Page 6 of Desperate Measures
. . .
I was stillin shock from Jah surprising me with my own dress boutique. It was beautiful and, more importantly, thoughtful. Jah had always been the type to give me that extra push when I needed it most, especially when I couldn’t find the strength to move on my own. And right now, I felt it. All of it. The magnitude of his love, his belief in me, the chance to start again.
Between the love I had for Jah and Scarlett, and the deep appreciation I held for Hadiya, I wanted to be better not just for them, but for myself. For the woman I was becoming. Every day was still a struggle. Some mornings, I still found it hard to get out of bed. But I’d made a promise to be more intentional and to stop disappearing from my own life. I refused to let one incident, one version of me, define the whole story. And even though I’d always been an anxious person, I wasn’t going to let anxiety run me anymore. Not when I had a legacy to build.
All day I’d been out shopping for fabrics. My fingers danced across the different textures. There were earth-toned smooth silks, crisp denims with just the right stretch, and boldly printed soft cottons, all of which were begging to be transformed into one of my designs. They screamed inspiration the minute I laid eyes on them. Then it dawned on me, it feltgoodto care again.I was excited about color palettes, textures, and silhouettes. Imaging someone posting about my dresses excited me, this wasreal.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just daydreaming; I was actually building. I had it all planned out. I wanted to accept five custom pieces a month, no more. Enough to give clients something personal, but not enough to burn out personally. The rest of my time would go into developing my own collection. I’d create one-of-a-kind garments, and I wouldn’t replicate them. That was my promise.
Now, Zahara and I were in full decoration mode. We had an entire vibe. Music hummed softly from the speaker in the corner.Tweet’s Southern Hummingbirdalbum was on its second rotation just because we were both in the zone, and too lazy to put on something else. The scent of clean linen and ocean breeze drifted from the candle burning near the register.My fancy little digital pad register.The boutique was finally starting to feel like mine.
We’d draped fabric samples over mannequins, pinned sketches to the corkboard above my worktable, and scattered my favorite quotes in delicate gold frames throughout the space. Affirmations were important to me. They kept me grounded, hopeful, and present. Now, those same words lived here, breathing through the walls and breathing life into the future of Crème De La Crimson
Zahara handed me a vintage mirror she’d found while thrifting last year. “For the fitting room,” she said, smiling. “Or wherever you want it. It just feels like you.” It did. The ornate frame was rustic, aged, and a little imperfect. But it shimmered in the light reminding me of the things I used to see at my grandma's house before Auntie Ruby took over.
I created a makeshift dressing room by hanging a linen curtain and nailing it into the exposed brick. It was a stubborn,determined, and a little messy effort. But it worked. Like me, it didn’t have to be flawless to be enough. We stepped back to take it all in. The empty space we’d walked into just hours ago now pulsed with color, scent, and memory. Life.
I started to daydream more often than not. Clear as day, I could see it. Clients would walk in, fingertips grazing the fabrics. Then something would catch their eye. I’d offer to take their measurements, ask a few questions, and let their energy guide the rest. Some would hesitate… “Oh, this isn’t really my style,” but I’d know better. My motto was clear:Personality first, preference second.Style is a preference, but it takespersonalityto bring a look to life, no matter how bold or humble. Crème De La Crimson wouldn’t just be a workspace. It would be my safe haven. And for my clients, a place to feel seen.
I’d been entirely settled in the space for a few days now. However, I was still in awe every time I unlocked the boutique door. The chime above the entrance sang as I walked in that morning, arms full of fabric rolls I’d picked up from a boutique warehouse out in Mulholland Valley. The sunlight poured through the front windows, creating golden stripes across the floor and onto the one mannequin we dressed in a sample piece. Each step into my new space still felt like a dream.My dream. But I was wide awake this time.
Zahara had already beaten me there, humming as she wiped down the front counter. “You went boutiquing again, huh?”
“Boutiquing?” I grinned at her made-up words. “I told myself I’d only get one or two rolls of fabric. But then I saw this mulberry silk, and I blacked out.”
She laughed. “Designer problems. Chill out, Vera Wang, you’ll overwhelm yourself with so many options.”
“Ohhh, Zahara.” I sang. “But that's the point. Stay ready so I don’t have to get ready!”
We unpacked the bolts together, laying them across the cutting table. My mood had stayed lifted all week, and it was beginning to feel safe to feel good again. That used to scare me. Joy. Every time I let it in, something would come crashing down. But now? I was learning to trust the calm, even if just a little.
Zahara pulled out her phone and turned the volume up on Tweet’sSouthern Hummingbirdalbum. It was our unofficial boutique soundtrack, but I didn’t want to hear it today. I wanted something a tad bit more upbeat.
“No Tweet today, Zahara, let’s do Crime Mob.”
“Crime Mob? Oh, you took it all the way back,” she said between steps as she switched the music. “So I was thinking. I know we’re still settling in, but… have you thought about doing a Grand Opening?”
I raised a brow. “You mean, like an actual event?”
“Yes! You’ve got the space and the vibe. Right now, people find you by word of mouth. But once they know you’re here, established, and accepting new clients, business will be booming.”
I hesitated a little. While I wanted to share my designs with the world, the thought of the world invading my safe haven was a tad bit terrifying. I liked the quiet and the safety of it. Deep down, I knew she was right.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “What if no one shows up?”
She shot me a look. “Girl. You survived hell and built a dress boutique out of it. Them showing up is the least of your worries. Question is, when they come out in droves, will you hire an assistant to help you out?! You’re on your way, Crimson. There is no room for doubt.”
“Come on, motivation!” I snapped my fingers at her encouragement. “That's why I keep you around. You remind me that I am who and what I think I am!”
“Exactly."
I was still considering her idea when the front door chimed. I looked up and froze.Venus.
She stood in the doorway like she wasn’t sure she should take another step. Same sharp eyes, same confident posture, but she looked gentler. Maybe she was ready to apologize for her foolishness. Only time would tell.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I stayed behind the counter, barely making eye contact. “Hey.”
