Page 66 of Pin-up Girl

Me: Girls only tonight.

Alys: He says we can paint his nails if we let him come.

I laughed in my empty store.

Me: He lets me paint his nails anyway. That doesn’t make him a girl. If there are leftovers, we’ll get Sylvie to let you take them home. That seemed fair.

Alys: Maddox says he loves you, but not as much as me or Onyx or cake.

Maddox loved anyone who fed him, but I appreciated the sentiment.

Ravyn: Is this a polite company kind of gathering?

Me: Have you met the rest of us?

I couldn’t imagine the group of us behaving for nearly long enough to be considered polite company.

Ravyn: I haven’t met this cake person. I’m down for free food, but I need to know if I’m expected to hold my tongue. I won’t—you’ve been warned—but I like to know if I’m expected to.

That was fine. She’d do great with my family. Maybe not Aunt Neva, but I was willing to ruffle those feathers.

Me: My family knows I’m a godless heathen, and my aunt is already scandalized by me.

Evie: None of us will be on our best behavior.

Ravyn: Perfect. ;*

Everyone else signed off as well, so we could get back to work. I spent the next several hours helping customers. One of the things I loved about my job was helping someone put together the perfect look, either for historical accuracy, or just because they loved a style and needed something that complimented their build and coloring.

This was one of the reasons I’d been happy to help Sylvie with her wedding dress—there was a creativity behind mixing and matching, and with vintage styles, the possibilities were endless.

Sylvie arrived about an hour early, to help me set up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her makeup looked freshly applied.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Sylvie brushed past me and headed toward my back room. “Where do you keep those folding chairs?”

She knew where, because they were out in the open leaning against a wall. I followed her. “We need to talk.”

“We need to get set up. Everyone else will be here soon.” In my back room, Sylvie headed for the folding table I kept stashed away, rather than the chairs.

Even if I couldn’t force her to talk to me, I needed to do something. I grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug.

Her entire frame went stiff as a board. Then she seemed to deflate and sag against me with a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly.

“I had a fight with Peter. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is if he made you cry.”

“I overreacted.”

Damn it, Sylvie, you know better than this. I swallowed a frustrated retort that wouldn’t do either of us any good. “Why did you quit your job?”

“Peter told you why.” Sylvie pulled away from me and headed for the table again.

I helped her wrangle the thing into a good spot near one side of the back room. We flipped out the legs, slid the locks in place, and up righted the furniture. “I’d like you to tell me.”

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