he began to work it in a hopefully more fruitful and earnest kind of way. Clearly this exercise needed a little more of the ol’ Nate Sparks finesse.
Three seconds later, she complained, ‘You’re too rough.’
‘Relax.’ His fingertips rolled, then tugged and rolled again. ‘Just a few seconds more.’
‘Nate, not so hard.’
‘Almost got it—’
The zip suddenly gave.
Actually what gave was the fabric splitting either side.
While Roxy stiffened, Nate’s heart stopped beating as he held his breath and stared.
It wasn’t much of a tear. Really barely noticeable. But when Roxy turned around, her expression said it all. Her face was a mask of disbelief, anguish. Rage. And her eyes, which had looked merely annoyed earlier, now spat green fire.
‘Tell me you didn’t tear the dress,’ she groaned. ‘You didn’t, did you? Not this dress.’
The anger in her eyes turned to fear then they edged with moisture and Nate felt the walls press in.
‘It’s not too bad.’ He indicated with his fingers. ‘Maybe an inch.’ Maximum two.
That call from outside came again.
‘Anyone there?’
‘Coming,’ Roxy said, but this time her voice cracked.
What could he say? If he could take it back, he would.
‘Roxy …’
Her eyes filling, she inhaled and in a heartbeat all her angst and energy seemed to drain away. She pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Shrugged.
‘Doesn’t matter anyway,’ she muttered and he frowned.
‘What doesn’t matter?’ When she swished out of the room, he followed. ‘Roxy, answer me.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, ‘because this gown is—or was—Marla’s.’
Nate gaped. He’d wrecked his mate’s fiancée’s gown? Not a good omen. And why was the bride’s best friend wearing it anyway?
When he joined Roxy out front, she was looking around an empty room. Seemed those potential customers had given up and gone home. But then that same enquiring voice rang out again, this time from the direction of the dressing rooms. A moment later, that older woman appeared. On seeing them, she clasped her cheeks with glee.
‘Oh, my. This must be your beautiful bride-to-be. And you’re right,’ the woman went on before speaking directly to Roxy rather than Nate. ‘That gown suits you to a T. My Violet thinks she might have found the right one too.’
‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ Roxy’s disappointment at that accidental rip transformed into a frail but hope-filled smile. Then she evaluated her own gown. ‘But this dress …’ Her cheeks pinked up and she rubbed her brow. ‘Well, it’s a little hard to explain.’
The woman angled in. ‘No need. My Violet went through the same thing,’ she confided. ‘Anxiety. So many decisions.’ Her shoulders squared. ‘But when you’ve found a man who’s so obviously in love with you, so committed, how can things not fall into place? You’re a lucky woman.’ She slid that smile Nate’s way. ‘A lucky couple.’
Nate smothered a wince. The woman had it wrong. Roxy wasn’t Emma. There was no Emma and wouldn’t be for a very long while, if he could help it.
The woman looked between the uncertain two, then slanted her head. ‘Is there something wrong with the gown, dear?’
‘Oh, no,’ Roxy said. ‘I love it. More than any gown ever. The satin’s as soft as rose petals. Every line is exquisite. It’s just that this dress is—’
‘Beautiful,’ Nate cut in when he knew he ought to have let her finish and set the misunderstanding straight. But the dress was stunning, he thought again, drinking in those satiny curves and falls, whether Marla ended up wearing it or not.
When Roxy’s slow smile said she appreciated his compliment, a kernel of heat bloomed in his chest, a sensation he enjoyed as much as he spurned. Then she turned and admitted to the woman, ‘But I’m not this man’s fiancée.’
The woman blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I own this salon. I’m Roxanne Trammel.’
The woman absorbed the news and, nodding absently, introduced herself as Ava Morris before her focus swung to Nate. ‘Where’s your bride-to-be? Nothing’s wrong, I hope.’
Nate scrubbed his jaw. He’d only meant to help—to give Roxy a hand up with a potential sale. But duplicity, well intended or not, had caught up. Nothing for it but to face the music.
‘Actually,’ he began, ‘my fiancée’s—’
‘Out back,’ Roxy said, cutting in. ‘Emma’s choosing accessories.’
Mrs Morris held her stomach and breathed out over a relieved smile. ‘Well, that was quick!’
‘Happens like that sometimes,’ Roxy said, slipping Nate a ‘you owe me’ look.
A call from the dressing room. ‘Can someone help with this?’
Picking up her skirts, Roxy went to hurry off but Mrs Morris put up a hand.
‘I’ll help Violet. You see to your other matter.’
Mrs Morris rushed away while, sheepish, Nate tugged his ear. ‘Sorry about the Emma thing.’
‘You shouldn’t have lied. I in no way condone it.’ Roxy’s expression lightened a smidge. ‘But I do appreciate you trying to help. I didn’t need to embarrass you.’
As he’d embarrassed her that night?
But she didn’t look half as ticked off as she had a moment ago. In fact, her eyes were almost smiling, somehow reaching out. And he liked the positive change. Liked it way too much.
Nate cleared his throat and hauled himself back. ‘We’ll need to see each other again. To discuss the Marla-Greg plan,’ he clarified quickly.
‘I’ll give you my email address.’ She cut across the counter and slipped a business card from a holder. ‘Why don’t you send over your ideas for Greg and Marla? I’ll be with Violet for a while yet hopefully.’
‘I’d rather toss around ideas face to face.’
‘I don’t know what time I’ll be free.’
‘I could hang around. Help out some more. Maybe do some zip repairs.’ His weak smile faded and he tucked in his chin. ‘I really am sorry about that.’
She
