LITMIR.BIZ

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to believe. But that wasn’t her concern.

      She tapped her pencil against the page as if that would release the magic in her foster mother’s wand. Nothing happened. She’d been generating replications of her clients’ wishes for the past year. Had she misplaced her own perspective? Maybe her creativity had simply expired like a city parking meter. Or like her chance at a real family. That had ended after Mimi’s unexpected illness. Mimi had been the one who’d believed in her. Mimi had encouraged Josie.

      Sadness tangled with that familiar knot of misery inside her. Josie dropped her pencil and rubbed her hands over her face.

      Scenes of Theo and his sister sharing a look merged with ones of the laughing children in front of the children’s store. She booted up her computer and typed Taylor family in the search bar, then clicked on the images. In every picture, the Taylors were connected: arms around each other, Adriana’s head resting on Theo’s shoulder, arms linked at the elbows. What did a foster kid like Josie know about close-knit families like the Taylors?

      The flip side of every project isn’t ever as pretty as the front. Remember, what people show the world isn’t always the full truth. Mimi’s best advice about life had always been shared while they’d sat in rocking chairs on the back porch. Fresh lemonade in tall glasses on the wicker table and the sewing basket perched between them.

      Still, every image of the Taylor family appeared more flawless than the last. The bylines included appearances at charity balls, Coast to Coast Living-sponsored events and fund-raising causes. Nothing scandalous. Nothing that suggested the flip side wasn’t as perfect as the front. Theo would expect perfection from the first stitch to the last.

      Josie’s confidence unraveled, spooling near her feet. What did she really know about exclusive, A-list designs? She knew how to upscale. How was that ever going to be enough? Could she ever be enough for Theo?

      She was more comfortable in secondhand stores than runway shows. Theo dressed like a fashion model clipped from an ad for the smartest business wear. He probably never doubted his choice of attire or his decisions.

      The bells on the boutique entrance jangled. Josie closed the case on her laptop, greeted her client and welcomed the reprieve. Surely later she’d find the magic.

      As for being enough for Theo Taylor—that wasn’t her goal. And nothing more than a stress-induced musing. Besides, recycled shirts and skirts, no matter how trendy, didn’t belong beside custom-tailored suits and men like Theo.

      Four hours later, Josie rose from her knees and rubbed the knot from her back. She eyed the burgundy ball gown on the dress form, unable to rub away her reluctance to finish her client’s requested modifications. The blinding number of crystals and rhinestones Josie tacked onto the gown’s waist glimmered as if mocking Josie for bending to her client’s over-the-top vision. For keeping silent. Her design book, opened to a blank page, waited on the couch, taunting Josie to create. To release her own voice on the page.

      She’d been criticized for her shyness as a child. Skipped over at adoption fairs and overlooked by her peers. Now she must put herself out there again.

      Face more judgment.

      And the stakes—they were nerve-wrenchingly high this time.

      Her past was supposed to have prepared her, not defined her. Those were the parting words of her last caseworker. As if all her experiences had somehow strengthened her. Why, then, did she feel so weak? Her fingers shook. Panic pressed against her chest, dislodging her breath.

      The bells chimed at the shop’s entrance. Mia’s greeting contained the opening lines of “A Holly Jolly Christmas.”

      Failure wouldn’t be only hers this time. This time if Josie fell short, the descent would take down her friend, too.

      Josie fixed her focus on the dress form, flexed her back and willed away her panic. She hadn’t broken down at the adoption fairs. She wouldn’t melt down now, especially not in front of Mia. Her past had taught her the importance of keeping things to herself. If your mother had wanted to dry your tears, she would’ve kept you. Trust me, no one here wants any more tears. Josie’s foster brother had imparted that wisdom the first night in her third foster home. Josie had dried her tears then and imprinted that lesson deep inside herself.

      As for her silent muse, Josie always preferred to rely on herself, anyway.

      She stopped to watch her friend in the floor-length mirror. Mia finished her Christmas song, added a spin and curtsy, then dropped her camera equipment near the couch. She stepped beside Josie, her hands on her hips. “You really couldn’t talk your customer into something different.”

      Josie shook her head. But she’d have to convince Theo and Adriana that they wanted her designs. She’d have to speak up. She’d have to speak out. The wallflower would have to step into the spotlight and defend her right to be there. Josie widened her stance, bolstering her balance.

      “That many jewels looks like country gone rogue.” Mia’s festive mood had evaporated. She picked up Josie’s design book and sat on the couch. “It was a striking dress. Now it’s edged into gaudy.”

      “My customer wanted more.” Despite Josie’s suggestions for a jeweled headband and coordinating bracelet. Despite Josie’s assurance the dress already sparkled enough. Josie had finally conceded to her headstrong client. She threaded her needle and stepped toward the dress form. Sunday she’d channel all her resolve into Adriana’s dress. No concessions. “I agreed to give her more.”

      “More isn’t always better.” Mia’s fingers drummed on the blank page of the design book.

      “It’s what my client wants.” Josie silently apologized to the gown and threaded her needle into the fabric.

      “But you’re the dressmaker,” Mia argued.

      In this instance, Josie was the seamstress. And she needed happy customers. Happy customers returned. Happy customers paid and helped boost Josie’s checking account. “I’m here to give my clients exactly what they want.”

      “Speaking of which, where are the designs for Adriana Taylor?” Mia flipped through the design book.

      The needle stilled as if Josie had stabbed into metal. Josie pointed at her forehead and stretched the truth. “In here.”

      “We need to get them on paper first, then fabric.” Mia smiled and ran her palm over the blank page as if she already pictured the finished wedding gown. “I’m sure they’re fabulous. And I’m certain that Theo and Adriana will love them.”

      She hoped so. Josie secured the last section of the jeweled belt, knotted the thread and her doubt. Every project starts with one stitch.

      Mia studied the dress and glanced at Josie. “You don’t like it, do you?”

      Her opinion didn’t matter. Only the customer’s happiness. Still, Josie’s fingers twitched, wanting to grab her seam ripper and remove the jewels. “That’s not the point.”

      “What would you have done?” Mia persisted.

      Josie leaned down, stretched out the full skirt and checked for pins she might’ve missed in the hem. “She was stuck on adding a belt. A simple sequined sash would add a subtle, but interesting waterfall of shimmer if it draped down the side of the gown and blended with the side slit.”

      “You should do that,” Mia encouraged her. “Once your client sees the finished gown, she’ll fall in love.”

      “It’s not what we discussed.” Josie shook her head. “Or what she requested.”

      “But it’s so much better.”

      “I’m not the one paying for the dress.” And if her creative choices were wrong? And the customers refused to pay? That was a risk she couldn’t afford.

      “It’s past time you gave your clients more than what they asked for. Give them what they need to shine. What are you

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