a unique style,” Violet said. “It’s wrong for Cliff.”
“Not if he asked you out. What do you want to dress like?”
“Not what. Who. I want to dress like you.”
Jenna sat up straight. “Trust me. Stick-up-the-ass isn’t a style to attract a guy.”
“You dress great,” Violet told her. “Sophisticated. Elegant.”
“Boring.”
“Classy.”
Jenna had never applied that word to herself. She wore tailored clothes because they tended to suit her body and weren’t trendy. Shopping wasn’t her thing. Those big mirrors in dressing rooms intimidated her. Looking at her butt in a three-way mirror wasn’t her idea of a good time.
“You’re serious?” she asked.
“Yes. I want to look right for my date with Cliff.”
“I’m really the last person you should be asking, but sure. I’ll help.”
Violet sighed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t the faintest idea how to help you. Want to come to my house and look at my closet? It’ll give us a place to start.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Jenna’s townhouse was relatively new, with comfortable furniture and hardwood floors. She had a few scattered rugs, artwork on the walls and extra shelving in the kitchen for her impressive collection of cookware.
The built-in, under-the-counter wine cellar and stainless steel appliances were about as far from Violet’s somewhat rundown apartment as it was possible to get while staying in the same city.
Violet sat at the stool by the bar counter and wondered what it would be like to live like this for real. To have no need for extra locks, while enjoying garage parking for her car. The differences were both inspiring and depressing.
She accepted the glass of white wine Jenna offered, then waited while her boss shuffled through the contents of the refrigerator. In a matter of minutes she had loaded a plate with various cheeses, some cut fruit, and a dip she’d whipped up using sun-dried tomatoes and some mystery ingredients, and water crackers.
Violet eyed the offering. “Your life really is perfect,” she said without thinking.
Jenna nearly choked on her wine. “Excuse me? I’m getting a divorce, my husband cheated on me, I’ve just turned thirty-two, I have no kids, I own nothing and if not for you, my business would have failed.”
Violet nodded slowly. “When you put it like that.”
They both laughed.
Jenna held out her glass. “Today was a good day. Thank you.”
“It was good and tomorrow will be better.”
They clinked glasses.
“If you’re right,” Jenna said, “then I’m going to break out my comfortable shoes. My feet are killing me.”
“Retail is all about standing.”
“Robyn’s on to something with her knitting,” Jenna grumbled. “She gets to do it sitting down.”
“It’s worse,” Violet said cheerfully. “Have you seen her fiancé? He’s gorgeous.”
“Some people have all the luck.” She picked up the tray of food. “Come on. We can eat while you ponder my wardrobe. Please don’t get your hopes up, though. You’ll be wildly disappointed.”
The two bedrooms were upstairs. The smaller one, just off the stairs, was mostly empty. Jenna led the way down the short hall to the master.
They entered through double doors. The space was large. Even with the bed, dresser and two nightstands, she had room to hold an aerobics class. French doors led out onto a balcony. Violet didn’t care if the view was only of a parking lot. No one she knew had a balcony off their bedroom. She had a feeling the master bath would be about the size of her entire bedroom, then nearly fainted when she saw the walkin closet.
“Nice,” she murmured.
“More than I need,” Jenna said, as she put the tray on the dresser and set her wine next to it. “I’m not big on clothes. Plus, working in a restaurant means wearing a uniform of sorts. Black pants, white jacket. I’d put on a T-shirt underneath. Not exactly high fashion.”
Jenna joined Violet at the entrance to the closet and turned on the light. Shirts and pants hung on double racks. Dresses hung at one end. Boxes of shoes sat on shelves, and what looked like eight or ten white kitchen coats stayed dust-free in dry cleaner bags.
“My former life,” Jenna said, touching the plastic.
Violet couldn’t decide if she sounded wistful or just plain sad. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes. Working in a restaurant kitchen is crazy. Orders come in together, there are too many people in too small a space. There’s lots of yelling and swearing. But making people happy is great. I loved being part of the celebrations. Someone’s anniversary or birthday. It’s like they chose me to make the event memorable.”
Jenna shrugged, ducking her head. “Not me personally. I’m not that self-absorbed. But they came to where I worked and trusted me with something special. I liked that.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It took a while to get there. I spent years slicing and dicing to prove myself. The hours are long. It’s impossible to have much of a social life. Unless you’re married to a chef, which has its own problems. It’s not like the store, where I have a lot of direct contact with customers. When you’re back in the kitchen at a restaurant, you don’t get much interaction.”
Violet had never thought of what happened behind the scenes when she went out to eat. She’d never considered that the person cooking the food cared about her experience one way or the other.
“You put a lot of yourself into what you do,” she said.
“Which is both good and bad.” She shrugged. “So tell me about your date. Where are you going?”
“Wildfire. It’s in Old Town.”
Jenna studied her. “We’re nearly the same height, but you have more curves. Not that I’m bitter.”
“You don’t have to worry about your weight,” Violet pointed out.
“Yes, and you get to have breasts.” Jenna sighed. “My mom is always worrying about her weight. She gains and loses the same fifteen pounds nearly every year. What she can’t see is she’s beautiful no matter what. When I was a teenager, I would see my dad watching her and I knew what he was thinking. It totally freaked me out. Parents should not have sex. But now, I think it’s great. Well, in theory. I still don’t want the details.”
She moved into the
