Clovis sniffed and Jabba scooted closer, rolling his sausage of a body onto Clovis’s foot, offering support. “I was their flagship store on the West Coast.” She was also their exclusive retailer in wine country, which was why their merchandise was prominently displayed throughout the shop.
Over the years, Clovis had taken chances on smaller lines, start-ups that no one else would sacrifice shelf space for. She had an eye for design and a heart for underdogs, which was how the Boulder Holder had managed to break out some of the biggest up-and-comers in the industry and give them their starts.
Just like she’d given Harper a fresh start at having a real home years ago. “I thought you were one of their biggest sellers,” Harper said.
“I am. I’m also losing my edge.” Clovis rubbed the crystal handle of her cane, something she did to calm her nerves. Jabba, on the other hand, gently gnawed on the foot of it.
“You’re not losing your edge,” Harper assured her. “You don’t even know why they’re coming out.”
“When I called to see what the holdup was, they told me they were sending someone to discuss the ‘exclusive territory rights’ in my contract. When they did that to Gertie down in La Jolla, they gave her territory to some sexed-up honey who doesn’t know the difference between a chemise and a camisole.” Clovis shook her head, her silver halo moving with every heartbreaking motion. “If I lose Lulu Allure’s business, I lose a third of my fall merchandise. Maybe even my shop.”
Harper handed Clovis a tissue. The older woman bowed her head to dab her eyes.
“Your grandfather and I worked so hard to open this shop. If I lost it now . . .” Clovis broke off and looked up, and the expression she wore was like an arrow straight through Harper’s chest. It was the same broken look her grandmother had worn when her husband passed, and when she’d had to tell Harper that her mom wasn’t coming for her weekend visit.
Something Harper had come to accept throughout her lifetime, since Gloria Owens was a slave to the stage, and a resident of nowhere in particular. In fact, last Harper had heard, she was headlining at the Sunnyhills Senior Community Theater in Plano, Texas.
“We won’t lose the shop, Grandma. I promise.”
Clovis offered up a watery smile. “When you talk like that, so confident about the good in the world, you sound just like your grandpa.”
Chester Owens saw potential and possibility where others only saw problems. He was small in stature but big at heart, making everyone around him feel welcomed and treasured. Especially when it came to the love of his life.
Even two decades after his passing, the dreamy look that he inspired in her grandmother whenever she talked about him made Harper’s heart ache with longing. What would it be like to have a love affair like that? To be cherished so thoroughly that even in death she couldn’t be forgotten?
Harper looked around the shop, with its Victorian charm and sensual landscape, and realized that it wasn’t just losing the shop for Clovis—it would be losing her identity.
“I promised him I’d look after you. And this shop is as much a part of you as your heart.” For Harper, it represented a safe escape from her fractured childhood. It was an important piece of her past that inspired warm memories and had helped her to become the woman she was today.
“You’re my heart.” Clovis reached up to cup Harper’s cheek, the feel of her plump hand as comforting as it had been when Harper was a scared little girl. “And my favorite grandchild.”
“I’m your only grandchild.”
“Why mess with perfection?” Clovis said, and Harper felt a burst of determination. Not just to save the shop, but to be the kind of granddaughter she’d promised Chester she could be. The kind who took a problem and made it into a possibility.
Clovis was bold, yet loved frills. She was soft where it counted but firm in her support of others. She had a beautiful way of helping women find their inner seductress, claim their femininity, and take pride in the power of being a woman.
Harper was bold and supportive, but unlike the other Owens women who had come before her, she’d missed out on the feminine seductress gene.
Or had she, she wondered, remembering that kiss. She knew Adam was trying to prove a point, but when he pressed his lips to hers, ran his hands over her body as though he liked what he found, she had felt that power simmer from deep within. And it was intoxicating.
Then she remembered he’d been on a secret tryst with another woman and happened to stumble and fall into Harper’s mouth.
“You don’t need Baby to impress that rep,” Harper said, just like she didn’t need to change to impress some guy. She straightened to her full five feet eleven inches and squared her shoulders. “You’re Clovis Owens, respected panty pusher and living lingerie legend. And I’m Harper Owens, summa cum laude graduate from San Francisco School of the Arts. Between your boardroom skills and my design and merchandizing genius, we’ll have Lulu Allure begging you to carry their fall line.”