Page 18 of The Brooklyn Way

Cameron spoke again. “Where’d you learn to cook like that? Are you a chef?”

I chuckled lightly. “Nah, I’m a dressmaker. A seamstress.” I changed my voice so that it had a snooty tone to it. “A couturier. I’m actually working at your community center with your mom. She hired me to make six dresses for the cotillion her junior beauties had a few weeks ago. From that, I’ve been hired by some of the more hoity-toity families on this island to make dresses for their debs.” I took a breath, marveling at how much easier it was to talk to Cameron Field when I subdued my inner crush.

For years, I’d hoped that he would see the greatness in me and fall in love. Now, it was whatever. I could appreciate that he was handsome as hell, but I was cool with looking at the merchandise without trying to purchase the merchandise. “I didn’t even know that debs, debutante balls, and cotillions were still a thing. Your mother is introducing me to a whole new world,” I continued.

It was his turn to chuckle. “Welcome to the south. We’re big on our traditions down here. How’d you get into making dresses? I thought that was a lost art or something. Like how they keep saying that there aren’t enough young people going into trades and one day we’re gonna have a shortage of plumbers and stuff.”

“The usual way… my grandmother taught me.” I walked away from him, carrying the colorful dishes into the kitchen of the guest house. Cameron’s entire presence was a force. I was trying not to be attracted to him, but I doubted that I would succeed. He wasn’t just gorgeous and built, he was genuinely nice. He’d been raised by an etiquette coach; of course he was polite. He was a practiced conversationalist. He knew how to make you feel at ease. I definitely still liked him.

After taking the time to load the used dishes in the dishwasher, I went back to the backyard to find Cameron still there. He had finished disposing of the tin foil chafing dishes and was shaking out my pricey off-white linen tablecloth.

“Oh, you don’t need much coaching in breaking down a party setup,” I teased lightly.

“Nah, not much. My mother is an etiquette coach. She’s always hosting lunches and dinners to teach clients which forks and spoons to use. I’ve helped break down thousands of garden parties.”

“I’ve always wanted to throw garden parties,” I admitted to him. “I always wanted a circle of friends that I could entertain like this.” I gestured around us at the remnants of the morning. I knew the smile on my face was bright as hell, but I didn’t care. It had been a minute since I’d been genuinely happy.

“All I can say is stick with my mother. She’ll make sure you get to participate in more garden parties than you’ve ever dreamed.” The disdain was evident on his face.

I laughed lightly. “Life is wild. It’s crazy to me how somebody’s dream can be somebody else’s nightmare. Here I am going on and on about garden parties, when you were obviously forced to endure them.”

“Say word.” He grinned, and I liked how his eyes crinkled at the corner.

Let’s not do that, I told myself. I took a look around the backyard. There wasn’t much left to do, and I needed to get away from the gravitational pull of his fineness. “It’s been a busy morning. I’m going to take a quick break, then come back out and finish up in about an hour or so. See you around, Cameron.” I gave him a happy wave. “Oh, and thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your guest house. It’s beautiful. I never imagined staying anywhere so gorgeous.”

I don’t think that was awkward, I thought to myself as I hurried away from him.

Because I needed space to sew both the cotillion and debutante dresses, Mrs. Field had commandeered a room large enough to comfortably hold all my sewing machines, several dress dummies, and all my other supplies at the Dorothy Jackson Community Center. I loved working out of the community center. It was always teeming with life being lived. Sewing could be isolating, but doing it at the community center was anything but. Each summer day, the grand building was filled with the energy, boisterousness, and excitement of children and the adults who wrangled them in various summertime activities.

I could hear the noisy chatter of kids and hear their thunderous footsteps in the hallways outside of my space, so I figured that basketball camp had ended. That would have made sense, because Carrington’s ‘bridal boot camp’ thingy was about to start. Cameron would need to be free to teach it. I quickly put away my things, grabbed my bag, and hustled to the ladies’ room to both use the bathroom and change into my workout gear.

Somehow, even though I worked at the community center and should have been the first person to arrive at the designated workout room, I ended up being the last to arrive.

Carrington approached me the second that my foot crossed the threshold of the room. “How the hell are you walking in the door with one minute to spare? Don’t you work in this building? I had to drive across the island, and I beat you here. I don’t get it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t get it either. All I did was dip into the washroom to pee and change.”

She took in my outfit. “Brook,” she moaned like I had disappointed her. “What do you have on?”

I looked down at the black leggings peeking out beneath my Chicago Bears T-shirt. “What?”

“Is that a man’s T-shirt? Is that one of Vince’s T-shirts? Why is it eight sizes too big?”

“What?” I repeated with my eyes squinted in confusion. “No, this is not Vince’s shirt. Do you really think I would leave with anything that belonged to his funky ass?”

“You didn’t have anything more… form-fitting to wear? You’ve been looking so cute lately. The pretty little dress you wore to brunch on Sunday.”

“I couldn’t wear a dress to workout, Carri.”

Her head shook back and forth. “You couldn’t make something? You know, out of the colorful material we all love on you so much?”

“Make some workout gear? I don’t know. I’ve never sewn with… Lycra. I guess I could make something out of lightweight, breathable cotton,” I mumbled. “Like what would I even make?”

“Short shorts and a T-shirt, Brooklyn. Something that doesn’t look like you were all out of clothes and about to do laundry.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” She squinted her eyes.

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