Page 59 of Ten Christmases Without You
Emmy was out of her element. In her world, she served a candy cane with the coffee during the holidays, and the fact that they unwrapped it from the cellophane and set it on the saucer had been an extravagant touch, in her opinion. Here, she got a card with the history and entire life account of the beans that had become her beverage.
“It’s an award-winning coffee from Panama—world-famous.”
She set the card down. “You know a lot about it.”
He smiled softly. “It’s my favorite. They fly it in monthly from the highlands of Boquete, where it’s grown.” He tapped the card again to remind her of the fact. “But enough about the coffee.” Mitchell scooted the mug away as if it were a regular glass of cola. “You contacted me. Why?”
She went into her handbag and retrieved the envelope with her mother’s drawings. She opened the flap and took out the one with the wedding dress.
He immediately stiffened.
Had she caught him red-handed? Had he already guessed she might confront him about his design for Fashion Week? The mix of emotion in his eyes made her wonder.
“This was a drawing of my mother’s.” She flipped it over. “And this is your name, along with the name Mrs. Augustine.”
He visibly flinched. Clearing his throat, he picked up his cup and took a long, slow sip of coffee.
“Was this drawing for your wife?”
He methodically set his cup onto the table, his focus remaining on the black liquid. “Yes.” His gaze returned to Emmy.
“Did Mom actually make you the dress?”
He nodded.
Well, that was a relief. It must have been a drawing for him and his wife then. That mystery was solved. “Did you recreate it, then, for Fashion Week?”
His expression was heavy. He was just beginning to fathom what she’d dealt with for over a decade: Her wonderful mother was no more.
“I only ask because I read that the fabric for it was rushed for the event, so I assumed the dress was a new design and not her original.”
“I didn’t expect to redesign it. But after you told me your mother died, I wanted to honor her. I knew her well.”
Emmy hadn’t thought of that. There they were, thinking he was a terrible person who might have stolen her mother’s design, when, in actuality, he’d taken a dress he’d probably bought for his wife, and redesigned it in her mother’s memory. While that answer made sense, it only served to create more questions. Her mother definitely acquired friends easily, but what kind of impression had she made on him if he was willing to pay tribute to the young designer so many years later?
“That’s really kind of you to acknowledge her in that way.”
He offered a despondent smile.
“So do you still have the original dress?”
“I do.”
“Would your wife mind if you showed it to me one day?”
“What?”
“The dress. Would your wife mind if I saw it?”
Something flashed across his face, and he drew back as if he’d changed his mind about this meeting entirely. Did he not want her to speak to his wife for some reason? Why? Out of nowhere, he seemed rushed and uncomfortable, a departure from the self-assured demeanor he’d had earlier. He took a shifty sip from his mug.
Had he been lying about the dress in some way? His reaction wasn’t making any sense, but the awkwardness was palpable. Her original skepticism about his motives slid back into place.
Emmy took a drink of her coffee as well, to fill the silence. The flavor was so smooth that it didn’t need a bit of sugar or cream to cover it up. She could make out the peach notes. As she savored the taste, she considered what could have caused this about-face from him. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her.
“I never ended up getting married,” he finally added, but he avoided eye contact. Was he lying? Why didn’t he want her to meet his wife? What did his wife know that he didn’t want her to say? “I’d have to find the dress... I don’t know where it is.”
He didn’t elaborate further. And it wasn’t her place to ask him. She was there to learn about her mom’s life, not his.
