Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Think about Vegas, okay?” I was headed there on another job in a few weeks, and I’d invited her to meet me.
“I will.” She tipped her head back and our lips met one last time.
I held the door open for her and gave her arm one final squeeze, then watched as she left the room and headed down the hall toward the elevator. “Be safe,” I called quietly.
She glanced at me over one shoulder and blew me a kiss, all my instincts told me not to let her go.
CHAPTER 18
MILLIE
NOVEMBER
My last few weeks at Cloverleigh Farms flew by.
October was booked with weddings every weekend, and when I wasn’t busy preparing for them, I was getting everything in order to ensure a smooth transition for Winnie. Mr. and Mrs. Fournier at Abelard said they were sorry to lose her, but they totally understood her decision to move over to Cloverleigh Farms.
During my weeknights and days off, every moment was spent preparing to launch my new business. Even mundane things like securing my tax identification number from the state gave me a thrill. I hired a website and graphic designer, opened a bank account, finalized the terms of the loan from Hutton, signed the lease for my dream space, hired a contractor, switched the utilities into my name, and scheduled interviews with potential employees.
On my last day at Cloverleigh Farms, my co-workers threw me a little farewell celebration in the bar at the inn, complete with a cake made by Frannie’s bakery that said Good Luck, Millie with Cloverleigh’s signature four-leaf clover on it. I was moved by all the kind things everyone said, all the hugs and well wishes, and by all the encouragement from women who heard about the shop I was opening and said, “It’s about time.”
During the party, my dad caught me wiping tears from my eyes. “What’s this?” he asked. “Second thoughts?”
“No,” I assured him. “I’m just overwhelmed by everyone’s support. And I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a chapter of my life, you know? I have a lot of happy memories in this place.”
He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my head. “You’ll always have a home here.”
I tipped my head onto his shoulder, my heart too full to find words.
Starting the very next day, I dedicated every hour and all my efforts to turning Millie Rose from a vision in my head into reality. During the first week in November, I picked up the keys and drove straight to my new business address. My sisters surprised me later that afternoon by showing up with a bottle of champagne—we popped the cork and poured three glasses.
Goosebumps blanketed my skin as I turned around inside the empty space.
“To Millie Rose—the shop and the woman!” shouted Winnie.
“To chasing your dreams!” added Felicity.
“To all the brides who will find their wedding gowns here,” I said, lifting my glass. “I cannot wait to be part of your story.”
We clinked glasses with shining eyes.
“I have keys to my shop!” I told Zach on a video chat later that night, dangling them in front of the phone. “It’s really happening!”
He laughed, relaxing on his couch. “So now what? The renovations begin?”
“Yes. I have so much work to do.” As I talked, I made dinner, moving back and forth from the fridge to the pantry to the counter while my cats watched me like observers at a tennis match. “My family is going to help me as much as they can, but I also ended up hiring some guys to fix the plumbing issue, tear out the previous tenant’s interior, and build what I need. Then my dad can help me with the floors and the walls. And my sisters are going to help me with the furniture and decor. I have stock arriving in December, so I need to work fast!”
“What about employees? Need me to do any background checks?”
I giggled. “Not yet. I have some interviews scheduled for tomorrow, and guess what? One woman who answered my online ad is a seamstress with tons of experience! Her name is Diane Tucker. She’s worked in a bridal salon outside Nashville for fifteen years, but her husband just retired and they’re moving up here to be closer to their daughter and grandchildren.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“I know. She’s definitely the most qualified candidate I’m interviewing. I hope I can afford her.” I sliced some lemons on a cutting board.
“What are you making for dinner?”
“Lemon chicken. Frannie’s recipe.”
“My stomach is growling.”
“Awww. Come over. I’ll feed you.”
“I wish I could. I’ll probably end up with takeout again.”
He listened to me babble on about light fixtures and fabric textures and wood floor stains and paint colors and even hanger styles, asking the occasional question but mostly just letting me talk. Sometimes I’d stop meal preparations to run over to my laptop and make a note about a call I needed to make or a task I feared I’d forget to handle or an idea I wanted to run by the contractor.