She turns off the main highway and follows a winding road past some woodland and into the hills. We’re in the country here, just outside of town, and the space and lush green scenery is peaceful and still. Soon, I can see the ranch just around the bend: a sprawling main house, red-painted barn, stables and paddocks. There are horses in the field, and when Brit pulls up beside a couple of pick-up trucks, I can see an older man schooling a frisky pony on the track.
“My husband, Hunter, trains most of the horses,” Brit explains, “But he’s in the city right now. I decided to come take over the place to get this job finished. Sewing bootcamp!”
When she leads me into the main house, I can see she’s not exaggerating. The whole main living area looks like a bomb went off in a fabric store: bolts of fabric on every surface; ribbons and trim, and sketches littering the floor.
“OK.” Brit looks around and starts grabbing things. “Can you just take off your clothes and stand over there?” She points to a raised platform by the fireplace.
“At least buy me dinner first,” I joke.
She blinks, then bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, that was kind of weird, right? Let me get you a drink first and I’ll show you the design. I just have a one-track mind, and I’m so close to being done now,” she explains, going to the kitchen.
“That’s OK.” I relax, following her. The house is homey and rustic, all one big sun-drenched space. Brit grabs us a couple of cold sodas from the fridge, and I join her over by the big farmhouse table—which she’s covered in sketches and fabric patterns for her dress.
“You see, she wanted something classic, it’s this big society event,” Brit explains, pointing out her drawings. “But anyone can do a strapless, floor-length thing, so I wanted it to be movie star classic. Like, 1940s, Lauren Bacall in Philadelphia kind of thing.”
I take in the details, the exquisite flow and shape she’s captured on the page. “It looks gorgeous,” I murmur, impressed.
“I know.” Brit doesn’t sound arrogant, just matter-of-fact. “You see why I have to put up with her bailing on me all the time. I want to see it through. When she walks down the aisle…”
“Her husband is going to love it,” I finish.
She snorts. “Sure, but also, every engaged woman in the state will. And they’ll come running to me to design their big dress too.”
I laugh. “Smart.”
She shrugs, giving me a pixie’s grin. “Hey, raw imported silk doesn’t come cheap. Mama needs to get paid.”
Brit lifts the swoop of fabric from the table and shows me where I can get changed behind a makeshift screen, but I just tug my sundress over my head and take the dress right there. I’m wearing a bikini under my clothes, and anyway, a couple of years of boarding school soon erased any self-consciousness I had about stripping off in front of strangers.
“Can you lift your shoulders just a little more…? Yes, perfect!” Brit directs me, gently tugging the dress into place until it settles around me with a swirl.
“How does it look?” I twist to try and get a view.
Brit’s face brightens. She claps her hands together in glee. “I am a fucking genius,” she sings, and I laugh again. There’s something so bold and matter-of-fact about her, she’s impossible not to like. “But I was right,” she adds, “the hem is off. Here, can you stand up on this stool so I can pin you right?”
I do as she instructs. “Is this the part where you jab me to death?” I ask, as Brit kneels down and begins gathering the fabric.
“That depends on what’s going on with you and my brother.” Brit’s reply is casual, but I jerk with shock when I realize what she just said.
“What? Nothing! Owww!”
“I told you not to move!” Brit protests, steadying me. “Good?”
“Uh huh,” I answer cautiously, looking down at her. She keeps pinning.
“So, my brother…”
I don’t know what to say, so I decide to the best defense is a good offense. “He seems nice,” I say casually. “He knows his way around an engine. Has he always been into mechanics?”
Brit looks amused, like she’s not buying my evasion for a minute, but she doesn’t jab me this time. “I don’t know. I never really saw much of him when we were kids. He was always out, getting into trouble.” She takes another pin and pulls the material tighter. “And then he took off, and I didn’t hear from him in seven years. Not until he rolled back into town last week.”
“Are you serious?” I blink, shocked. “All that time without a word?”
Brit rolls her eyes. “He would call to check in, talk to Emerson mainly. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. He didn’t even come to my wedding.”
She yanks the fabric, hard, and I can tell, she’s still not happy about it.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. My brothers drive me crazy, but I love them. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if one of them took off and cut me out of their life. “You must be happy to have him back again.”
Brit looks up, her gaze getting guarded. “If he sticks around this time,” she shrugs. “But Ray Jay’s always so mysterious, you never know what’s going on with him.”
The laughing, flirty guy I’ve met seems anything but mysterious, but I’m more interested in the last part of what she said.
“My husband, Hunter, trains most of the horses,” Brit explains, “But he’s in the city right now. I decided to come take over the place to get this job finished. Sewing bootcamp!”
When she leads me into the main house, I can see she’s not exaggerating. The whole main living area looks like a bomb went off in a fabric store: bolts of fabric on every surface; ribbons and trim, and sketches littering the floor.
“OK.” Brit looks around and starts grabbing things. “Can you just take off your clothes and stand over there?” She points to a raised platform by the fireplace.
“At least buy me dinner first,” I joke.
She blinks, then bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, that was kind of weird, right? Let me get you a drink first and I’ll show you the design. I just have a one-track mind, and I’m so close to being done now,” she explains, going to the kitchen.
“That’s OK.” I relax, following her. The house is homey and rustic, all one big sun-drenched space. Brit grabs us a couple of cold sodas from the fridge, and I join her over by the big farmhouse table—which she’s covered in sketches and fabric patterns for her dress.
“You see, she wanted something classic, it’s this big society event,” Brit explains, pointing out her drawings. “But anyone can do a strapless, floor-length thing, so I wanted it to be movie star classic. Like, 1940s, Lauren Bacall in Philadelphia kind of thing.”
I take in the details, the exquisite flow and shape she’s captured on the page. “It looks gorgeous,” I murmur, impressed.
“I know.” Brit doesn’t sound arrogant, just matter-of-fact. “You see why I have to put up with her bailing on me all the time. I want to see it through. When she walks down the aisle…”
“Her husband is going to love it,” I finish.
She snorts. “Sure, but also, every engaged woman in the state will. And they’ll come running to me to design their big dress too.”
I laugh. “Smart.”
She shrugs, giving me a pixie’s grin. “Hey, raw imported silk doesn’t come cheap. Mama needs to get paid.”
Brit lifts the swoop of fabric from the table and shows me where I can get changed behind a makeshift screen, but I just tug my sundress over my head and take the dress right there. I’m wearing a bikini under my clothes, and anyway, a couple of years of boarding school soon erased any self-consciousness I had about stripping off in front of strangers.
“Can you lift your shoulders just a little more…? Yes, perfect!” Brit directs me, gently tugging the dress into place until it settles around me with a swirl.
“How does it look?” I twist to try and get a view.
Brit’s face brightens. She claps her hands together in glee. “I am a fucking genius,” she sings, and I laugh again. There’s something so bold and matter-of-fact about her, she’s impossible not to like. “But I was right,” she adds, “the hem is off. Here, can you stand up on this stool so I can pin you right?”
I do as she instructs. “Is this the part where you jab me to death?” I ask, as Brit kneels down and begins gathering the fabric.
“That depends on what’s going on with you and my brother.” Brit’s reply is casual, but I jerk with shock when I realize what she just said.
“What? Nothing! Owww!”
“I told you not to move!” Brit protests, steadying me. “Good?”
“Uh huh,” I answer cautiously, looking down at her. She keeps pinning.
“So, my brother…”
I don’t know what to say, so I decide to the best defense is a good offense. “He seems nice,” I say casually. “He knows his way around an engine. Has he always been into mechanics?”
Brit looks amused, like she’s not buying my evasion for a minute, but she doesn’t jab me this time. “I don’t know. I never really saw much of him when we were kids. He was always out, getting into trouble.” She takes another pin and pulls the material tighter. “And then he took off, and I didn’t hear from him in seven years. Not until he rolled back into town last week.”
“Are you serious?” I blink, shocked. “All that time without a word?”
Brit rolls her eyes. “He would call to check in, talk to Emerson mainly. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. He didn’t even come to my wedding.”
She yanks the fabric, hard, and I can tell, she’s still not happy about it.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. My brothers drive me crazy, but I love them. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if one of them took off and cut me out of their life. “You must be happy to have him back again.”
Brit looks up, her gaze getting guarded. “If he sticks around this time,” she shrugs. “But Ray Jay’s always so mysterious, you never know what’s going on with him.”
The laughing, flirty guy I’ve met seems anything but mysterious, but I’m more interested in the last part of what she said.
