Page 18 of Follow Your Bliss

“Really,” she said, more of a statement than a question. “That’s amazing. I already knew you were crazy talented, but you must be really smart, too. My roommate in New York was always after me to start an Instagram account for my designs. But I…” She took her long hair down from its bun and put it back up again. “I’m so overwhelmed. I have a ton of gowns to make, my serger and sewing machine are still in boxes, I don’t know where anything is. And I don’t even know where to start with my business.” Her voice wavered as she stacked a small box onto an already-high stack then wiped under her eyes. “I’m trying really hard not to cry in front of you right now, and even harder not to have an anxiety attack.”

Shit—I’d had more than my fair share of those. “Hey, it’ll be okay. Just take it one step at a time. It’s the only way I can handle things. And go easy on yourself. You only moved in this morning. Let me help you set some things up.” I pointed to a headboard. “Want me to move this into the bedroom? I always set my bed up first when I move into a new place.”

She looked back at me, deflating. “Thank you. Yes. That would be amazing.”

I sat my water bottle on the windowsill and hefted the full-size headboard with her pushing her box spring down the hall after me. “Between the windows?”

“Perfect.” She set the box spring against the wall and left again.

I set the headboard in place and spotted a metal bed frame leaning in the corner of the room. I grabbed it and started setting it out. “Do you have the hardware for your bed?”

“Yes!” She rummaged through boxes while I set everything out and pulled the plastic off her mattresses.

“So do you only make wedding dresses?”

“And bridesmaid dresses.” She came back with a bank envelope jingling with screws and a small, pink toolbox. “Here you go. I’m only taking customers by word of mouth right now, but I’ve been trying to get picked up by a major player in the business on my way to starting my own label. Holland Lane is my dream firm, but they won’t give me the time of day. I could open my own boutique, but there’s so much involved with starting a brick-and-mortar. I’d have to find a manufacturer to work with, make all the patterns, find a retail spot to rent—and I don’t know how I’d survive in a local-only market. It’s all so overwhelming, but I have bills to pay right now, you know?”

She was actively wringing her hands, looking around at the boxes as if not really seeing anything.

“You can make money with your brand without producing wedding gowns. Like you could…make T-shirts or stickers about sewing to sell online. Better yet, post sewing or design lessons, or even sell classes on sites like CraftClass. I’m working on a class for them right now. Or even just build your platform and then the right people will come to you.”

She stared at me blankly. “Can we add making money on the internet lessons to our rental agreement? I’m completely lost, but it sounds like you know what’s up.”

“Yeah. One of the biggest things I’ve learned is how important visibility is. Like I saw online the other day that a shoe designer hit it big after some famous actor found him on Instagram. Wait—who was in the news the other day because he got engaged to that singer? We went to middle school with him. He works for that millionaire?”

“Oh, Sam. Sam Cooper. Yeah, he got engaged to PJ Lane.”

“Weren’t y’all friends? Reach out and see if PJ will let you make her dress. Your platform would explode with that kind of visibility.”

She waited for me to step out of the bed frame and laid her box spring down. “Girl. I’d hand-weave the fabric like it was the freaking Middle Ages for that opportunity.”

I stopped and narrowed my eyes at her. “Is there a reason you keep calling me ‘girl’? It doesn’t bother me, but it does confuse me.”

She put her hands on her hips, her small smile slightly challenging. “Nobody bats an eye when somebody calls people ‘bro,’ or ‘man,’ even if the person they’re talking to identifies as female. So why can’t ‘girl’ be the universal?”

“Huh.” I nodded. “That makes sense. I like it.” And it made me smile inside every time she did it. I wanted to hear the story behind each of her quirks—the direct questions, the double entendres, all the touching that was making me insane. I bet she had a compelling explanation for them all.

“But PJ,” Rose continued. “She has a bad rep as a diva. I’m sure she’s only interested in the celebrity designers who are probably already knocking down her door. Why would she want something from a nobody like me?”

I shifted her mattress into place on top of the box spring. “Why would you self-reject without even trying? I haven’t seen your designs, and I don’t know anything about wedding dresses, but you must be pretty good to get that fashion internship. And Becca raves about your work all the time.”

She smiled and shrugged, pulling a sheet set covered in unicorns and rainbows from a box and tossing me a pillow. “I appreciate it, but PJ’s too high profile. I’d have to build a following before she’d even look at me, right? So sure, maybe goals. But I’m at the bottom, so that’s where I need to start.”

“Do yourself a favor.” I went around the bed and took the fitted sheet from her, pointing at a round ottoman in the corner. “Sit there, go to Instagram right now, make an account, and grab your handle. What’s the name of your business?”

She pulled her phone out, settling onto the ottoman cross-legged, her shorts riding high up her inner thighs. “Sweet Roses Bridal. My friend, Heather, already made me a logo, I just haven’t done anything with it.”

“That’s a perfect name. Wait, Heather Aucoin, from middle school?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Graphic design is one of her many talents.”

“I remember her. She helped me get through algebra.” I trained my eyes on the unicorns, making quick work of her bed as she tapped and swiped on her phone, its case covered in cat mermaids.

“Okay, I’m all set up. I’m gonna go follow you. What’s your username? Or do I search for your real name?”

“I’m Deck Daddy. You have a quilt or something?”

She fell over sideways, cackling and throwing a leg down to keep from falling off the ottoman. “Deck Daddy?”

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