Inside the staff room, hanging on the antique coat rack, was an enormous silver garment bag with ornate black calligraphy, Married in Marietta.
“Lisa Renee dropped it off herself,” Louise said. “Just moments ago.”
Taylor arched a brow. “It must be a mistake. I’m not getting married, nor do I know anyone getting married.”
Louise rolled her eyes. “You know everyone’s gone there for their formal gowns for the Ball. As a matter of fact, you were there with McKenna last night. Miss Renee was not. Apparently one of her sales associates was.”
“Yes, and the sales associate rang up my dress and the dress I bought is hanging in my closet at home right now.”
“Maybe there was a mistake—”
“There was no mistake. I bought my dress. It’s in my closet. This isn’t for me.”
“But it is. She brought this for you, and there’s a card with your name on it,” Louise said. “So open it. Read it. The suspense is killing me.”
But Taylor didn’t want to open the card. She suddenly knew who’d sent the dress and it wasn’t McKenna, or Lisa Renee, the elegant stylish manager who did all the ordering for the bridal boutique.
It was Troy. It had to be Troy. McKenna must have said something to him.
Taylor’s jaw tightened as she reached for the little envelope tied to the hanger with a silver ribbon. She slid open the envelope’s flap and pulled out the creamy white card.
Book girls do it better in red spangles.
Troy
Taylor’s heart jumped. Her pulse raced. She knew even without unzipping the garment bag which dress she’d find.
The couture gown.
Taylor peeked into the bag. Glossy red spangles caught the light, glowing and shimmering within.
Her heart fell. She exhaled in a soft, disappointed whoosh.
“Look at that,” Louise murmured.
“Mmm,” Taylor agreed, blinking back tears. It was such a gorgeous gesture on Troy’s part, so exciting, and she loved the thought... she did, but she couldn’t keep it. Couldn’t wear it. Couldn’t ever accept such an expensive gift. “But I have to send it back.”
But before Taylor could phone Married in Marietta, Margaret marched into the staff room.
“Troy Sheenan is here, Taylor. He apparently is interested in joining one of the Book Clubs. He asked specifically about the Tuesday Night Book Group. Personally I don’t think it’s the right place for him, but I’ll leave that to you.”
Taylor found Troy perusing the New and Notable bulletin board display across from the circulation desk, next to the library’s theme table, this month’s theme being Valentine’s Day, with classic romance novels artfully arranged. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and Sensibility.
Taylor had fully expected Margaret to reject the theme and choice of books. But she’d left it there, and said nothing.
A victory, in Taylor’s mind.
“Thank you for the dress,” Taylor said, joining Troy in front of the bulletin board display. “But I can’t keep it. I can’t even imagine ever accepting something so extravagant—”
“I didn’t pay for it,” he said, turning to face her. His chiseled jaw was shadowed with a day old beard.
Taylor was surprised how good he looked with a little scruff. She tucked her hands behind her back, fingers threading together. “I’m sure it’s not on loan.”
“No, it’s a gift, from the Lily Jewel, the designer. She wants you to wear it and we’re to be photographed and Jane is to send the photos to all her big-wig publicist friends who will tweet and share and post the photos on every fashion blog imaginable, ensuring that Lily Jewel’s dress is seen by all.”
Taylor blanched. “That’s a lot of pressure. Maybe it would have been better if you’d bought the dress after all.”
“You don’t have to wear Lily’s gown. You have a very nice new dress from Married in Marietta at home.”
She smiled at him. “Are you making fun of my nice new dress, that happens to be practical, and affordable?”
“Just a little bit.”
“I see.” But she couldn’t stop smiling at him. He made her feel good on the inside. Bubbly. Happy. It didn’t make sense. Opposites shouldn’t attract. Big city tycoons shouldn’t like small town librarians. Impulsively, she reached up to touch his scruffy jaw. His skin was warm, his jaw was hard, the black bristles sharp against her fingertips. “I kind of like this,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “That’s good, because I don’t always like to shave.”
“You... lazy?”