"What did Jasmine say? " she asked.
"Jasmine told her you're the owner," Claire said. "She didn't believe her. She said, 'That can't be right.'"Naomi closed her eyes for a half-second.
She thought about all the mornings she had unlocked that door. She thought about the loan officer and the paint and the sanded floors. She thought about Ava doing her homework in the stockroom.
She thought about the peony on the counter. She told herself that one customer's rudeness was not worth her peace. She told herself that Susan would leave, that the day would go on, that the boutique would be fine.
But Susan did not leave. She stayed for almost an hour, drifting from rack to rack, picking things up and putting them down, watching Naomi, whispering again to Jasmine, whispering to another customer who looked startled and then quickly moved away. She took out her phone and held it low, as if she were texting, but Claire saw her angling it toward Naomi.
She walked to the register and asked, in a loud voice that carried across the shop, "Who is in charge here? I need to speak to the manager. "Claire stepped forward.
"I am the manager," she said. "How can I help you? "Susan looked at Claire, then at Naomi, then back at Claire, as if she were deciding whether Claire was telling the truth.
"I have concerns," Susan said. "About security. About who you let in here.
"Naomi felt the room go very quiet. The young woman from the garden party looked up from the belt she was holding. The tourist from Ohio paused with a scarf in her hands.
Even the jazz seemed to fade. Naomi took a slow breath and said, in the calmest voice she could find, "I'm Naomi Ellis. I own this shop.
Is there something I can do for you? "Susan's face flushed. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, "We'll see about that," and turned back to the racks, her handbag clutched tighter than ever.
Naomi stood still, her hands at her sides, her heart beating fast, and she understood, with a clarity that made her feel cold, that this morning was no longer ordinary at all. For the next twenty minutes, Susan stayed near the front window, pretending to examine a display of earrings while keeping her eyes fixed on Naomi. She took a phone call in a hushed voice, turning her back to the room, but Claire could hear fragments: "Yes, I'm still here...
No, I don't think so... I just have a bad feeling. " When Susan ended the call, she slipped her phone back into her handbag and folded her arms, as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Naomi tried to keep working, tried to keep helping customers, tried to keep the boutique feeling like the welcoming place she had built, but she could feel the tension spreading through the shop like a chill. Jasmine kept glancing at the door, as if she wanted to leave. A regular customer who had come in for a hat left without buying anything, sensing the unease.
Naomi told herself to stay patient, to stay professional, to not let one woman's suspicion rewrite the story of her morning. She straightened a row of dresses with hands that were steadier than she felt, and she waited, because she had learned long ago that sometimes the hardest thing a person can do is simply remain calm and let the truth speak for itself. By noon, the boutique had settled into its usual rhythm, or at least something close to it.
The garden-party customer had found her belt and left happy. The tourist from Ohio had bought two scarves. A mother and daughter had come in looking for matching dresses for a family photo and had spent a long time laughing in front of the mirrors.
Naomi had tried to put Susan out of her mind, and for a while it had worked. Susan had moved to a bench near the back, still watching, but quieter now, and Naomi had decided to focus on the work she had planned for the afternoon. She had a photoshoot scheduled for the next week, a small shoot for the boutique's social media page, and she needed to choose three dresses to feature.
She had been thinking about it for days. She wanted one dress that was elegant and simple, one that was bright and joyful, and one that showed how a woman could go from a work meeting to a dinner without changing her whole outfit. She had set aside a rail near the stockroom with candidates, and now she walked over to it, pulling each dress out to look at it in the daylight.
She chose a cream linen dress first, holding it against herself in front of the tall mirror near the fitting rooms. It was soft and clean, with a tie at the waist that made it feel both relaxed and polished. She thought about how it would look in photos, with the peony on the counter in the background and the light from the window.
She made a note on her phone. Then she chose a coral dress with short sleeves, the same one from the window display, because coral always photographed well and because it made her think of summer. She held it up, turned it this way and that, and smiled a little, imagining Ava's reaction when she saw the pictures.
Claire joined her, carrying a clipboard. "Are you going to try them on? " she asked.
"It helps to see how they move. "Naomi nodded. "I'll try the cream one first.
Can you watch the floor for a minute? ""Of course," Claire said. "Take your time.
"Naomi took the cream dress into the largest fitting room, the one with the best light. She hung her own black dress on the hook and slipped into the cream linen, smoothing it over her hips, tying the waist, turning to see the back. The dress fit the way she had hoped it would, skimming without clinging, moving when she moved.
She stepped out to show Claire, and Claire clapped her hands. "That one," Claire said. "That one is perfect.
You look like the shop. "Naomi laughed. "The shop has good taste.
"She went back into the fitting room and tried the coral dress next. It was brighter, bolder, and she liked it for a different reason. It made her stand up straighter.
She stepped out again, and Claire nodded, taking a quick photo on her own phone to send to the photographer, just for reference. "He'll love that color," Claire said. "Especially with the white wall behind you.