Page 67 of Threads of Kindness
“I guess it could’ve been worse,” Anita said, trying—but failing—to sound upbeat. “What do they say? Every dark cloud has a silver lining? I suppose us not having to redoeverythingis mine.”
“We’ll come see you tomorrow after we know more,” Sam said.
“Looks like you two had plans tonight,” Jeff said, taking in their dressy attire. “There’s nothing more you can do here. We’ll dry the floor and lock up.”
Anita and Gordon stepped out onto the sidewalk. She checked her watch.
“We’ve missed our reservation,” she said. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”
“Don’t be,” he replied. “This couldn’t be helped. If you’ve got eggs, cheese, and a few vegetables, I’ll make omelets.”
Anita rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Breakfast for supper?” she asked. “My absolute favorite.” She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You, Gordon Mortimer, are the most remarkable man I’ve ever met.”
CHAPTER 34
Anita answered Sunday’s call on the first ring.
“It came!” Sunday cried.
“Hallelujah,” Anita replied. “You must be relieved. Is it a great big box?”
“Surprisingly, no,” Sunday said. “They must’ve really jammed it in there.”
“Have you opened it?”
“Not yet,” Sunday said. “It just arrived. I take my lunch in twenty minutes. Can I bring it to your shop then, and we’ll open it together?”
“I was going to suggest that,” Anita said. “We want to make sure we don’t cut the fabric when we open it. I have the perfect tool.”
“I’ll be over in half an hour,” Sunday said. “I can’t wait to see my dress.”
Anita prepared the larger of their two dressing rooms for Sunday. In the corner, she placed three-inch heeled pumps in various sizes. They kept them on hand for brides who forgot to bring their own heels. She didn’t know if Sunday had purchased a veil, but their shop made them, so she hung several samples on a hook just in case.
She checked her watch. Sunday would be here any minute. Anita closed her eyes and inhaled. She never got over the thrill of watching a woman don the dress she’d said yes to. A wedding gown lit up a woman like no other garment she’d ever own.
The bell over the door tinkled.
Sunday entered the shop, hugging a cardboard box to her chest.
Anita intercepted her in the showroom, casting a wary glance at the box. It was too small for the dress in the photo that Sunday had shown her. The seller must have vacuum-packed it in place. It would take hours of steaming to remove the wrinkles. If it was too squished, Sunday would need to come back after work so Anita could spend the afternoon reviving the dress.
“I’m so excited I can hardly breathe,” Sunday said, handing the box to Anita.
“Let’s go into the workroom to open this,” Anita said, leading her into the adjacent room. Her seamstresses were on their lunch break, and they had the space to themselves.
Anita opened the box, keeping the blade of her special knife angled outward. She expected the compressed dress to spring out the moment she cut the tape. But the flaps stayed put.
Sunday hovered over Anita’s shoulder.
Anita opened the flaps and withdrew a slim package wrapped in iridescent tissue, sealed with a silver sticker. She felt Sunday’s sharp intake of breath.
“No,” Sunday cried. “That can’t be my dress. It’s way too small.”
Anita broke the sticker’s seal and lifted a narrow column of satin from the tissue. She held it up by its thin crystal straps, which connected to a plunging V-neckline and crisscrossed over a daringly low back.
Sunday burst into tears.
Anita draped the dress across the worktable and took Sunday into her arms.
