Page 45 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“Not too bright?”
“Nothing is too bright or too bold for the Sinclairs. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“Roy prefers me in more earthy tones. I have to agree they suit me better,” she answers, and her comment takes me aback for a moment. If there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s the brighter, the better when it comes to her wardrobe. I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, but I wonder when, in the last three years, that changed. “The bright colours draw too much attention, I think.”
Does she think that? Since when does she not like attention?
“That magenta colour has always been your favourite. I think you should try it on.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Her voice trails off, but she’s still holding the dress out in front of her, admiring it. “It looks a little fitted, don’t you think? I didn’t bring my Spanx with me.”
“Just try it on. There’s no harm in seeing how it looks,” I encourage her.
“Okay … But I won’t buy it. I’d never wear it again.”
I drag my mother by her elbow into the boutique and ask for a fitting room, which she begrudgingly goes into and closes the curtain behind her.
The dress fits her like a glove, and I manage to convince her that it no longer matters what Roy thinks anyway. She’s getting the dress. I had been just as stubborn when Grady forced me to try on that stunning midi number, and now I’m grateful he did. That outfit, and the look on Grady’s face seeing me in it, altered something in my perception of myself. I want that for Marla, too.
The look on her face reminds me of a child on Christmas morning as the store clerk carefully folds it and wraps it in tissue before placing it in a matching pink bag.Ten minutes later, and fifty dollars poorer, Marla and I leave the boutique, dress in hand.
With my mother having now satiated her need to shop, we head back over to Thistle + Thorne, and Poppy helps us load the arrangements for the cocktail party in the back of the car. One task down, only one more to go, and everything will be in order for tonight. A ripple of excitement flutters through my chest. Poppy did an incredible job designing the arrangements, the bar is going to look so much more chic with the changes I suggested, and everything is going to plan.
“We just have to pop into the grocery store now, and then we can take all of this over to the bar,” I explain to my mother, who is now distracted by her phone and has clearly lost all interest in what we’re doing. She seemed so keen to help this morning, but I should have known that she’d grow bored of it quickly. “Whydon’t you wait in the car while I go in?” I offer. Marla nods, still looking down at her phone screen, and absentmindedly opens the passenger side door to climb inside. I don’t hide my eye roll.
I pivot on my heel and march over to the grocery store on the opposite corner to Thistle + Thorne, the bell overhead chiming as I enter. A tall, burly hulk of a man looks up from where he’s bagging the last of his customer’s groceries and wipes his hands on his apron before waving hello.
“Spencer!” he calls, his bushy white eyebrows rising as his expression lifts when he sees me. There’s something about Mack that I’ve liked since the first day I met him. His energy feels like a warm hug, and I don’t know what it means that I feel the urge to ask him to adopt me whenever I see him. All he’s done is remember my name and make me feel welcome, and I don’t care to analyze why that feels so monumental to me.
“Hey, Mack!” I call back, smiling broadly. “Do you have that order Grady called you about?”
He raises his hand in ajust a minutegesture as he remembers what I’m there to pick up before he scurries away to the back room. When he returns, he’s accompanied by a cart with a few crates, full to the brim with all the ingredients Grady had listed.
“Odd assortment of stuff you got here, kiddo,” Mack points out. I nod, but I’m too busy examining the crates, going over the list once more to ensure that everything is there.
“Are you coming tonight?” I ask him. I hope he is.
“You betcha.” He winks at me. “Mine’s the Everything but the Kitchen Sink.”
“Clever.” I chuckle at the name, fitting for the owner of the grocery store. Though I’m a little skeptical about how a cocktail like that will taste. “See you later.”
I pull the car up to the back of the bar a few moments later. Marla hasn’t said a word beside me. Whatever wasoccupying her attention on her phone seems to have shifted her demeanour. I’m trying my best to ignore the black hole of a sour mood next to me, when I see Grady practically skip out to meet me. I feel my face lift into another broad smile, and I realize that no matter what feelings I’m trying to avoid, seeing Grady makes it so much easier. I can’t help but behappyaround him.
Grady comes around the car, opening my door for me, and I get out to greet him. He’s been here all morning, making sure everything is set up, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“I hope Mack didn’t give you a hard time about some of those specialty items,” he says, planting a kiss on my temple as he approaches the car. He’s started doing that. Casual kisses. This is the first one in a somewhat public place, and I realize that I didn’t pull away like I thought I would. Like I maybe should have.
I scoff. “He wouldn’t dare. Then he’d have to contend with you.” I let my gaze roam over Grady’s face, a playful grin twisting my lips.
“You’re damn right, he would,” he says, picking up all three crates stacked together without so much as a grunt or a groan. I could barely lift one. My eyes catch on the way his forearms tense, the muscles like thick ropes under his tattooed skin.
“How does the bar look?” I ask when Grady comes back from dropping the crates just inside the backdoor to the kitchen. He’s been hard at work with Hudson over the last few days making the changes I outlined in the design brief I showed him, but he still hasn’t let me inside.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He winks at me. “You head back to the house and get ready for tonight. I’ve got things handled here,” he says, and I know he’s not going to give me any real details, so I turn back toward the car. Marla is still preoccupied with her phone.
“Okay,” I say, standing behind the open car door. “See you later, I guess.” I smile at him as our eyes linger on each other for a moment over the roof of the sedan.
“See you later, Rebel.”
