Beach Colors (36 page)

But Margaux would worry about that later. Now she was content to bask in her success.

Jude and Roger said good night and walked out arm in arm. Nick carried a sleeping Connor out to his mother’s car while Margaux insisted Mrs. Prescott go home for a much-needed rest. Margaux gave the models their checks and her thanks; they already had their luggage packed and a ride to the train station.

“They really did beautifully,” Margaux told Bri. “Thanks to you. Though they can’t wait to get back to Manhattan.”

“That’s because they don’t realize that the next big fashion capital is Crescent Cove, Connecticut.”

Margaux laughed. “And you were, and
are,
wonderful. I really appreciate it. I mean it.”

Bri nodded. “What? Did you think I was going to get up there and forget my lines?”

“No. I just thought it might be hard, you know, not being out there yourself.”

“Honey, I’m thirty-six. I wouldn’t be out there anyway. Now, let’s get this stuff packed up and back to
Margaux.
There’s a martini there with my name on it.
”

Margaux.
For the first time it really hit her. She’d embarked on a new life.

Nick returned from the parking lot. His tie was already untied and hanging from his collar. His collar was open at the throat. Margaux shook her head affectionately. He was rough-and-tumble and would probably never own an Armani suit, but he looked perfect to her.

“Congratulations,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll go help Harlan load the van.”

An hour later they had unloaded everything into the back room at
Margaux
and hung the outfits to air. Margaux sank down on the stool behind an old wet bar Jake McGuire had transformed with pickled wood and oxidized hardware into a cashier counter.

Grace appeared in the doorway. “Okay, everybody out. There’s sustenance in the kitchen.”

Bri stretched. She’d changed into black stretch capris and an off-the-shoulder beige knit top.

“It better include watermelon.” She pushed Margaux off the stool and toward the kitchen.

There was watermelon, a blender full of it. And Grace was waiting with a glass filled to the rim. The kitchen counter was laden with tinfoil containers, a Crock-Pot, paper plates, napkins, toothpicks, and a dozen champagne flutes. Linda was just taking a tray out of the oven.

“Don’t look at me. Dottie sent this over. She said no success was complete without her cocktail weenies.”

Bri looked under the tinfoil-covered dishes. “And potato salad, baked ham, artichoke dip. Spanakopita? Yum.”

Harlan and Nick came in. Harlan was still wearing his tuxedo, but Nick was back in jeans and a T-shirt, the rented tuxedo probably lying on his bedroom floor. Margaux remembered her first impression of him, harsh, stubborn, uptight. He was all those things, but more.

“Let me do that.” Harlan took a champagne bottle from Grace, who was struggling with the foil cover. He unwrapped the cork and pulled it out in one efficient movement. The pop set off applause all around. They drank a toast to the show, to the boutique, to each other, they all filled their plates and stood around the kitchen eating and talking.

“I used to have a dining room,” Linda said, “but this is much more intimate.” She fed Harlan a cocktail weiner. He chewed the weiner and licked her fingers, and the room seemed to grow quiet as everyone watched. Margaux felt a twitch in her gut and sneaked a glance at Nick, only to find him looking at her.

Grace and Bri put away the food and got ready to go. Margaux walked them out. When she returned to the kitchen, Linda and Harlan were gone.

“Some night,” Nick said. “You made it. I knew you would. Smart and beautiful and determined.”

“Hmm.” Margaux stifled a yawn.

“Tired?”

“Yes, but I think it was the champagne that did me in.”

“Need a designated driver?”

“I sure do. I’m hoping it’s you.”

Twenty-five

S
aturday morning, Margaux met Grace and Brianna for brunch at Dottie’s. Brianna was the last to arrive. She slid into the booth and slapped a newspaper down on the table. “Look at this.”

Margaux and Grace leaned over the paper. It was the
New Haven Register,
and there in living color was a picture of Margaux standing next to the Sunrise dress. The headline of the article read,
Art Meets Fashion at the Shore.

“Omigod,” Grace said.

“I don’t remember the
Register
being there,” Margaux said.

“It must have been that photographer the Thompsons brought.”

“Emily Whitelaw’s boy,” Margaux said. “I was just helping the kid out. No one said he was a staff photographer for the
Register
.”

“And there’s more.” Bri opened the paper to a half-page spread of the photos from the show.

“Wow.”

“And look at the caption,” Grace said. “It announces the grand opening on Tuesday. You’re going to be mobbed.”

“We can but hope,” Margaux said, having a hard time believing things were going this well. “I still have a lot of work to do.”

“We,” Bri corrected. “We have a lot to do.”

“Does that mean you’ll be my manager until I can find someone permanent?”

“As long as I’m off in time to feed the animals.”

“Absolutely.”

“And I’m in whenever I’m not in court.”

“Selkies forever,” said Margaux. “You guys are the best.”

“Looks to me like you’re on your way. Here’s to Tuesday.” Grace lifted her coffee cup.

“To Tuesday.”

N
ick helped Jake McGuire maneuver the new
Margaux
sign into place.

“Is it even?”

“A little more on Jake’s side.”

They shifted the sign. Nick went down to stand beside Margaux and looked up at the sign. It was a wrought-iron rectangle with filigree cutouts and
Margaux
scripted in sea green.

“It’s beautiful.” Margaux’s eyes were shining and he wanted to take her in his arms and love the daylights out of her.

“So tomorrow’s the big day,” said Jake, climbing down from the ladder.

Margaux took a deep breath and let it out. “That’s what the paper says.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re going to be a huge success,” said Nick. He was so proud of her. She’d pulled herself from disaster and wouldn’t give up. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He cut his eyes to Jake, who shrugged, grinned, and began to fold up the ladder.

Margaux’s cell rang. “Sorry.” She walked away to take it.

Nick watched her as she listened. She was frowning. He hoped it wasn’t bad news. She’d worked so hard, was just beginning to settle into the idea of staying in Crescent Cove.

Jake carried the ladder back to his truck. Margaux hung up.

“Everything okay?” Nick asked, searching her face.

“Yeah. But it was weird. That was a fashion house in New York They saw the spread in the
Register
. They want me to come talk to them.”

The world went out of focus for a second. “They want to buy some of your clothes?”

Margaux shrugged. “I think they may want me.”

Stayed out of focus. “What did you tell them?”

“That I’d get back to them.”

“You’re thinking about going back?” He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around this. He’d thought . . . but it didn’t matter what he thought.

“I haven’t thought about it in weeks.”

“But you’re thinking about it now.”

“No. I don’t know. No. They’re a little house and couldn’t possibly accommodate the things I want to do. But it is flattering.” She reached up and put her arms around his neck.

She was so warm, so right, so perfect for him, that he wanted to hold on and not take the chance of losing her. But he knew you couldn’t hold on to people against their will. He just hoped this call would be the last.

He gently removed her arms. “I have to get to work.”

“What time do you get off? Shall I make dinner? Meet you somewhere?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll call you later.”

He leaned over and kissed her. Right there on Marina Street. In front of Jake. In full view of the two old fishermen lounging on the marina bench. He didn’t care. Already he felt as if he were being left behind.

M
argaux watched Nick get into the truck, waved when he drove away; she turned to find Jake McGuire watching her. There was something in his eyes that was suddenly darker. “Is something wrong, Jake?”

“I sure as hell hope not.” He gave her a two-finger salute and got in his truck and drove away.

The call from New York had certainly put a damper on everyone’s mood, including hers. Elsie Rule had a nice little distribution, a lot smaller than Margaux had generated in the last few years. It was a little insulting that they should even ask her. They were small potatoes. And she was—well, she was no potatoes at the moment, but she would be.

She should have explained to Nick about the industry. How the game was played. She’d told them she’d be in touch not because she was seriously considering their offer, but because that was the way business was done. Keep them hanging, make them come back with a better offer, it was just part of the positioning game.

Surely he realized she wouldn’t just walk away from all that she’d worked for, from him and Connor, from her friends.

She’d explain it to him tonight, then show him how much she loved him. She stopped mid-stride. That pesky L word again. It was too early to talk about love, much too early. Especially after her disastrous marriage. But wasn’t that just what she was feeling? If she stayed here, Nick would become a part of her life. Was already a part of it.

Margaux’s stomach dropped like a roller-coaster. It seemed like yesterday that her life had spiraled out of control and she’d come limping back with no home, no future, no prospects. Now, suddenly everything was happening too fast. The store, Nick and Connor, the call from New York. She didn’t want to work for Elsie Rule, but she couldn’t deny that she’d felt a thrill of excitement when she answered the phone. She’d felt the same thrill just a few nights ago, when the first model walked down the runway wearing her new design, but would that thrill last?

She needed to slow down, take control, keep her mind on the now, not on the what ifs. She took a deep breath, climbed the steps, and went into
Margaux.

Bri was sitting on the floor cross-legged folding scarves.

Margaux sat down beside her. “Selkies forever.” She picked up a scarf and began folding it. “Do you ever miss your old life?”

Bri looked sideways at her. “Which one? The modeling one or the one where fast living nearly did me in?”

“The modeling.”

“Sometimes. But I spend most of my time investing in my new life.” She tossed a folded scarf into a wicker basket and turned to face Margaux. “Are you missing New York?”

“I don’t know. When I’m here, I think I can live like this forever, then I see an ad, or someone calls, even if it’s someone I’m not interested in, and part of me is envious.”

“It’ll pass mostly. I didn’t have a choice, you do. And if you want my two cents, I think you’ve made the right one. Life is too short to grapple your way through it. Look around. This is you. Your business, your designs. And you have a man and boy who love you.”

“It’s too early to even talk about love.”

“For you maybe. But that kid looks at you and sees Mommy. And Nick, well, he might play things close to his chest, but when
he
looks at you . . . honey, that’s love.” She wrapped her arm around Margaux’s neck and pulled her in for a hug. “Count your blessings, girlfriend. Count your blessings.”

Bri squeezed and let go. “Now, make yourself useful and start folding.”

An hour later, the second call came. A larger house and more tempting until she looked around the half-furnished shop. “Thanks so much. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.”

Bri shook her head and kept working.

I
nstead of going straight to Margaux’s after work, Nick drove to the promontory above the jetty. He walked out to the rocks just as he had twenty years ago, Private Nick Prescott with his whole life before him. Only tonight he was wearing running shoes and jeans instead of army regulation boots and uniform and much of his life was behind him.

As he looked down on the beach, he could almost see Ben sitting on the lifeguard stand, Margaux and her friends laughing and flirting. Elusive ghosts. Now Margaux was in his life, but would she stay? Something had shifted after that phone call. She said it was nothing, but it was. He could tell just the way her energy sparked while she was talking to them.

All day he thought about it. He was afraid she was slipping back to a place where like the girl on the beach she’d be too far out of reach.

He looked out to the horizon trying to dispel the sick feeling in his stomach. Maybe he was being too premature, as if he’d even expected her to leave all along. Because he still couldn’t believe she would be interested in him.

Maybe he was acting like some lovesick teenager. She probably hadn’t given that phone call another thought, while he hadn’t been able to get it off his mind. It was only one call; surely she realized that her life was here with him—and Connor.

T
here were several women and two photographers waiting outside
Margaux
on Tuesday morning.

“Better than Filene’s Basement,” Linda crowed, and hurried across to Le Coif to peek out the door at the customers.

“Ready?” Margaux exhaled and shook her hands to dispel her nerves. Beside her, Bri looked cool and unruffled.

“Never let ’em see you sweat, Mags. Stand here looking generous but slightly aloof. I’ll take care of the sales.” She unlocked the door. “Good morning. Welcome to
Margaux
.”

After an hour Margaux was still a nervous wreck. And her jaw was tired from smiling. There was a continuous flow of customers. Some of them even bought. A few of them bought a lot. But it was only the first day. Could it last?