to return quickly.”
Theo stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. He’d give his mother five minutes, then start looking for her. “Sorry about this.”
“Your mother is entertaining.”
Exactly what the producers would love. And exactly what Theo would hate. “She can be.”
Mia changed lenses on her camera. “Adriana told me that she now needs to find a new wedding-dress designer and rearrange all the other details of her wedding, too.”
Theo pressed his arms into his sides, restraining his irritation. How could his mother be so selfish?
Mia shifted her camera and eyed him. “I know a designer.”
Theo studied the photographer. He’d already promised to help his sister. “That’s rather convenient.”
“It is, since you need one willing to work on a tight timeline and meet your sister’s requests.” Mia grinned at him.
Impatience scratched against his neck like an overstarched collar. He wanted Adriana’s wedding over. He wanted his sister—the creative director of Coast to Coast Living—back full-time. He never wanted two brides. At the same time. Theo let his skepticism cut through his tone. “Your dressmaker can do that?”
Mia nodded. “She is up-and-coming.”
“Is she any good?” Theo persisted.
“You’ll find out that she’s fabulous if you give her a chance,” Mia said. “Josie just needs a break.”
How many times had he heard that line? Theo rolled his shoulders, testing to see if he could handle one more person stepping over him to climb their own ladder of success. He hadn’t blamed his past two girlfriends for their dreams. He wouldn’t blame Mia’s dressmaker, either.
“By the way, your mother went to pick out several wedding veils from your sister’s sample collection in the second-floor workroom.” Mia checked the time on her fitness tracker. “She should’ve been back already.”
Theo strode to the door, once again intent on intercepting his mother. He wasn’t certain the TV producers were even out of the building. He glanced back at Mia. “One meeting. Only an hour. I’ll look at your dressmaker’s work. Set it up with Fran.”
Surely he could find a better solution—a designer more qualified than Mia’s friend. After all, an unknown designer could ruin his sister’s perfect dream wedding. That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
“I TOLD MOM that Chloe and Connor shouldn’t be in the Christmas play with me.” Seven-year-old Charlotte sat on Josie Beck’s work stool in the back of The Rose Petal Boutique and spun herself in rapid circles. “The twins can’t sit still. Ever.”
The entire Cunningham family couldn’t sit still.
Josie captured a curly-haired little boy around the waist, earned a squeal of giggles and hauled the four-year-old back onto the platform. She swiped the tie-dyed mouse pincushion from Chloe, her matching blond curls bouncing, and twirled the little girl beside her twin brother. Mrs. Cunningham used her hip to nudge a baby stroller around the photograph display at the front of Josie’s boutique. The woman tossed toasted cereal to her eight-month-old baby with one hand and pressed her cell phone to her ear with the other. All without skipping a word in her animated conversation.
Josie wanted to skip all her appointments with the Curtain Call Children’s Theater group if the Cunninghams foreshadowed her afternoon. The pint-size chaos ruined Josie’s focus and kinked her patience.
But she’d drained her account to make December rent that morning. January’s payment loomed like a personal rain cloud.
Every alteration mattered. Every costume design mattered. Every client mattered. But every family mattered, too.
Josie positioned Connor on the platform in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and lifted his arms. Resolved to do her best for the troupe, she said, “Stand like an airplane.”
“Airplanes don’t stand.” Charlotte stretched her arms out in her Mrs. Claus costume and her mischievous grin even wider. “Airplanes fly.”
The twins lifted their arms as if on cue and zoomed off the platform, weaving around Josie. Josie clenched her measuring tape and squeezed her shout back inside of her.
Charlotte spun the stool in the opposite direction and tilted her head back to ogle the ceiling. “The twins love airplanes and ice cream.”
Josie loved clients that stood still. Appointments that stayed on schedule. And harbored a soft spot for a certain seven-year-old girl, who refused to take off her Mrs. Claus costume.
Connor clipped Josie’s dress form, his chubby fingers catching on a strapless burgundy winter ball gown. The one waiting for Josie to hem and add sparkle to with a jeweled waistband. The one her client intended to pick up later that week, as promised. Josie settled the dress form and steered Connor up onto the platform. She tacked sincerity and confidence into her voice, then improvised. “I bet if you stand really still and let me take these measurements for your costumes, your mom will get you ice cream.”
Chloe crash-landed into the back of Josie’s legs.
Charlotte chanted, “Mayday. Mayday.”
That was the same chant of Josie’s checking account. Utility bills were due in ten days. Josie had to complete the costumes for the children’s theater production of Rudolph, Somerset Playhouse’s Scrooge performance and an expanding pile of alterations. If only that was enough to turn a profit. Worry sheared through her, weakening her knees and sapping her hope. Rent in San Francisco was high, but it meant she had easy access to more clients.
Josie shook the bells on the curved end of a sample elf hat, locked her knees and shifted her attitude. Gloom never quite fit her—it was like a poorly tailored dress, cinching in some places, sagging in others. “Let’s skip the measurements and try on fun hats instead.”
“Chloe won’t put that on.” Certainty pushed out Charlotte’s chin.
Josie jingled the bells again, seeking her holiday cheer and best smile for the spirited little girl. Josie’s favorite foster mom, Mimi Sims, had never forced her smiles and had always hugged without restraint. “Can I just set this on your head? One quick second.”
Chloe grabbed the elf hat and smashed it under her faux-fur boots. “No hat.”
Josie rubbed her temples and slid her gaze to Charlotte. “Will Connor try it on?”
“He does what Chloe does.” Charlotte crossed her legs and tapped one glitter-painted fingernail on her chin. “But they might put it on for bubble gum.”
“Bubble gum.” Josie quickly ran through the contents of her purse. “I don’t have bubble gum.”
Charlotte shrugged. “They aren’t allowed to have it, anyway. Last summer, Chloe stuck her bubble gum in Connor’s hair. Then
