“It’s your big day, woman! Don’t you remember? You’ve got those movie people coming in today. They’re probably used to fancy caterers and champagne at breakfast. You’ve got to have something decent to offer them, something besides that jar of two-year-old biscottis in their individual, fresh-from-the-factory plastic wrappings you bought at the office supply store.” He made a disgusted face. As the owner of New Bern’s most elegant and popular restaurant, he was clearly concerned that the town’s culinary reputation would suffer at my hands. “One look at those things and the crew will probably pack up their cameras and go back to Hollywood.”
I laughed. “First of all, they’re from Texas, not Hollywood. Big difference. At least, I think there’s a big difference; I’ve never been to Hollywood. And second, they are television people, from the House and Home Network, not movie people, and I really don’t think it’s quite as big a deal as you’re making it, Charlie. It’s not like they’re in town to shoot the chase scene of next summer’s big block-buster. It’s just a little promotional video. It’ll be Mary Dell, a cameraman, and one of her producers—that’s all—and the whole thing shouldn’t take more than an hour. Mary Dell told me herself. But it was sweet of you to go to all this trouble, Charlie.”
“No trouble. Anything for my little starlet.”
“Last time I checked, they don’t make fifty-year-old starlets.”
He put his arm around my waist, squeezed me, and said in a stage whisper, “Well, what do they know? Want to come see my office later? I’ll show you my casting couch.” I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ouch! Is that any way to treat the man who got up with the sun to make you breakfast?”
“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”
“As a matter of fact”—he looked at his watch—“I do. I’ve got a meeting with my seafood wholesaler in ten minutes.”
Charlie kissed me and hurried toward the door. “You’re going to bring Mary Dell and the rest of them up to the Grill for dinner tonight, right?”
I nodded. “Around six. Thanks for the cinnamon rolls. They’re delicious. Just like you.” I batted my eyelashes.
“Oh sure. Now you want to flirt with me. Too late. I’ve got to see a man about a fish. Bye, Garrett.”
“Bye, Charlie.”
Garrett, who was looking a little more alert now, took a slurp of coffee and chuckled to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about Charlie. He told me a great joke this morning.”
“Really? What was it?”
“Nothing I’m going to repeat to my mother.”
“Ah. Well, in that case, what say we get to work? Can you e-mail a supply list to everybody who signed up for that table runner class? I’ve got to shelve those new pattern books that came in last night and I’d like to get that done before Mary Dell gets here.”
A voice boomed in the doorway. “Then you should have started earlier, Baby Girl!”
“Mary Dell!” I squealed, dropped my half-eaten cinnamon roll, and ran to embrace my friend. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you! Where’s Howard? Didn’t he come with you?”
Mary Dell smiled broadly. “Howard’s got himself a little girlfriend—Jena. He met her at a Down Syndrome Association dance. Her folks invited Howard to come with them to the rodeo this weekend, so he’s staying with them. We’re going to film this so quick there wasn’t any point in him coming. He’ll be out for the broadcast, though. The rest of my crew will be here in a minute. They’re hauling in the equipment. Gosh! You look great, Evelyn!”
“You too. But I thought your flight wasn’t supposed to land for a couple of hours yet.”
“Turned out the gal who checked us in at the airport is a quilter. She recognized me and got us onto an earlier flight. First class, too. I do love bein’ a television personality,” she preened. “And so will you, honey. My camera guy is just going to love that pretty face of yours. It’ll be a relief after filming my ugly mug day after day. Every time he turns the camera on it’s a wonder the lens doesn’t crack.” She laughed and hugged me tight before I could argue with her, and I would have, too, if she’d given me the chance.
Mary Dell, with dangly silver and green crystal earrings that hung down to her shoulders, a hot-pink blouse with white cowgirl fringe, leopard-skin pumps that added an extra three inches to her five-foot-ten-inch frame, and fire-engine-red lipstick that clashed with absolutely everything she was wearing, might not be the picture of understated elegance, but she had beautiful brown eyes, thick, natural-blond hair, a slender waist, and skin so smooth you’d have thought she was closer to thirty than fifty. Mary Dell’s mother had been second-runner-up for Miss Texas of 1946. Obviously, good looks ran in the family.
“Whoo-whee!” Mary Dell cried when she finally released me from her grasp. “You are looking fine! Way better than last time I saw you when you were lying around in that bed, feeling sorry for yourself, and looking like a sick calf. But now look at you!” She stared pointedly at my chest. “If I didn’t know better I’d say those ta-tas you got under your blouse were the real deal!”
Garrett choked on his coffee.
“Really, Garrett, doesn’t your mama look good? I tell you what, there just ain’t nothing they can’t do with silicone these days. I might want to get some of those for myself. What do you think?” Mary Dell stood up tall and stuck out her ample chest.
Garrett swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. He was grinning, but I could see the tips of his ears turn red just the same. “I think you look fine just the way you are, Mrs. Templeton.”
“Mrs. Templeton! Listen to you! You’re not a teenager back in Texas anymore, Garrett. You’re a grown man with a career. You can call me Mary Dell. Your mama says she couldn’t run this place without you.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Garrett said. “I handle the Web-related stuff, but Margot deals with all the marketing and accounting…”
“And don’t forget Liza,” I cut in and turned to Mary Dell. “Liza is Garrett’s girlfriend. She’s going to art school in New York now, but she comes up on weekends to help with our displays and to put together new fabric packs and medleys. She’s got a real eye for color. Howard would be crazy about her. Liza’s fabric medleys are some of our best-selling items.”
“She’s the niece of that other friend of yours, isn’t she?” Mary Dell asked. “The snooty one? Abigail?”
“Abigail isn’t snooty,” I corrected. “She’s particular. She comes from an old, very wealthy New England family, so she’s…well, it just takes time to get to know her, that’s all. People in New England don’t open up to strangers quite as quickly as they do in Texas, but Abigail is very kind and incredibly generous. Involved in all kinds of civic causes. She owns most of the commercial real estate in town. She rents me this place, plus Garrett’s apartment upstairs, and our new workroom…”
“And the new warehouse space up the street,” Garrett interrupted.
“And all for ten dollars a month, plus the
