Wow. Are you sure you’re only having one baby?” Abigail asked, sitting across from Becky the next day. Dani had spent the day with Taylor while she’d continued to unpack and get things organized. She stared behind her friend at the mound of baby clothes that was spilling off the couch.
Becky laughed. “I better be. Dani, your mom’s here!” she called out as she picked up a tiny pink and white jumper to fold.
“Pink and white? So, you found out the sex of the baby?”
Becky shook her head, holding up an identical jumper in blue and gray. “Nope. Just covering all the bases.”
“Isn’t that getting kind of costly?” Abigail asked, before she could stop the comment. “Sorry, that was completely rude.”
Becky shook her head as she yawned. “Not at all. Actually, it’s pretty cheap since I made all of this.” She shrugged. “Whatever I don’t end up needing, I’ll give to Kelli, or Jackie, or one of the other million pregnant ladies in town. You know, I swear it’s contagious. When one of us gets…”
“Wait a sec,” Abigail interrupted. “You made all of this yourself?” Standing, she crossed the room and scanned the pile. She picked up the cutest little denim dress with purple flower embroidery on the front pockets. “Like made the entire thing? Even the embroidery?”
“Yep. The glamourous life of a military wife. I have to keep busy or I go crazy missing Neil.” She sniffed and reached for a tissue. “Jeez. Hormones are the worst.”
Abigail smiled. “I remember I used to watch old episodes of Friends when Dean was on the road during my pregnancy, and I’d end up crying my eyes out and be a blubbering idiot when he’d call. He was always so worried about leaving me…” She stopped, the brief glimpse into a better time, the memory of a loving Dean making her uncomfortable. “Anyway, these are amazing, Becky. Have you ever thought about selling them?”
She scoffed, blowing her nose. “No way! Not anymore anyway. Now I just do it for fun, and it really is a lot cheaper than BabyGap.”
“And much better quality. That’s why I’m serious. Expectant moms would much rather spend money on these handmade items, and they’re so much cuter than what’s in stores. You could make a fortune.”
She frowned, examining a pale green knitted sweater with alligator-shaped buttons. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She continued her search through the pile of clothing. “I mean, look at this jacket.” She clutched the tiny hooded khaki jacket with safari animal buttons and patches to her chest. “This seriously makes my ovaries hurt.”
Becky laughed. “Now you’re crazy.”
“Okay, so maybe it doesn’t make me want to rush out and get pregnant, but if I already was pregnant you would be my baby designer. I’d buy anything Becky’s Baby Boutique sold.” She folded the jacket and added it to the pile.
Becky picked up another dress—yellow with a white lace trim and daisies on it. “How much would you pay for this?” she asked.
“At least fifty dollars.”
Becky’s eyes widened. “Okay, Miss Desperate Housewife. You are crazy. This cost me three dollars in fabric and…a dollar fifty in lace.”
“Exactly. You’d make a fortune!” she said, ignoring the desperate housewife comment. She knew her friend must think her life in L.A. had been one big episode of the popular drama series, but it wasn’t as fantastic as she probably imagined.
“I wouldn’t even know how to start selling this stuff.” She bit her lip. “The Sunday morning flea market?”
She nodded. “That would be good, but also kinda time-consuming.” Her friend was far too busy to sit at a flea market table all day, every Sunday, and the cost of the table would cut into her profits. “But why not start an online business? Less overhead and add shipping costs into the price…” Her excitement rose as she talked, but she sensed she was losing Becky.
“I don’t know. That seems complicated, and I’m still not convinced anyone would buy this stuff.”
Abigail sighed. Becky was sitting on a gold mine—quite literally—and she didn’t even know it. “I have a friend in L.A. who owns a baby boutique store in Beverly Hills, Baby Couture. She needs to see this stuff.”
“Help me up, I have to pee…again,” she said, changing the subject. “I swear this kid is training to be an Olympic gymnast someday.”
“Better than another hockey player,” she said, teasing, letting it go. For now.
“You’re right about that.”
As she left the living room, Abigail studied the pile of clothes. If Becky didn’t believe her, maybe her friend Jocelyn could convince her. She quickly selected the khaki jacket and the daisy sundress from the pile and stashed them in her purse, brushing aside a small pang of guilt.
If these items were the hit she suspected they would be, Becky would forgive her for stealing her baby clothes.
* * *
“Abigail, these are incredible,” Jocelyn said two days later, after Abigail had couriered the items to her in L.A.
“I know, right?”
“I mean the stitching is perfect, and the little details—those buttons are the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”
Abigail beamed. “I knew you’d love them,” she said refilling her coffee cup and carrying it outside onto the back deck. She sat in the rocking chair she’d bought from a local woodworker and enjoyed the early October breeze over the lake. She was a little worried that she hadn’t been getting a lot of substituting hours in the last two weeks, but she did appreciate the extra time to get the house in order and the opportunity to enjoy perfect, crisp fall mountain mornings like this one.
“So, who is this designer?” Jocelyn asked. “Is there a website I can order from?”
Abigail did a silent squeal and seated happy dance before saying calmly, “It’s a work in progress, still a fairly new company. You’re lucky to be getting a sneak peek at the fabulous product line.”
“So you’re teasing me with product I can’t have.” Jocelyn didn’t even realize her tone was bitchy—that was just her style, so Abigail took no offense. Instead, she used it to her advantage.
“Well, I could—I mean, the designer could put an order together for you and send it next week, along with an invoice.” In her mind, she was already designing Becky’s nonexistent new company logo.
“You want me to buy items I’ve never seen and agree to an open invoice?”
Sure, when she worded it like that, it sounded a little risky, but she knew Jocelyn well enough to know she was interested in the product…and she also knew Jon, Jocelyn’s husband, had just signed a five-year contract with the Kings worth $56 million. If anyone could afford to sign an open invoice, she could. “Ten more sample items for four hundred dollars.” Forty dollars apiece, when she knew Jocelyn would attach a sticker price of a hundred dollars or more, was a great incentive, and if Becky really did only spend three or four dollars to make the items, then she’d have one hell of a profit as well.
Jocelyn hesitated just a second before saying, “Send boy clothing. I’m overstocked on girl items right now.”
“Will do,” Abigail said, desperately trying and most likely failing to keep her excitement out of her voice. She rocked happily in the chair and sipped her coffee, feeling rather productive and pleased with herself.
“You really should consider moving back here. We could do great business together,” Jocelyn said.
She smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not a businessperson. I’m just a substitute teacher.”
“Ha! Darling, you just sold me product unseen. Ditch the brats and come work for me.”
Abigail laughed. “I’ll send you that invoice.”
* * *
“Is right here okay?” Jackson asked Paul Samson, the owner of the Taco Hut on Main Street, as he placed the bottle recycle bin in the corner near the door the next day.
“That’s great,” Paul said, coming out from behind the counter to turn the OPEN sign on.
“Thanks again for allowing us to place one in here.” The Taco Hut was five minutes from the high school and saw a lot of lunch traffic during the week. He’d been surprised when Abby had announced them as one of the participating businesses in their bottle drive efforts, as he knew they made decent money from the recyclables. To be donating that to the school was impressive, especially when Paul was one of the only business owners on the list who didn’t have children participating in the programs the school offered. At thirty-five, the man was still the town’s most eligible bachelor.
“Well, it took a little convincing, I won’t lie, but Abby Jansen can be quite persuasive.”
Something in his voice wiped the smile from Jackson’s face. “Yeah, she’s been great on the fundraising committee,” he said, putting a clear plastic bag inside the bin.
“It doesn’t hurt that she’s still sexy as hell. She could have asked me for just about anything the other day when she came in here, and I probably would have been too busy checking out that body to even realize what I was agreeing to.”
Jackson’s jaw tightened. “She’s a smart woman, and the school will definitely benefit from having her on board.”
“I’m sure it’s not too hard having her around…or maybe it is hard, if you know what I mean,” Paul said with a wink.
Locker room banter had never bothered Jackson when he was young and stupid, but at twenty-nine he’d come a long way from disrespecting women, and he’d have hoped Paul would have grown up as well. Apparently not.
“Here’s the number to call when it’s full. We’ll stop by and replace the bag.”
Paul took the card with the school’s number on it. “I’d rather just call Abby.”
That’s it. Swiping the card back, Jackson turned and grabbed the recycle bin. “You know what? Thank you, but Glenwood Falls Elementary won’t be needing your support this year,” he said, pushing through the door and heading straight toward the truck, ignoring Paul’s look of surprise. “Asshole,” he muttered, throwing the truck in reverse.
Paul’s words had nearly gained him a black eye, and he hated the jealousy that coursed through him. Until that moment he hadn’t really considered that there were probably more men than just him in the town who were head over heels for the woman. Men who didn’t have the deterrent of being her ex-husband’s best friend. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to approach her.
He hit the steering wheel. Damn it! What would the impact of watching her fall in love with someone else be on him? Once had been tough enough. A second time would be the death of him.
He had to tell her how he felt and let whatever happened happen. Friendships and loyalties aside, he had to at least go after what he wanted this time. If she didn’t want him, he’d somehow learn to live with that. But something in the way she’d watched him work the day before—the desire he’d seen in her eyes—made him think that maybe she just didn’t know what she wanted until it was standing in front of her, eager and willing to give her everything she’d ever deserved.
The recycle bin rolled in the bed of the truck as he stopped at a red light and he sighed. And now he needed to find a replacement business for the bin before the woman he was crazy about found out and kicked his ass.