The Friendship Star Quilt (11 page)

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Brad listened to his daughter's chatter about her day while they filled the dishwasher after dinner that night. They'd had take-out again, this time from Falcone's, near The Stitching Post.

He'd noticed the quilt shop had still been open and, for a moment, considered stopping in to say hello to Anne. He could make some excuse about wondering if the fabric had arrived okay. Then he'd noticed all the cars in the lot and remembered a quilt group met there on Tuesday nights, so he'd continued down the road to the restaurant.

Brad rinsed another plate and handed it to his daughter to put on the rack. There were only a few dishes to worry about, but he tried to do them right after their meals, otherwise they tended to pile up. He already felt guilty enough over feeding his daughter take-out meals most nights. Although he'd be the first to admit, the Italian food they'd had tonight – spaghetti with homemade meatballs the size of golf balls for Jennie and an incredible fettuccine for himself – was much better than anything he could have cooked. Maybe it was time to take his mother's advice and hire a housekeeper.

“It doesn't have to be a live-in housekeeper,” she'd said again when they'd spoken over the weekend. “Or even a full time person, Bradley. Just someone for a couple of days a week. Someone who can do the laundry and cleaning, maybe cook a few meals. You know I'd do it myself if we lived closer.”

“I know you would, Mom,” he'd said and grinned to himself. He loved his mother dearly, but he knew she would also take over his house, organize his sock drawer, and probably replace all his favorite shirts with preppy sweaters and oxfords.

Still, he'd promised her he would think about it. But maybe it was time to stop thinking and just do it. It certainly would make his life easier. And he wouldn't have to worry about running out of clean clothes like they'd done a week ago.

“I think she'd like Mr. Falcone's breadsticks and meatballs, don't you?”

Brad turned to Jennie, embarrassed to realize he had no idea what she'd been telling him. “Who would like the meatballs, honey?”

“Miss Anne, the quilt shop lady. Remember how surprised she was about the big donuts at Meijer? Well, Mr. Falcone's meatballs are almost as big.”

“They certainly are. I was surprised when you ate all your pasta and several meatballs, too.”

“It was yummy,” she exclaimed, rubbing her tummy in appreciation.

“My fettuccine was
magnifico
, too, Princess.” He pretended to kiss the tips of his fingers in the Italian way.

Jennie suddenly giggled. “You sound like Mr. Falcone. Only he calls me his
bella principessa.”

“And he's right,” Brad said, tweaking one of her curls.

“Mr. Falcone says we have to try his cheesy breadsticks when we come there next time. He says those are her favorites.”

“Whose?”

“Miss Anne's. Do you think she'd like the leftovers of my meatballs and s'ghetti? We could take them to her.”

Brad shook his head. “I think Miss Anne probably has plenty to eat, honey.”

He'd been so shocked when he'd run into Lila Haggerty at church, and she'd congratulated him on hiring Anne to sew the band flags. She'd mentioned how everyone loved the young clerk and had worried when she'd had a dizzy spell recently at one of their meetings. Since then, the group had taken her under their wing and organized potluck dinners on their quilt nights.

“And, of course,” the sprightly senior had confided, “we always have excuses to leave the leftovers for her to have during the week.”

He was glad to hear the women had befriended Anne. He'd been worried about her, especially since Jennie had also remarked on her slenderness. The soft-spoken young seamstress occupied his thought quite often lately. She was such a contrast to his late wife.

Sarah had loved attention and being complimented. She'd been president of the parents' association at Jennie's school, head of their church's women's auxiliary, and a dynamo in a half-dozen worthy causes. All this in addition to keeping her home and family organized. Sarah had even started an Internet business a couple years before her death. She'd advised other women on how to organize their lives to become better mothers and wives.

Sup-R-Mom-U dot com had hundreds of followers. For a nominal fee, members could download her programs for grocery lists, tips on packing for trips, organizing closets, or planning a party. The site had been Sarah's passion. Every meal she cooked, every change to the house's decor, even the groceries she'd bought had been documented, photographed, and displayed for the world to see on her popular website. There had been times when he'd felt he and Jennie were nothing but props to be used in her pictures or the test audience for her various culinary creations. The cozy home life on her site bore little resemblance to reality. Sarah had complained constantly about being cooped up at home with Jennie and never having time for herself. She'd insisted he get home early several nights a week so he could care for their daughter while she “got away” with her friends.

Not that they had made many friends since moving to Grandville for his job at the Rivertown schools. Mostly, they'd socialized with neighbors or other teachers. In fact, thinking back on it, Brad didn't recall meeting any of Sarah's new friends at her funeral. Of course, there'd been a lot of people from church and other organizations, so maybe he had met them and just didn't remember. He'd been operating in such a daze at the time, it was a wonder anything had gotten done. Thank goodness his family had immediately rallied around to help. It had been all he could do to focus on making sure Jennie was all right.

His daughter had always been his pride and joy, his princess. Brad worried about the effect her mother's death might have. Jennie often seemed too solemn and far too adult for her age. He loved the times when something delighted her, and she'd giggle with glee. Unfortunately, those occasions were much too infrequent lately.

Suddenly, he had an idea. This weekend, he'd clear his calendar for some daddy-daughter time. Not grocery shipping and running errands, but a day of fun. Jennie loved to ride the carousel at the mall, so he'd take her there and let her ride to her heart's content. Maybe they could take in a kids' movie or something. He seemed to recall reading about a sequel to the movie about the little clown fish. She might enjoy seeing it. They could pig out on popcorn and gummy bears and laughs. It would be terrific.

“So, Princess, how would you like to go on a date with me this weekend?”

Jennie finished stacking the last of the cutlery in the dishwasher. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

“Well, I've decided to play hooky from school this Saturday. So, I wondered if you'd like to go to the movies or maybe ride the carousel at the mall.”

“That's the day of Callie's Halloween princess party, remember? I'm going to wear the Cinderella costume Aunt Bonnie sent and spend the night. You said I could spend Friday night at Callie's house, too, so I can help make cookies and the treats.” She paused, her little face suddenly growing solemn. “But I can tell Callie I can't come if you need me to stay here.”

Brad's heart turned over at the child's selfless offer. How many six-year olds would offer to give up a party? He shook his head and swept her into a big hug. “Of course, you have to go to Callie's party! What kind of a princess party would it be without Princess Cinderella? We'll go to the mall another weekend.”

Jennie returned his hug, snuggling happily against him. After a moment, she sat up. “Can we try on my costume to see if it fits?”

He pretended to consider the idea. “Well, I'd probably look awfully funny in a dress, so why don't you just try it on?”

“Oh, Daddy, you're so silly.” She giggled and slid from his embrace. “I'll go try it on right now.”

Anne glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall beside her. It was nearly time to flip over the page. She'd been so busy October had seemed to rush by, and November was lining up to be just as full of activity. Myra had called earlier in the week, supposedly to see how everything was going at the shop, but she'd hinted Ed wanted to stay in Florida longer. Anne wouldn't be surprised to hear on the next phone call that they'd decided to stay down south for most of the winter. It would be fine with her. If she could show them how smoothly the shop ran with her in charge, maybe they'd change their minds about wanting to sell it.

She just had to make sure nothing got overlooked, she thought as she checked her various lists. She still needed to finish the holiday samples for the shop and cut out Mario's curtains. But both jobs were pretty straight forward, so she could get them finished sometime next week. The most pressing project was to finish the flags for Brad. To do it, she needed to get the sample completed and approved.

During quilt group the night before, she'd cut out the pieces for the sea hawk appliqué. Now, she just had to stitch it to the blue silk flag body. Since she had a lull in business, Anne set one of the portable sewing machines on a work table, positioning it so she could work on the flag but still watch the door for customers. It wouldn't take long to finish the sample. Then she would call Brad and let him know it was ready for him to approve. Maybe he could come by the shop after school that afternoon to check it over.

It seemed like it had been weeks, not days, since she'd had breakfast with him and his daughter at the grocery store. She smiled in anticipation of seeing him again, no longer able to deny the attraction she felt toward the handsome young band director. It wasn't Brad's looks or charm – she knew appearances were superficial and charm could be faked – it was his genuine caring when he spoke of his students and the way his face lit up around his daughter. Of course, Jennie brightened everyone's day. The girl had been so doggone cute as they'd discussed how much of their donuts to cut and take home. The memory had made the leftover treat even sweeter when she'd had it with her evening coffee. Had Jennie eaten her own leftover that night or the next morning? Anne made a mental note to ask Brad when she saw him… whenever it might be.

Well, the sooner you finish this sample, the sooner it will be,
she told herself as she positioned the fabric under the machine's presser foot.

With that in mind, she set to work. The fabric was soft and cool to the touch. It might be inexpensive, but it still had a lovely drape and such a silky feeling beneath her fingers. What would it be like to wear a beautiful cocktail gown of something as soft and shimmery? Not flag silk, though. Maybe raw silk or a lovely shantung.

She walked into the party, confident in her elegant, black column dress. Her hair had been styled in a sophisticated yet sassy updo by her beautician, and her skin glowed from her massage at the spa. A sapphire tennis bracelet sparkled on her wrist, reflecting the festive candlelight. Matching earrings adorned her ears. As she entered the room, conversations stopped, and people stared. But instead of disapproving frowns, their expressions were admiring, approving. Especially on the face of the tall, dark-haired man, who'd been waiting for her. He crossed the room, stopping to take two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. Reaching her side, he handed her one of the flutes. His brown eyes offered a silent toast, a seductive promise of things to come as their glass touched with a surprisingly loud chime.

“Anne? Are you all right?”

She blinked. The linen-covered tables and candlelight faded. She was back in The Stitching Post, realizing the chime she'd heard had been the shop door. The same dark-haired man from her thoughts now stood before her, but he searched her face with concern not admiration.

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

“Oh, Brad, I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you come in,” she apologized. “I was sewing, and I guess I started daydreaming.”

“I tend to do the same thing—daydream, not sew,” he clarified. “Especially if I'm doing something routine.”

She nodded at his reassurance but still felt a bit sheepish. At least he hadn't offered her a penny for her thoughts. Now,
that
would have been embarrassing.

“What can I do for you this morning? Did you come to see the sample flag? It's almost done. In fact, I'm working on it now. I was going to call you when I finished.”

Realizing she was babbling, Anne stopped.
What is it about this man that turns me into such a hot mess?

“The flag? Oh, no. I wasn't worried about it. You said you'd let me know when the sample was ready. Although I'm sure it will be perfect when you're done.” He glanced around, suddenly seeming distressed. “It's Jennie.”

Alarmed, Anne swallowed hard. “Brad? What is it? Has something happened to Jennie?”

“No, no. Jennie is fine. I just – well, I feel kind of awkward having to bother you like this. But I – I mean, Jennie and I — well, we need your help. Again.”

She released the breath she'd been holding. “Of course, I'll be glad to help if I can. What do you need?”

“I hate to bother you, Anne—I know you're busy trying to finish the band flags and all — but could you spare a minute to check something?” He held up a gray plastic shopping bag, imprinted with the name of a big Detroit children's store. “My aunt sent Jennie a costume for a Halloween party this weekend. But I forgot all about it until last night. When Jenny tried it on, the skirt was way too long. I'm afraid she'll trip on it, but it will break her heart if I tell her she can't wear it.”

“Let me see it. Chances are it's just a quick hemming job.” Anne held out her hand for the bag. A cloud of blue tulle and satin nestled inside.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, removing the exquisite little gown and giving it a slight shake to fluff out the full skirt with its heavily embellished border. “This trim is gorgeous, but you could lose most of the sequins and gems on the overskirt if it needs to be hemmed very much. I'd recommend shortening it from the waistline. What do you think?”

He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “You do realize you're speaking Greek to me, right?”

She chuckled. “Sorry. Let me back up. How much does the skirt need to be shortened?”

“A lot?” he ventured, giving her the most adorably bewildered look.

“Okay then,” Anne said. She ducked her head to hide her amusement and pretended to examine the gown for a moment. She glanced back at him. “Would
a lot
mean more than three inches or less?”

He grimaced. “I really suck at this, don't I?”

“Well,” she hedged, “it might have helped if you'd marked it, but we'll manage a different way. Can you bring me a pair of Jennie's slacks? A pair the right length for her. I can get an idea of the correct length from those then make some adjustments.”

He snapped his fingers. “I've got a better idea. What if I bring Jennie here after school today instead?”

“Perfect. Then I can measure the costume on her so the length will be exactly right. I could have your sample flag ready by then, too, so it will save you the inconvenience of having to make another trip.”

“I wouldn't have minded,” Brad said then seemed to reconsider what he'd said, because he quickly added, “I mean, you're doing a favor for me—for Jennie and me —by taking this on, so it wouldn't have been a problem if I had to come back.”

“Of course.” Anne nodded her understanding, but secretly wished he hadn't clarified things. It would have been nice to pretend he—

Stop right there, Anne Brown! Do not need to go down that path. This is business, purely business.
She knew her inner voice was right, but it was hard to remember the fact when Brad stood there, windblown and sexy.

“What time does Jennie get out of school?” Anne asked, busying herself with folding the costume so she wouldn't have to look at him.

“I usually pick her up at three-thirty. We could be here in about fifteen minutes if the time will work for you.”

“It will be great. Once I measure the costume on Jennie, it shouldn't take long to make the alterations. I should be able to do them tonight.”

“Don't feel like you have to do them tonight. I wouldn't want you to cancel your plans for the evening or anything.”

She waved aside his protest. “The book I'm reading can wait until tomorrow.”

“Well, if you're sure it's okay…”

“I'm positive, Mr. Carmichael.”

“Okay. Then I'd better get back to the high school before my next class starts.” He headed toward the entrance, but turned with his hand on the doorknob. For a long moment, his gaze held hers, and the heat of it sent a shiver of delight coursing through her veins. She broke away, but when she glanced back, a cheeky grin spread across his features.

“Jennie and I will see you this afternoon. And, Anne…”

“Yes?”

“It's Brad, remember?”