“Seductive side,” Peggy repeated, her voice pitched eerily close to Harper’s. “Fun, flirty, sensual.” She drew out each word, careful to bite her lips on each hard consonant.
Ignoring the mockingbird to her right, Harper went back to her mannequin. Which meant Peggy smoothed the mesh over her cleavage, then released a big sigh before going back to her own mannequin.
When Peggy couldn’t keep her eyes off the babydoll, Harper asked, “So how did it go with the teeth too white to be real guy at the senior center?”
“It was going well until that floozy from the over-fifty-five community started flaunting her menopause glow around the dance floor,” Peggy said, her voice much softer than her words. “The man leaves his glasses at home for the night and suddenly every AARP card–carrying woman in town notices him.”
“I’m so sorry, Peggy.” Harper’s heart went out to the older woman. “But if he gets dazzled by something as ordinary as menopause glow, then he’s”—Harper lowered her voice and repeated the best advice she’d been given as of late—“a dumbass.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t think, I know. Just like I know there is someone even better out there for you,” Harper said confidently. If someone hadn’t been brave enough to tell Harper the same thing, she’d still be waiting on a man who was dazzled by designer boobs. Instead she’d had cookies—a baker’s dozen to be exact—with one of the sweetest, sexiest, and most sensitive guys in town. “And if you want that babydoll, then get it for you. Not some guy with too-white teeth.”
Peggy patted Harper’s hand in gratitude, then blinked back a little moisture. When the blinking didn’t work and the tears became real, Peggy diverted the attention off her by asking, “Is that magenta trim on the blue netting?”
“It’s actually bougainvillea-colored silk trim on aqua mesh. I think it will capture a lot of foot traffic.” It was vibrant, breezy, flirty—and exactly what they needed to appeal to a new variety of clientele. The same clientele Lulu Allure was targeting. “And it would go lovely with your eyes.”
Even though Harper knew she’d have to rehang and reshelve everything the ladies touched, and make sure Clovis didn’t put the girdles in the window display the second Harper left for work, she loved spending time with her grandma and the girls. They’d been a steady fixture in her life since she was a little girl. Her mom would shuttle Harper from theater to theater, but when a big role came along she’d drop Harper off at Clovis’s.
All three of these ladies had taken her in as if she were theirs. Embraced her and all of her eccentricities. Treated her as if who she was at her core was too special to be overlooked.
Harper’s phone buzzed from the pocket of her dress. She fished it out and sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. It’s Chantel.” She showed the caller name on the screen to Peggy. “She must have received the few photos I sent over.”
Harper had wanted to make sure that what she was doing matched Chantel’s expectations. But she’d only sent them that morning—it was too early to hear back. Unless she loved them.
Or didn’t.
“If you mean the ones of Mr. July pulling a Magic Mike in my back room, then put it on speaker so the girls and I can hear,” Clovis said, dropping the girdles and hobbling across the store.
Harper didn’t bother to ask how the girls knew about those photos. They’d been taken in this very shop and touched up in her apartment, which her grandmother had a key to—and used at will.
“We don’t have all day. Answer it before she gets impatient and we miss out on talking about those photos,” Ida said.
“You think this will be one of those video chats?” Clovis asked, her voice all atwitter. “If so, she might hold up those photos so we can get a better look at them. See if he was stuffing the shorts or if it was real.”
It was real all right. Everything about Adam felt real when they were together. So real that the tingling had lasted for days.
Harper took in a few calming breaths so she wouldn’t sound as if she were hyperventilating, or daydreaming about her faux-mance that was turning out to be the most real romance she’d ever had, and swiped the screen. “Hey, Chantel.”
“Sorry I’m calling so early. It’s going to get crazy busy here later, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to call.”
“It’s perfect timing, I’m at the shop,” Harper said, and walked out the front door to gain some semblance of privacy. Not that it worked, as three frosted heads and one drooling dog pressed their faces to the window. Harper turned to face the street. “Actually, I’m working on a new window display for National Underwear Day.”