Fix Her Up Page 9

  Bethany didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Georgie was afraid if she dug deeper into that apology, she’d burst into tears, so she packed the moment away for later. “I’ve got your back with Dad. Together we will withstand the force of paternal disappointment. I mean, I’m a fucking clown, so I’m basically immune to disappointment at this point.”

  The three of them laughed—and Bethany poured another shot. Georgie had been only half joking about her father’s disappointment. But the fact was . . . no one had ever asked Georgie to be a part of Brick & Morty. If she wanted a position, they would find one. No doubt about that. But every vital position seemed to be covered. The last thing she wanted was for them to humor her by inventing some glorified secretary role. Their mother did the bookkeeping, their father provided guidance even in retirement, Stephen managed the flips, Bethany staged. If they needed a clown to juggle on the curb to attract potential buyers, Georgie was their girl. For now, though, she was the odd woman out. The kid sister who’d always left the heavy lifting to the adults and big kids . . . and in their eyes always would.

  “Rosie.” Georgie used her knee to nudge the only married woman among them. “You’re up, lady.”

  “Already?” Rosie’s groan turned into a laugh. “I sound like a broken record. Nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes in my life. Nothing bad or good even stands out this week.”

  “Try,” Bethany said, shuffling aside the empty shot glasses to lean across the island. “There had to be something.”

  “Mmm.” Rosie closed her eyes and took a long breath. “Bad: I sprayed a customer in the eye with perfume during the early shift. They ducked at the wrong time and . . . wham. I’m lucky they recognized me from church or I could have been fired.”

  Bethany and Georgie traded a wince.

  “Good . . .” Rosie trailed off for a few seconds, her hands bunching in her skirt. “I bought a newspaper and circled ads for vacant restaurant spaces.”

  “That’s amazing!” Georgie shook Rosie gently. “Are there any good ones in town?”

  “Yes, but . . .” Rosie rolled her eyes. “The amount of work I’d have to put in to make it what I envision is just overwhelming. And expensive.”

  “What about a lease?” Bethany asked.

  “No.” Rosie showed a rare flash of determination. “When I finally do this, I want the place to be mine.” Her eyelids fluttered down, shielding her eyes. “We’ve got money saved, Dominic and I. He hasn’t touched the money he earned while serving. And Brick & Morty pays so well.” She smoothed her sleeve. “My parents left me some, too. Considering I hid the newspaper under the mattress so Dominic wouldn’t see it, I’m a long way off from asking to use what we have saved, though.”

  Georgie frowned. “How would he react?”

  Rosie started to answer, then closed her mouth. “I have no idea anymore. I think I’m afraid to tell him I want something. Anything. Or all the other things I want . . . that are missing . . . will come pouring out and I won’t be able to take them back.” As if alarmed she’d revealed too much, Rosie looked at Georgie with a silent plea. “Your turn.”

  Her problems seemed to pale in comparison to Rosie’s. But as always, Georgie’s impulse was to lighten the mood any way she could. “Good: I got asked out on a date.”

  Bethany smacked both hands down on the island. “What?”

  “Thank you for acting like I just announced I’m joining the PGA Tour.”

  “Shut up. It’s just that you haven’t been on a date since . . . Have you ever been on a date? You know what? I’m digging a hole. Never mind.” Her sister dragged the shot glasses back out to the forefront and started pouring. “Give us the details.”

  When she tried to conjure up the man who’d asked her out, she could only see Travis’s face. Ignore him. Easier said than done, though. She’d been picturing him in conjunction with her every romantic impulse seemingly forever. “Um. His name is Pete. Midthirties, maybe? Single dad. He came to give me an estimate on fixing my fireplace.”

  Bethany made a low whistle. “You’re one to talk about betraying the family business.”

  “If I hired Brick & Morty to do the work, they would see it as a favor. I don’t want favors. And I don’t want what Stephen and Dom and Travis think is best, which is exactly what would happen.”

  All three women fired back another shot.

  “Anyway.” Georgie swiped at her mouth with the back of her wrist, remembering too late she was still wearing clown makeup. Bethany lobbed Georgie a napkin and she cleaned the white-and-red residue from her costume sleeve, while continuing the story. “I didn’t say yes or no to the date, but I promised to call with an answer. So I have to say no, right? I kind of thought the point of this club was to shun the menfolk.”

  “Not shun. Just . . . compartmentalize.” Bethany pursed her lips. “The point of this club is to support and encourage each other. Yes, we’re also taking a firm stand against the men in our lives being dicks and leaving them behind if necessary, but we have to give new men a chance to be dicks before we shun them.”

  Georgie gave a golf clap. “Somehow that made perfect sense.”

  “Go on your date, Georgie, but keep everything on your terms.” Her sister jabbed the island with a square-tipped fingernail. “Maybe getting a sampling of what’s out there will help you move past your Travis hang-up. Sounds like it’s long overdue.”

  “Yeah. It is.” Georgie twisted her lips. “Speaking of Travis . . .”

  Rosie turned in her stool. “Ooh.”

  “Bad: Travis showed up with his tools while Pete was there, demanding I let him keep his word and fix the fireplace. It was a giant tool party in more than one sense of the word.”

  “Oh my God.” Bethany threw back her head and cackled. “This is such a priceless gift.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Seeing the other women react with openmouthed shock made the reality of what Georgie had done caught up with her. “I kicked him out.”

  Her older sister took a twirling victory lap around the kitchen.

  “They argued?” Rosie asked, her voice soft with concern.

  “Yeah. They totally did the alpha male construction dance. Me fix fireplace. You go home. Look. A hammer.” Georgie sighed. “Travis got all weird about me being alone with Pete—”

  Bethany fell forward over the island, chin on fists. “Oh, really?”

  “Not like that,” Georgie huffed. “Trust me, Travis Ford couldn’t care less if I go on a date. For some reason, he decided to show up and make me feel like an incompetent child.” Georgie swallowed hard. “And I’m really over people making me feel that way.”

  Her sister’s triumph went flat. “I’m guilty of it, too, Georgie. It’s hard to think of you as anything but my little sister sometimes.” She nodded. “I’m going to try harder, okay?”

  Georgie didn’t know how to verbalize what it meant to her, just having those insecurities acknowledged, so she stayed quiet. Until Bethany showed up at her side and delivered a hip bump, almost knocking her off the stool.

  “Text Pete. Do it now in front of us so you don’t chicken out.”

  “What . . . now?”

  Bethany raised an elegant eyebrow. Rosie leaned in, too, as Georgie took out her phone and tapped out a brief text message. Her phone buzzed almost immediately with a response.

  “Done,” she breathed. “We’re having lunch.”

  “Fabulous! Now tell me again how you kicked Travis out. Talk slowly. Leave nothing out.” Bethany laughed when both women gave her disappointed looks. “Okay, fine. I’ll just have to imagine it. And I will. In the meantime, though, let’s talk Georgie’s entertainment business and Rosie’s restaurant . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  Georgie had never set foot inside the local girlie boutique. But she could tell from the outside that it was a far cry from Second Chance Zelda’s. Yes, she was about to darken the doorway of Glitter Threads for
the first time—which really shouldn’t have been so daunting. Most of Georgie’s outfits came in the form of used denim and unwanted sweaters, but clothes were clothes, right?

  Still, she hesitated.

  Time to play a round of What Would Bethany Do?

  Georgie’s sister would sweep in and walk straight into a changing room, rattling off her measurements without looking up from her phone. Clothes would be brought to her for approval. No perusing racks for Bethany Castle. Oh no. She didn’t buy clothes. The clothes needed to be sold to her.

  To be fair, Georgie could do things Bethany wasn’t capable of. She could juggle five oranges, could make scarves come out of people’s ears, and had the ability to stop a child’s tears in under five seconds. Her other non-clown-related skills included making her own bath bombs, gardening, and reciting dialogue from the classic Tom Hanks movie Splash. None of which gave her the push she needed into the shop. This should be easy. She’d even come bearing gifts.

  Georgie looked down at the sea salt caramel mocha in her right hand, hoping Boutique Tracy wasn’t lactose intolerant. That would really put a damper on her apology. And Georgie definitely owed her one. The Just Us League meeting had left her with such a good feeling. The support of two women had really dragged her out of her gloom. Now here she stood outside this intimidating, hyperfeminine environment, ready to pay it forward.

  “I’m going to count to three,” she whispered. “There will not be a four.”

  As soon as the countdown ended, Georgie propelled herself into the shop, coming to a halt when she realized Boutique Tracy had been watching her from the other side of the glass the whole time.

  “Well.” Georgie extended the coffee. “This is off to a great start.”

  Tracy eyed the to-go coffee cup like it contained slugs. “Can I help you?”

  “I just came in to apologize.” She turned in a circle, looking for a place to set down the coffee, deciding on a pretty shelf full of headband/scarf things and a fanned-out stack of the newest sex-themed issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. “You don’t have to accept. But what I did was really mean. I shouldn’t have lied and put you in an embarrassing situation. And I’m sorry about it.”

  Nothing from Tracy. Not the slightest twitch.

  “Okay, well . . . that’s a sea salt caramel mocha and it’s the shit. I’ll take a sip if you want to make sure it isn’t poisoned—”

  “No need.”

  Silence fell again. “Gotcha. I’ll be on my way.”

  Georgie barely made it to the door when Tracy snagged her elbow. “Wait.” The other woman shifted on her feet. “I didn’t mean what I said about you having short legs.” She sniffed. “But you wear really unflattering pants. I can help you with that, though. Since you did bring me my favorite drink.”

  “It’s so good, right?” Georgie whispered.

  “Sinfully so.”

  And just like that, Georgie was being dragged to the dressing room and stuffed inside. This wasn’t just your average dressing room with two hooks and a bench, though. An antique chair sat wedged in the corner beside a very flattering mirror. Her feet sunk into plush pastel carpeting. And the lighting. My God. This dressing room was an Instagram filter a girl could live inside. Woodsy potpourri smell emanated from all sides, but no matter how many times Georgie turned around, she couldn’t figure out where it had been stuffed.

  Overall, it was nice. Really nice. Just standing in the room made her feel important.

  “All right, bitch.” Tracy burst through the heavy velvet curtain with an armful of blouses, dresses, skirts, and those headband/scarf things. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

  Panic cut Georgie’s excitement in half. “I didn’t realize you’d have to see me naked. I’m wearing, like, the worst underwear you’ve ever seen.”

  Tracy sighed. “Jessica! Panties!”

  Thus the transformation began. Over the course of the next hour, Georgie was divested of every piece of clothing on her person, including her basic cotton underpants, sports bra, ancient Skechers, jeans, and hoodie. Left behind in their place, she was fitted with a matching purple silk bra and panty set, a black pencil skirt, a bright blue sleeveless blouse, and sparkling silver pointed-toe flats. Every time a new piece of the ensemble was added, she stood a little straighter. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? They let just anyone dress this fashionable? She looked . . . nice. Really nice.

  “This is going to cost me big time, isn’t it?” Georgie said, staring at the unrecognizable girl in the mirror.

  Tracy picked some lint off Georgie’s shoulder. “Don’t think of the numbers. Think about how you feel.”

  “Easy for you to say, person who works on commission.” Although Georgie couldn’t help but admit . . . wow. Her legs didn’t look the least bit shrimpy now. Had her body always been this shape, or did the mirror possess magic, transformative qualities? The skirt rounded at her hips, cinching at her waist. She had pretty damn decent boobs, too! Who knew? She definitely wouldn’t get seated at the kids’ table in this outfit. Still, she couldn’t exactly dress this way at children’s birthday parties. “Where would I even wear this?”

  Tracy groaned. “Why do women believe they need an occasion to dress up? Dress up for life, goddammit!” Finished with her dramatics, Tracy eyeballed Georgie in the mirror. “Any dates coming up, maybe?”

  “Yes, actually.” It felt good being able to say that, even if she wasn’t totally sold on Pete.

  “Well. There you go.” She circled around Georgie, tucking and smoothing. “And paired with a blazer, you could wear it for job interviews, business meetings . . . or just to make a certain someone jealous.”

  “Like who?”

  Tracy’s nonchalant sniff wasn’t convincing. “You helped the man fake an imaginary doctor’s appointment. I just thought there might be something there.”

  “Oh no.” Georgie rushed to correct her, the tips of her ears heating. “No. He’s just my brother’s friend. The date is with someone else.”

  A slow, devious smile lit up Tracy’s face. “Oh, really?”

  Why did everyone seem to be in on a big secret except for Georgie? “Yeah.” Georgie turned to the side, a little alarmed over the tight material presenting her butt like baked goods in a display case, but she could go with it. “I guess I haven’t treated myself to nice clothes in . . . ever. I’ve never done this.” She fashioned a dramatic wrist to her forehead. “Tell me the damage and let’s get it over with.”

  “Not just yet.” Tracy unzipped Georgie’s skirt. “We have a lot more to try on.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  By the time Georgie walked out of Glitter Threads, her credit card was playing taps. A bag full of luxurious, very un-Georgie-like clothes weighed down each arm as she walked out onto Main Street in her original pencil skirt outfit. Was it just her or were people staring? No. Definitely just her. Right? Granted, she knew almost everyone in town and they’d never seen her in anything but oversized sweaters and discount jeans. But when a repeat client of Georgie’s walked right past her on the sidewalk without saying hello, she was forced to wonder if she’d become unrecognizable. If so, wasn’t that just a little exciting?

  Not that people had to spruce themselves up with expensive clothing and frilly panties to be important. Or even to feel good. But she’d spent her whole life buried under clown makeup and garage sale treasures, so presenting a new, more exposed version of herself made the pulse in her wrists beat faster, made tingles race up and down her back. For the first time in maybe forever . . . Georgie felt pretty. On the heels of standing up for herself to Travis, she couldn’t help but feel as if a new phase had begun.

  Starting with today’s lunch date.

  As she turned toward the municipal parking lot, though, her excitement dimmed a little. Pete seemed like a nice guy. A man dedicated enough to his child to hire a clown for her birthday party and record the whole three-hour affair on his GoPro. But every time she imagined sitting down across from s
omeone in her new outfit, a cocky, blue-eyed womanizer stared back at her. Dammit.

  With Travis’s likeness floating around in Georgie’s head, it took her a minute to realize the man in question was actually coming toward her from fifty yards away, flanked by two women. Cell phone pressed to his ear, he was at a seven out of ten on the annoyance meter, but they continued talking to him anyway. Or at him, rather. She’d witnessed this scene many times in her youth. Travis being fawned over sent a swift kick to her stomach, sharper and uglier than it used to. And yeah. Holy crap. She must be unrecognizable, because as she drew even with Travis beside her parked car, he caught sight of her and glanced away, before his gaze came zipping back.

  The hand holding his phone dropped to his side. “Georgie?”

  Feeling like an impostor in her new clothes, while the women surrounding Travis made their fashion choices seem so effortless, she moved to unlock her car. She didn’t want to watch him get fawned over. She just wanted to get the hell out of there. “Hey.”

  “Hey?”

  Travis blocked her path to the trunk and tipped her chin up with a finger, narrowing her universe down to that single touch. The stubble on his cheeks and crispy aftershave. Damn him.

  “Who are you and what did you do with Georgie Castle?”

  “She’s in here somewhere.” Georgie backed away with a gulp, but the warmth of his finger remained imprinted on her skin. With Travis standing in front of her, it was impossible to pretend she was excited for her date with Pete. “I decided to send my overalls back to the nineties.”

  Behind him, the women sort of milled around for a moment, then scooted off in a jumble of harried whispers. He didn’t seem to notice or care, sounding kind of dazed. “Why are you dressed like . . . like . . .”

  The straps of the heavy bags were starting to leave indentations on her arms, so she set them down on the pavement. “Like what?”

  “So pretty,” he rasped.

  Oh. This was why women carried travel vibrators. One smoky word out of Travis’s mouth and her thighs went shaky. Moisture gathered on her brand-spanking-new panties—Jesus, don’t think about spanking. Shoot. Too late. Travis’s hands were so big. They would definitely leave a mark. Jumping the gun much? She hadn’t so much as gotten naked with a man, let alone had one spank her. She might not even like it. But she was certainly thinking about it. Was it possible the fancy clothes were making her hornier than usual? Not the point. The point was Travis Ford had just referred to her as pretty and he’d sounded like he’d been holding back more. Was this real life?