Page 18 of Snowflakes Over Starr's Fall
“Well, keep me posted,” Zoe said as she gathered up her milk and bread. She gave an apologetic grimace as she glanced around the store. “This place is really kind of cute. I should come in here more, but I tend to rely on Instacart.”
“As does everyone else,” Jenna agreed with a sigh. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you. Much.”
She’d had more or less the same conversation with what felt like half the residents of Starr’s Fall, some of them asking more obliquely, others demanding to know outright.
“Can you take photos of his house?” Liz Cranbury asked as she bought some lettuce and a bell pepper. “Discreetly, I mean, on your phone. It’s that huge place out on Bantam Lake that that famous architect built for himself but then got divorced and moved to LA, do you remember? I’ve heard it’s fantastic inside.”
“I amnottaking photos of his house,” Jenna told her.
“I’m so jealous,” Liz replied. “As much of you seeing the house as dating Jack Wexler.”
“I amnotdating Jack Wexler?—”
“You guys flirt by fighting,” Liz cut her off. “It would be annoying if it wasn’t so cute.” She held up one manicured hand. “And don’t worry, I won’t step in. Girls’ code and all that. But try to get a photo of at least one of the bathrooms, okay? He’ll never know.”
Somehow, knowing Liz’s penchant for gossip, Jenna suspected he would. And she was not taking creepy photos of Jack Wexler’s bathroom, although she was almost as curious as Liz to see the interior of the big house on Bantam Lake. No one had seen the inside of it.
By Wednesday evening, when Jenna was closing up the store to get ready for her non-date, she’d had enough of the speculation and suggestions. At least she’d profited from it, she told herself as she headed to the house to change. If gossip about her social life kept people coming to the store, then maybe she should think about having more of one.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves and more than a little anticipation as she headed upstairs. Since this wasn’t a date, it begged the question what she should wear. She was most definitelynotgetting gussied up; the very last thing she wanted was for Jack to think she’d made some kind of effort for him. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to rock up to his door in her usual eclectic outfit, either. What to do?
A hammering on the kitchen door had Jenna stilling, one hand on the knob of her bedroom door. More hammering. And then a voice.
“Jenna Miller, open up. I walked all the way out here to keep you from embarrassing yourself, and I’m not going away without fulfilling my duty.”
It sounded like Zoe Wilkinson, who was not someone Jenna would expect to come knocking on her door. She liked Zoe, and they were friendly, but Zoe was ten years younger than her, and they didn’t really hang out all that much, per se. Slowly Jenna walked back downstairs and opened the door.
“Zoe…” She shook her head slowly at the sight of the young woman standing on her doorstep, looking resolute. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping you get ready for your hot date,” Zoe replied. “I realized you were probably going to wear your patchwork skirt and call it fancy, and I figured you needed an intervention. Not to say,” she added quickly, “that I don’t like your style, because I do. You totally rock the I-just-got-out-of-bed boho look. But… I feel like you need a little extra zing, when it comes to dinner with Jack Wexler. Liz agreed, and so did Annie. Laurie and Maggie, too. And Rhonda was the one who mentioned it first, so… I was nominated to come help you out.”
“Does every single person in town know I am having dinner with Jack Wexler?” Jenna demanded. “Andare they all really talking about my wardrobe?”
“Yes,” Zoe replied instantly. “Everyone knows about the date, anyway. Only the women are talking about your wardrobe. Are you surprised?”
No, she wasn’t, but she was flustered. She didn’t like the thought of everyone up in her business, especially herromanticbusiness, and especially when she hadn’t had any romantic business in ten years, save for a few very dispiriting blind dates she’d prefer to forget.
“Thanks for the mercy mission,” she told Zoe dryly, “but I have no intention of making an effort for Jack Wexler.”
“Correction,” Zoe replied, “you don’t want tolooklike you made an effort. Totally get that. But actually make an effort? Yes, you do.”
“Well, all right,” Jenna admitted somewhat grudgingly, because she had a point. “I guess.”
“Let’s go upstairs and have a look at our options.” Zoe was already heading toward the stairs. “I’ve never been in your place. It’s so quaint, isn’t it?”
Jenna glanced around at the forty-year-old furniture her parents had bought in yard sales. “Yes,” she agreed. “Quaint.”
With great foreboding, she followed Zoe up the stairs. By the time she had, Zoe had already found her bedroom and was surveying the state of her closet, hands planted on her slim hips.
Jenna had very uncertain feelings about having anyone in her bedroom, never mind Zoe Wilkinson, who yes, was someone she liked, but not someone she knew all that well. And who, it had to be said, had a certain style all her own. Right now she was wearing a fitted bright purple t-shirt with an artful rip along the hem and a pair of black jeans with shredded knees. Both garments clung to her slender figure, and Jenna wouldn’t be seen dead in either. It was a great look for Zoe, but she really wasn’t sure this was the person to give her fashion advice. But then who was?
“So we’ve got some options,” Zoe called over her shoulder as she freely rifled through the scant items in Jenna’s closet. “Fortunately, Liz Cranbury came through with this.” She reached down to the leather backpack she’d dropped at her feet and pulled out a Midnight Fashion bag which she thrust at Jenna. “It’s gorgeous.”
Jenna took the bag and peered inside with some trepidation. There, folded up with tissue paper, was a deep red sweater in softest cashmere. She pulled it out and examined it; it was gorgeous, but it was also very sexy. The deep v-neck, on her generous figure, would be… indecent.
“All you need is a pair of bottoms—jeans without patches, preferably, or maybe some black pants?” She peered in the back of her closet and pulled out a pair of wide-legged black pants Jenna hadn’t worn since she’d lived in New York. “These are perfect!” Zoe ran a hand along the fabric admiringly. “And they look expensive.”
“They were.” Stupidly, Jenna found her throat had gone a little tight. They were just a pair of pants, for heaven’s sake, but they reminded her of everything she’d once tried so hard to be… for a man. She didn’t want to do that again, and certainly not with Jack Wexler.
