Page 7 of Where We Bloom

This store is the cutest. It doesn’t look or smell like a thrift shop. It’s styled like an adorable fashion boutique, and I always feel fancy when I come in to browse through the racks and hunt for amazing finds.

“Oh, no complaints here. How’s the bookstore life treating you, Billie?”

“It’s the best. I brought that series you requested and a few bags of donations as well.”

Not only do I buy from this thrift store but I also donate back anything that I’ve grown tired of or just didn’t work for me.

Because although I’m a clothes horse, my little house can’t hold all the pieces I’d keep if I had the space.

“Oh, that’s great, thank you,” she says with a smile. “I held a few things back for you because I knew they’d sell fast, and I wanted you to get first dibs.”

Those magical words make my tummy flip, and I’ve already pulled two dresses and a pair of slacks from a rack to try on when Martha returns, pulling a rolling rack of clothes behind her.

“That’s not afew things.” I quickly twist my long hair up into a knot. It needs to be out of my way so I can try on clothes.

Martha laughs and takes my finds from me so she canstart me a room, and I immediately hurry over to the rack to comb through it.

“This is a Gucci blouse,” I call out to her as my adrenaline spikes. “And it’s in my size! That never happens.”

Unfortunately, not all fashion houses offer their ready-to-wear clothes in larger sizes, but every once in a while, I find something.

In fact, this whole rack is full of designer pieces in my size.

“Who donated this stuff?” I ask as Martha joins me.

“A governor’s wife,” she says with a shrug. “I swear, she must have brought me half of her closet. These are last year’s pieces.”

“Who cares?” I laugh and step back. “I’ll try it all on.”

“I figured you’d say that. Let’s get started.”

Every piece fits me like a glove. A Dior shift dress, a Louis Vuitton blouse. Chanel, Hermes, and Valentino. Some of the items still have tags on them.

“I’m going to give you everything for three hundred,” Martha says.

“There’s easily twenty grand in clothes here, and that’s on the conservative side,” I reply, shaking my head. “I should pay you at least one thousand.”

“Usedclothes, and besides, you’ll bring them back to me when you’re finished with them.”

“This might be the best day of the whole year. I feel like I should buy a lottery ticket,” I inform her as I pull on the long maxi dress I wore here and follow her to thecounter where we dig in, folding everything and gently placing it all in the two totes I brought.

“Billie?” Her voice sounds tentative.

I raise an eyebrow at Martha. “Yes?”

“I’m thinking about selling the shop.”

I feel my eyes go wide, and my heart stutters.

“Oh, why? It’s such a great place.”

“My parents are in Arizona, and my dad’s health isn’t great. I feel like I should be there with them, you know? I have a serious case of daughter guilt.”

I bite my lip. “I get it. Mine moved to Florida a few years ago, and if my dad wasn’t well, I’d want to be closer to him, too. It’s a tough decision. Is the shop struggling?”

“No. Actually, I do well, and I love it so much,” she replies. “You’re not my only client who comes from far away to pick through rich people’s castoffs. I stay really busy. Why, do you want to buy it?”

She giggles at that, but I’m not laughing with her.

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