Never Tell. Karen Young
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people preferred to skip breakfast altogether when for her it was the best meal of the day? And irresistible. With a sheepish groan, she grabbed the box, turned and led the way into her kitchen.
The table in her breakfast nook was littered with fabric scraps, scissors and parchment-paper patterns. Sitting in the midst of that was her laptop. She remembered looking at the clock around 2:30 a.m. and thinking she should shut down and go to bed. She did, finally, about an hour later, knowing it was Sunday and she would be able to sleep in.
“Whoa, somebody’s been busy,” Jason said, looking at the mess on the table.
“Until the wee hours,” Erica said, setting the coffee and kolaches on a countertop nearby. She collected the material scraps and dropped them into a box, tossed the paper patterns into a tall trash can she’d placed beside her chair and shoved the computer to the opposite side of the table. “But it was worth it. I finished the design for Jill McNeal’s evening jacket. I’m really happy with it, Jason. I think she’ll be pleased.”
“Have your coffee first,” he told her. “And sit down. We’ll look at the design and pig out after you look at this.” With a flourish, he snapped the fold from the newspaper and spread it out on the table.
Erica removed the plastic lid from her coffee cup and sat. Then, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one ear, she turned her attention to the paper. Her gray eyes went wide. The first thing she noticed was her own photo on the cover of Zest, the Houston Chronicle’s Sunday magazine. Small but prominently displayed at the top, it was a teaser for a feature article inside.
“Wait’ll you see the article,” Jason said. “It’ll blow your mind. We couldn’t pay enough for advertising like this, Erica.” Not waiting for her to find it, he leaned over and flipped the pages until he located it. He straightened and stood back to gauge her reaction. “Have a look at that, partner.”
He was right about one thing. They could never afford to pay for advertising at this level. She was pictured arranging the display in the front window of the shop in the Village. She remembered the day she’d worked on the display. She’d wanted the fabric she’d used in the jacket to coordinate with the quilt, another of her original designs. She’d draped the quilt over an antique chair, which she’d borrowed from a shop located a couple of doors down. On the floor beside the chair was a tall urn containing a few gnarled and leafless limbs she’d collected on the side of a country road. River stones had been strewn over the floor to look as if they’d been cast out carelessly, adding a last artful touch to the oddly eclectic grouping. She’d had some doubt about the photographer’s request to shoot her at work in the window, but the result was more than interesting.
Jason grinned with delight. “Is it great, or what?”
“It’s nice.” The article wasn’t about Erica alone. It was a piece showcasing the unique personality of the Village, a favored location for merchants, upscale and otherwise, some selling unique merchandise while others offered chain-store quality. When Erica and Jason decided to open a retail outlet for her jacket and quilt designs, they’d chosen the Village as much for its personality as for its location near upscale River Oaks.
“Nice?” Jason propped his hands on his hips. “That’s it, just nice?”
“It’s really terrific.”
“You know what this means, Erica.” He sat down on the cushioned seat of the bay window, but he was so energized that he was instantly up and pacing again. “It’s going to make us a household word. You’ve already made a name for yourself in Houston and this article is simply icing on the cake. Circulation for the Chronicle takes us throughout the whole state of Texas and beyond.”
“First Texas and then the world?” she teased, smiling while savoring the taste of the coffee. Jason’s expectations were anything but modest. He really believed Erica Stewart was destined to become a label as well known as Kate Spade or Cynthia Rowley. He was so certain that sometimes Erica almost believed it herself. This morning, however, her expectations were firmly grounded. She needed a couple of seamstresses to work full-time on the jackets and quilts, but so far she’d found only one who met her exacting standards. Her creations were pricey, unavoidably so, as they were labor intensive. She wanted anyone who bought a jacket or a quilt to get full value for their money.
“I’m not the one in denial,” Jason said, biting into a kolache. “You are.” Then, chewing on the pastry, he pointed to the article. “Do you think they do these feature articles for just anybody? Hell, no. Even if you can’t believe you’re destined to be a significant player, sugar, other folks do.” He tapped the article with a forefinger. “Now all we have to do is make the most of what’s been handed to us on a silver platter.”
“Uh-huh.” Erica rose and rummaged in a wire basket where she’d stashed recent mail. “If you’re excited over that article, you’ll really love this.” When she found what she was looking for, she handed it to Jason, who gave it a quick once-over. Then, doing a double take, he reread it.
“This isn’t a joke,” he said, looking at her. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
“No, Jason. Where would I get letterhead with a Texas Today logo? It’s real.”
“You’ve been named one of Twenty Women to Watch in Texas,” he said in a tone of wonderment.
“I know. I’ve read it,” she said dryly.
“Do you have a clue what this means?”
“I’ve got friends in high places?” But she was smiling, knowing Jason would get almost as much pleasure from the honor as she did. Maybe more.
“We agreed we couldn’t find enough money to buy the Zest article, but this knocks that right out of the ballpark.”
She licked raspberry filling from her finger before grabbing a napkin. “Hey, maybe we’ll find the money to hire another seamstress.”
“I’m serious, Erica. This is…this will…” He shook his head. “I’m speechless.”
“Now, that is a first.” Taking the letter from him, she sat down again and reread it. “I’m flattered, Jace. And you’re right. This is a once-in-a-career boost, and yet…”
He looked at her in disbelief, propping his hands on his hips. “And what, for Pete’s sake? You can’t possibly find anything negative in this. You said the Zest article was a fluke, and that if our shop wasn’t in the Village, and they didn’t just happen to be featuring businesses there, we would never have been included. And when you got that order for jackets from that boutique in the Galleria, you called Christopher Crane to make sure he meant it for Erica Stewart and not our competition in Dallas. It was legit and that’s because you’re good. Chris Crane doesn’t just run his finger down the yellow pages and pick a designer at random to feature in his shop, darlin’. You’re good, you’re better than good and I wish to hell you believed it as much as I do.”
“Okay, okay.” She gave a weak smile and rubbed her forehead with two fingers. “I get a headache when you start to lecture.”
“You should,” he said with no sympathy. After a beat or two, he dropped into a chair opposite her. “I don’t get why you keep trying to downplay your success, Erica. If I were in your place, the Astrodome wouldn’t be big enough for my ego.”
She studied his face with affection. They’d been friends since meeting in an art class in college more than twelve years ago. He’d been the male model that day. It was later when Erica learned he was actually an art student, and that he’d volunteered to model because it was just the zany kind of thing Jason sometimes did. He was physically beautiful. No other word fit. He had every natural asset needed for a career as a male model. His hair was a thick, glossy near-black, his eyes were startlingly blue and he had cheekbones to die for. Added to all that, his tall, hard-muscled body looked delectable in clothes. In fact, he’d briefly pursued modeling as a career, but quickly abandoned it as being, in his words, “soul-destroying and shallow beyond belief.” In his bones