Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

“I—” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry to live it.” She stood abruptly, brushing over the skirt of the dress with her hands. “And I didn’t mean to make myself at home in the dress when I haven’t even bought it. It’s lovely, but maybe I’d better think it over before I buy anything.”

Erin wanted to help the woman even more than she’d wanted to assist Remy Weldon the night before. She’d given Remy a helping hand out of common courtesy. But the need to give something back to this woman went deeper than that—a personal need to soothe over some of the guilt in her heart.

“The store is actually hosting a big Dress for Success event later this month,” Erin lied, unsure about the name, but remembering an article describing an organization that provided professional attire to disadvantaged women. She’d thought about doing something similar in the past but had gotten busy with renovations. “I’ve been collecting clothes for it for weeks.”

That wasn’t true, either. But personal pride could be a hard-won commodity, and she didn’t want to injure this woman’s by making it sound as if she wanted to give her a handout.

The woman tilted her chin at Erin, her thin arms folded tight. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s an event that gives women who’ve had a hard time the chance to choose a nice outfit for a job interview. You know, help them get ahead?” She tried to gauge the woman’s expression. “It’s exactly for women who have rat bastard exes in their past.”

“Is that so?” Pushing at the sleeves of the too-big dress, the blonde smiled. “It would definitely save me a lot of time if I didn’t have to take in an outfit. Do you think you’ll have any smaller sizes?”

“I’m positive we do.” Erin’s brain worked fast to calculate how long it would take her to pull off something like this and make it a success. “I planned to unveil the project later this month, but since I’ve already got inventory for it, why don’t you come back and take a look at it—when is your interview?”

“Monday.”

Erin would have to shuffle aside everything else in her schedule to research this. She had off-season inventory at home, and she could raid friends’ closets.

“Why don’t you come by Friday after the shop closes and you can take a peek at what I’ve got in the storeroom?” The toughest part would be coming up with enough shoes, bags and accessories to make it look as though she’d been collecting for a while. “Er, what size shoe are you?”

“Seven and a half.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Jamie Raybourn, by the way. This is really kind of you.”

“Erin Finley. And it’s no problem. You’ll do better at the interview if you feel happy about what you’re wearing, and the cool thing about this program is that women can come back for work clothes once they land a job.”

“Really?” Jamie’s one raised eyebrow suggested she was skeptical, and it made Erin sad to think the woman didn’t believe she’d ever get a break. She fiddled with the price tag on the dress she still wore.

“Yes. It’s a great program.” Or it would be when Erin got done with it. “I’d better get back to the front counter. But you’ll be here on Friday?”

Erin wanted to help. Needed to help. Even if she wasn’t desperate to somehow alleviate the guilt she felt about another mother with a bastard for a husband, Erin had been raised to be civic-minded and care for her community. Her father’s long stint as Heartache’s mayor had instilled that kind of community awareness in all the Finleys.

Jamie smiled and shrugged narrow shoulders out of the blue jersey dress. “I will. Thank you so much.”

Erin sidled out through the gap in the curtain on one side, careful not to flash her half-dressed customer. She worried a little about pulling off a small clothing drive in the next few days, let alone organizing the storage area enough to allow a client in there to browse some inventory. Expanding Last Chance Vintage meant a lot of furnishings and display items were tucked in storage to stay out of the way of drywall, sanding and painting projects.

Renovation work would have to wait a little longer because right now, Erin had a more important focus. Maybe helping Jamie—and other women like her—would put Erin on a more positive path to forgiving herself for being a blind idiot about Patrick.

And if not? At least she was doing something constructive with her time, unlike all the months she had wasted loving some guy who’d done nothing but lie to her.

Ducking behind the front counter, Erin grabbed her cell phone and sent out her first SOS text to start collecting clothes. If she acted fast, maybe she could coerce some friends into cleaning out their closets tonight and she could make the rounds in the morning to pick things up. Too bad her sister-in-law, Bethany, was one of the few “size two” women Erin knew. She couldn’t let Jamie walk into an interview with Bethany while wearing her sister-in-law’s former clothes.

Erin was just closing out the register and flipping the sign on the front door when Remy Weldon pulled up in a white sedan with out-of-state plates. Her hand paused on the Open sign, her attention thoroughly captured by the sight of him unfolding his long, lean frame from the vehicle.

He’d held plenty of appeal the night before with his dress shirt plastered to his chest and shoulders from the rain. Today, clean and pressed in a gray suit with a pale blue shirt open at the neck, he was a whole different kind of handsome. Something about the suit and the crisp shirt cuffs peeking out from the sleeves as he moved reminded her of Patrick and all the things she’d once admired about him. His sharp, professional appearance. His travel wardrobe that could fold down into the smallest possible roll-away bag.

Remy lifted a hand in acknowledgment when he spotted her. Her heart rate jumped a little at his smile, a fact that irritated her more than she would have liked. Opening the door, she concentrated on the fact he was just a client like any other. And he’d be on his way back to Miami before she knew it.

“I hardly recognize you when you’re not sopping wet,” she called by way of greeting. As soon as she said it, she had a schoolgirl moment where she panicked the words could be construed as having a sexual undertone.

But no. Just because her thoughts had sexual undertones didn’t mean her words did.

“That’s a coincidence.” He paused a few steps away from her and seemed to take her measure, his hazel eyes doing a slow tour. “Because I hardly recognize you without the overalls and safety goggles.”

He wasn’t flirting. Probably just being amusing. But his attractiveness skewed the conversation in a weird way, and it didn’t help that she didn’t have the goggles and overalls to hide behind. Suddenly self-conscious, she turned and headed inside.

“Come on in,” she called over her shoulder, hoping she was behaving normally and not like a junior high school girl. “I have a table in the back where we can discuss what you’re looking for.”

She heard the shop bell ring behind him as the door shut, sealing them inside the empty store. Alone again, just like the night before.

“I appreciate you making time for me today.” Remy’s tone had shifted to all business as he followed her past the open pie safe full of vintage linens. He gripped a dark leather folder in one hand. Was he going to take notes? Or maybe he had pictures to show her the kinds of items he collected.

“Antiques are my business.” She switched off her phone since it was already buzzing with incoming texts, no doubt replies from her friends about the last-minute clothing drive. “I’m happy to help.”

She gestured to an old kitchen chair repurposed with a leather seat that was pulled up to a high workstation with drawers full of swatches, samples and assorted cabinetry hardware. Occasionally, she refinished furniture here or re-covered old lamp shades with new material.

“You seem to be involved in a lot more than antiques,” he observed, gesturing to the racks of vintage clothing dotting the store just outside the alcove where they sat across from one another.

“I have a wide variety of interests.” A quality she’d inherited from her mother.

“Everything from construction to retail.” He winked at her, but the charm felt a little too practiced.

She knew she was a cynic, but she had an odd feeling about this meeting. Why the added charm if he wasn’t flirting with her?

“Can you tell me what you’re looking for?” She folded her hands on the scarred wooden surface of the worktable, trying to keep the meeting on track.

“I’m the producer for a television show called Interstate Antiquer.” He slid a business card across the table with the logo of a show she recognized from one of the home improvement cable channels. “I’m on a scouting trip this week in central Tennessee, hoping to line up some stops for our host.”

Did that mean a big sale for her store? She was even more curious now and also grateful for the new barrier to her attraction for him. She couldn’t act on the attraction if they were working together.

“You need antiques for the show?” She tried to recall the format of the program but wasn’t sure if she’d seen it.

“We need stores to feature. We would film at least a full day’s worth of footage in Last Chance Vintage to give our viewers a chance to see you work with the customers and what kinds of things you sell or trade—”

“Is that why you were in the rain outside my store last night? As part of your scouting trip?” It reminded her of the telemarketing calls where the sales rep launched into a friendly chat as though you were old friends before identifying himself. “You drove through here to find antiques shops?”

Any flirtation she’d imagined on his part had been an illusion. He was here only on business. She should be grateful she didn’t need to worry about any romantic distraction—he would not test her willpower regarding handsome men. But irritation niggled.

“Last Chance Vintage was on my list of places to see. Yes.”

“Yet you didn’t mention it.” Was it too much to ask for people to be forthright about who they were and what they wanted? Even knowing that she was overreacting didn’t stop her from feeling...deceived. “I thought you were here on business.”

“I am here on business.” He reached into his folder and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Television is your business, not mine. I’m renovating the store while my sister is out of town, and I have to run daily operations, too. That doesn’t leave time for much else.” She scooped up her cell phone and stood. “Maybe when my sister returns, she could do it. She has more personal charm than me and I’m not really what you’d call viewer-friendly.”

“Wait.” Remy rose, as well, his lean height and well-tailored suit making her feel short and frumpy. “These spots are usually very good for a store’s bottom line, Erin. Did you want to check with your partner before you say no? She’s the one who brought your shop to our attention. And we can’t reschedule our whole central Tennessee spotlight until she returns.”