Page 5 of Hemmed

“I don’t know how. I never told him where I was going to buy my dress or when. Besides, those men were looking at a site that had all kinds of photos from changing rooms.” She grabbed one more suitcase and put her jewelry, perfume, and makeup inside.

“This is all for now,” she said. “My laptop and other things I need for work are downstairs.”

“Is there nothing in the house that belongs to you?” he asked.

“Nothing I need. Why are you doing this? You don’t know me; you don’t owe me anything.”

“Let’s just say we’re somewhat in the same boat. Cara let me know she was leaving me today to move in here.”

“Th-this was planned,” she whispered.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” he asked. She shook her head, unsure of what she should do. “It’s alright. I own a fishing cabin out in the bayou. There’s air conditioning, electricity, even wi-fi. I like quiet, but I need to be connected.”

“That’s fine. Anything is fine, thank you. Thank you, Mark,” she said as he picked up the three massive suitcases beneath his arms. She grabbed a duffel bag and tote and followed him down the stairs.

“Sor.”

“Sor? I thought your name was Mark. Is Sor a nickname?” she asked.

“It’s a long story, Nelly. Let’s just get the fuck out of here before I kill your soon-to-be ex-husband.”

“You don’t know that we’re going to divorce,” she said, hitting the bottom step. As she did, Craig was standing there with a folded stack of papers.

“Just make it easy on both of us, Nelly. Sign the fucking papers and get out of my life.”

CHAPTER THREE

Getting custom-made clothing was not something Meredeth would usually do, but she was treating herself after getting a huge bonus. She needed a killer suit and dress to impress her clients in Japan. They were very stiff about what women should wear to business meetings, and her business casual attire wasn’t going to cut it any longer.

She’d spent nearly an hour choosing the right fabric on her first visit. A classic-looking menswear plaid with a beautiful white linen for her blouses. She opted to have three other blouses made from the same linen but in different colors.

On her second visit, the tailor took some measurements that she found odd. Not the measurements themselves but the way in which he took them. The tailor seemed very handsy, always touching her flesh, guiding his hand along her skin unnecessarily.

The confusing thing for her was that he seemed very flamboyant, very gay. She didn’t care one way or another, but why all the touching and feeling? It just wasn’t normal.

Today was the last fitting of the garments. Just in time for her trip to Tokyo, leaving in three weeks’ time.

“What are you doing?” screeched the woman standing beside her on the short dais. Meredeth stared at the woman, wanting to tell her she felt the same way.

“I’m just fixing the hem, ma’am,” said the gentleman. “I need for you to just open your legs a bit so that I can be sure everything will fall properly once we have it fixed for you.”

“I’ve never had anyone ask me that.”

“I’ll be right back,” he smiled. “Don’t move.”

Meredeth smiled at the woman, and she shook her head.

“It’s so weird. He doesn’t need me to do that,” she said.

“I’m glad it’s not just me,” whispered Meredeth. “I don’t understand any of this. It’s my first custom suit, but I know how suits fit and how measurements are taken. It all feels really weird to me.”

When she was certain he’d left the dressing room area, the other woman stepped off the small dais. Don’t move? She was uncomfortable having stood there for almost an hour. He fixed everything about the new suit and then fixed it again. She didn’t mind that her tailor was a male. After all, she suspected he was gay.

But the way his fingertips brushed her breasts and the inside of her thigh made her question everything. Now, asking her to open her legs wider for the hem of a straight skirt seemed absurd!

She stepped back, glancing at herself in the mirror. Turning, she liked the way the suit fit her and was pleased with her choice of fabric. At the bottom of the skirt was a small red dot.

“What on earth,” she whispered. She brushed the skirt, but there was nothing there. Standing up again, she saw the dot one more time.

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