closer to her, all the while looking so smug, like he knew the answer.

“A few times. Most of the time the bride will see it on her own and I can guide her toward something suitable.” He was close enough that she felt his body heat, but she would not step away. No way would she give him the satisfaction of thinking she had noticed.

“But if she hadn’t?” He dropped his face closer to hers. Damn. He smelled like chocolate, probably tasted of it. “Would you have sold it to her?”

“You say that like you wouldn’t have. In the end, it’s not my decision.”

“Reputation.”

In truth, she’d never sold a dress that was truly hideously unflattering. But she wasn’t going to tell Robbie that.

“You showed her a dress that was way out of her price range.”

“Clearly not. They bought it.” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t quite close his mouth when he finished speaking.

“It’s cruel to show someone something they can’t have.”

The moment froze. They locked gazes for what seemed like a long time.

Then the spell broke. “You’re right.” Robbie closed his eyes and stepped back out of her space. “It worked out.”

“This time.”

He came across with that damned cocky crooked grin again. “I have some other ideas for you. Your showcase window could use some livening up. I’m going away with a friend for Thanksgiving, but let me take you to dinner next week and I’ll share my ideas.”

Hyacinth stopped cold. He did not say that to her!

“This was kind of fun. The next time you have a difficult bride, call me. I’ll be glad to come help you out.” He frowned like he was trying to work something out, then brightened. “I know. I’ll get you some game tickets. You can come see me play. Then we’ll have dinner.”

There weren’t enough deep breaths or golden lassos in the universe to bring her back from this.

“I don’t like hockey. I don’t have time for it.” Never mind that Claire had given her a whole set of season tickets.

“You don’t like hockey?” He said that as if she’d said she didn’t like breathing. “Well, just dinner, then. I can still help you out with your window and I might change your mind about hockey.”

“Tell you what, Robbie, let’s not have dinner. I can tend to my own window and my own brides. You tend to your hockey and leave me out of it.”

“I can tend to more than one thing.”

“Here, tend to this.” She reached under the counter and got a bag that contained the kilt and shoes he’d left. “I mended the hem.” She had not been able to help herself. She’d washed it, too.

“That was good of you.” He looked inside the bag. “It looks like it’s been ironed.”

She gave a half nod. “Only sloppy seamstresses don’t press their work.” Memaw had taught her that.

“Then I do owe you dinner.” He held out his hand. “What do you say?”

“I say no, thank you.”

“Have it your own way,” he said.

“Believe me, I try, but that seems nigh on impossible when you’re around.”

He laughed. “Goodbye, lass, I’ll be going now. Need to pack for a little trip I’m taking. You have yourself a fine Turkey Day.” He gave a little salute as he left.

She locked the door after him and sighed with relief. Never had she known a human who wore her out like Robbie McTavish.

Why was she not surprised that he wasn’t packed for wherever it was he was going? She was taking a little trip, too—to the Delta for a quick turnaround Thanksgiving. Her suitcase was not only packed, but sitting by her front door at home, where Jake and Evans were going to pick her up.

Her stomach did a happy little flip-flop, like it did every time she remembered, since the fall fest, that Evans had been hip deep in what seemed like the romance of the century with one of those Yellowhammers. This was her best chance yet for getting on All Dressed in White.

Also, her first chance. Her only chance so far. If only they would get engaged.

Don’t miss Smooth as Silk by USA TODAY bestselling author Alicia Hunter Pace, available wherever Carina Press books are sold.

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Copyright © 2021 by Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones