Page 17 of Tied Up In Tinsel
“Found ya!” I said, spinning her once for good measure.
She laughed so hard she hiccupped, kicking her slippered feet. “Put me down!”
The other customers were openly watching us now, smiles on their faces. I set her down gently, and she looked up at me with cheeks flushed from laughing.
“Can I put on a fashion show for you?” she asked, clutching the money to her chest like a golden ticket.
I gave a mock-serious nod. “Absolutely. Show me what you’ve got.”
Her grin was so wide, she darted off toward the racks, slippers jingling with each step.
Something told me I should probably get that hundred back before she dropped it while looking at glittery tutus and came back asking for more.
My arms were overflowing with tulle, sequins, and glitter. It was an avalanche of tutus and sparkly tops that Ruby had deemed “essential” for her fashion show.
Every time she spotted something she liked, she tossed it at me without so much as a glance back. I was basically her personal shopping mule, trailing behind while she darted from rack to rack like a sugar-fueled hummingbird.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she stopped mid-aisle and gave me the royal decree.
“Okay, Brooks. You may now deliver my treasures to the dressing room.”
The boutique had clearly been designed with little girls’ imaginations in mind because there was even a walkway for the kids to show off—a place for pint-sized models to strut their stuff under twinkling string lights.
Sloane, the shop owner, appeared like the head stylist for the event, a grin on her face as she offered to help Ruby stage her big moment.
I found a seat in what I’m sure was supposed to be a “comically oversized” pink chair for children, though for me it was simply a torture device. My knees stuck up awkwardly, and I had to angle myself sideways just to fit. I was a grown man perched in a bubblegum throne, ready for the most chaotic runway show Snowberry Peak had probably ever seen.
A moment later, Sloane popped her head out of the dressing room, her expression conspiratorial.
“Here she comes,” she whispered.
“Close your eyes!” Ruby’s voice rang out from behind the curtain.
I obeyed, hands over my face, feeling ridiculous but strangely invested in the suspense. There was a flurry of movement, the soft thump of slippered feet taking position, and then?—
“Ready!”
I lowered my hands and there she was. Ruby stood in a blaze of yellow, wearing a tutu so bright it could have been spun from sunlight, paired with a glittering matching jacket. Her striped tights from earlier were still on, clashing gloriously. And her grin… that was the real showstopper.
She struck a pose, one hand cocked on her hip, then sashayed down the runway with exaggerated hip sways that would’ve made any pageant coach proud.
“Woo!” I called, clapping and cheering like she was headlining a Broadway show.
Ruby’s grin widened until I thought it might split her cheeks. She twirled at the end of the walkway, her tulle skirt spinning like a blooming flower, and then marched back to the dressing room with the confidence of someone who’d just conquered Paris Fashion Week.
One by one, she emerged in new ensembles—floral jeans and a cozy sweater, a star-spangled jumper, a candy-cane striped dress. Some outfits were louder than others, but I made sure to cheer just as loudly for each one. She didn’t need to know which pieces were “practical” and which ones screamedlook at me.To her, they all deserved applause.
At the end of every strut, she paused in front of the mirror, tilting her head to admire herself. Every time, she gave this tiny satisfied nod, as though confirming that yes—this was fashion history in the making.
By the finale, my hundred-dollar bill was nothing more than a fond memory, and Ruby was the proud new owner of four very sparkly, very Ruby-approved outfits.
As we left the boutique, shopping bags swinging from my hands and Ruby still in her bright yellow tutu (because “obviously” she had to wear it out), I couldn’t help smiling. Two weeks with her was going to be loud, unpredictable, and probably expensive.
But I had the sneaking suspicion it was also going to be the best two weeks I’d had in a very long time.
Annie
Day one had drained every ounce of energy from me.
