things. Wonderful things. Things she couldn’t let herself think too much about or she’d only get gloomier.
Keeping busy. That was the key. No way was she going to end up sitting in a chair staring out the window, thinking of Thanksgiving and wanting to cry.
As soon as the snow stopped, she went out and prowled her favorite fabric and notions stores, snatching up things that inspired her. She intended to work for several hours every day on clothing and accessory designs and on making a few of the ideas she came up with.
Lots of work should keep her from longing for Dami.
And, hey, it was Christmastime. There were so many organizations looking for volunteers.
On Friday morning she looked around online and chose two worthy causes. She called and signed up to wrap presents for disadvantaged kids and to put in five four-hour sessions making costumes for a children’s theater organization called Make-Believe and Magic. She worked for a while sketching a few new accessory designs and then she went down the street to the Paradise for a late breakfast.
By then the regular breakfast crowd had cleared out and the diner was quiet for that hour or two before they all started piling in for lunch.
Tabby gave her coffee, took her order, stuck it on the rack in the pass-through for Nestor and then slid into the seat across from her. “Wow, Lucy. You always look so great.”
“Thanks.” Lucy fluffed the cowl neck of the white sweater she wore under her cutaway purple jacket. “Clothes are my undying passion, it’s true.”
“Didn’t you say once that you make everything you wear?”
“Most of them, I do.” She picked up her coffee cup. Tabby was looking at her kind of strangely. “Okay.” She sipped. “Something’s on your mind. What?”
“God. I don’t even know how to ask you....”
“Oh, come on. I’m totally harmless. Ask me.”
Tabby puffed out her cheeks with a hard breath. “There’s this guy. I’ve had my eye on him. He finally asked me out for Saturday, a week from tomorrow night. It’s a cocktail-dress thing—and I mean, I know it’s really short notice, but then I was thinking how you have such amazing taste and all and maybe you could give me a few tips on what to buy, that you could—”
“You want me to make something for you? I could so do that.”
Tabby blinked. “Just like that. You would—you could?”
“Yeah. It would be fun.”
“I would pay you. I mean, not a lot, but—”
Lucy waved a hand. “Not a problem. I’m just getting started in my career, anyway. I need cool projects.”
“But I would pay you.”
“Sure. Of course. We can work that out.”
“But...I mean, something for me, right? For my body and coloring? Your style is killer, but it’s not me.” Tabby had streaky blond hair and amazing cheekbones. She stood five-eleven or so and rocked one of those real-woman bodies with serious curves.
“Oh, yeah. For you, only you. I’m thinking something that flows and clings and shows off a little of that gorgeous olive skin.”
Tabitha asked in a breathless tone, “Can it be red?”
“Oh, yes, it can.”
All at once Tabby looked like a kid having the best Christmas ever. “Lucy, I’m liking this. I seriously am....”
* * *
Tabby came right over to Lucy’s after her shift was through.
Lucy ushered her into the bedroom, which was big enough that she not only had her bed and dresser in there but she’d also set up a cutting table, her two sewing machines and a couple of dress forms. Lucy took Tabby’s measurements and they discussed fabric and detail. Lucy was thinking the red dress should be chiffon, with a flowing short skirt, a ruched strapless bodice and a sweetheart neckline. And there should be bling—maybe crystal beading or rhinestones to accent the bodice. She did some quick sketches and Tabby was sold. She wrote a check right then and there for the amount Lucy quoted her.
Then they started talking. Tabby talked about the guy who’d asked her out for Saturday night. His name was Henry O’Mara and he owned a shoe-repair shop in Chelsea. She said her parents were driving her crazy. She’d been engaged to a nice Greek man, but she’d called it off and they couldn’t understand what could be the matter with her. Lucy shared her issues with Noah and her adoration of Alice. She even talked about Dami a little.
Tabby said, “Leave it to you to find yourself a prince.”
And Lucy said the usual, “It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”
At which Tabby made a snorting sound. “Yeah. Right. Like I believe that.”
They ended up going across the street to the Italian place, where they each ordered the sausage ravioli. When they got back to Lucy’s, Viviana Nichols opened her door. She had a plate of cookies fresh from the oven and she grinned at them, the lines around her eyes deepening, her brown face full of fun and mischief. So they joined her in her warm, cookie-scented kitchen for coffee and snicker doodles.
Later that night, alone in her apartment, Lucy felt pretty good about everything. She loved New York, she couldn’t wait for her first semester at FIT NY and she had a feeling Tabby was going to be a real friend.
Okay, yes, she did miss Dami a lot. It had been nearly a week since she’d left him. She wanted to call him. But that somehow felt wrong. She’d been the one who’d initiated their weekend together, and she’d done it with the clear understanding that they would both walk away in the end. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t pester him, which meant she needed to leave him alone for a while, till after the holidays, at least. And she absolutely would not be disappointed that he hadn’t gotten in touch.
In the early half of the following week, Brandon called to tell her that he now had “several potential projects” lined up and would be staying in Los Angeles until after the New Year.
“And, Lucy...” His voice trailed off. He let out a long sigh. “I really like you, but I’ve met someone. Someone special. I may end up subletting my apartment and staying on here indefinitely. But in any case, it looks like it won’t be happening for you and me after all.”
Lucy told him she was happy for him and wished him well. She hung up with a feeling of relief that Brandon Delaney had found love in L.A. and that private “talk” he’d said he wanted to have with her would never be happening.
The next day, her brother called to see if maybe she’d changed her mind about coming home for Christmas. She told him—again—that she hadn’t. He put Alice on and they discussed the dress. A little while later Hannah called just to chat.
Every time her phone rang, she couldn’t quell a little thrill of hope that it might be Dami.
But it never was.
She
