CHAPTER 3
Arwyn
T he buzz of saws and banging of hammers were not my typical Sunday afternoon soundtrack. Somehow, no permits or permissions from the town were needed for the work that needed to be done, and Montoya Construction had been available to start repairs immediately on my house. I’d had to scramble to get my sewing machine and supplies out of the front room and into the garage before Beck and her crew showed up yesterday morning. Since this whole fiasco was Tasha’s idea, I called her and Penny to borrow their husbands’ muscles. An industrial machine like mine wasn’t easily relocated.
“Thank you again for making time for me this weekend, Beck,” I said to the contractor. I’d gotten to know her pretty well while she and her crew renovated the ice cream store into a soda shop. “I don’t know how I ever agreed to this. Two little girls I barely know, living here with me, and their dad here part-time, possibly. Tell me I’m crazy.”
“You’re crazy,” she said. “But honestly, I’ve wanted to get my hands on this house for a long time. So much potential! Please let me know when I can spiff up and paint the outside? And do let Liam know if you want to convert the garage to a more suitable commercial space. His architect fingers are itching for a new historically modern project. Picture it—sliding barn doors, track lighting, an actual changing room instead of a quilt hanging from a clothesline …”
I sighed. “We’ll save those things for the next influx of money. Probably in the next millennium at this rate.”
“That’s okay. We’ll have this place kid-proofed in no time. And you were right, sealing off the third floor for now is the best alternative until we can redo the floors and stairs and get you a new roof.”
“I hate to do it, but it’s not safe up there for the girls,” I admitted. “What’s the most cost-effective way to seal it up?”
“Well, the back stairs are easy. There’s a door already there, so we’ll add a bolt and a combination lock. The front staircase is more challenging. We can seal it up with plastic to block it, but that won’t keep out kids who are determined to see what’s on the other side. Your best option is a door and frame at the base of the stairs on the second story. Lock it up. And we can remove it later, when you’re ready to tackle the upstairs.”
“Okay.” I tried to picture what that would look like. It didn’t seem like it would be an eyesore. I’d still have access. And it would save me money heating it.
“Great! Leave the repairs to us, and you go do what you do best. I’ll call you if we run into anything that requires your input.” Beck tightened her messy bun and slid her safety goggles over her eyes. “Should be move-in ready by Tuesday.”
Tuesday. My stomach dropped.
I wasn’t ready for this, but my dad used to say, “The only way to face a fear is head-on. Do it scared, Wyn. Then it’s not scary anymore.”
That had worked out well for him. Until it hadn’t.
I missed my parents. I really could’ve used their advice on this one. Dad was six feet under and had been for almost five years. Mom checked in when she could, but sometimes it was months until it was safe for her to communicate or get word to me. I suspected she was in the CIA, and when I asked, she would neither confirm nor deny it.
I pulled on my coat and flipped up my hood to make the trek over the light cover of snow to the detached garage. Over a hundred years ago, it had been a carriage house. Then a gardener’s shed. When Dad retired from the military to become a wildlife photographer, it became his workshop. After he died, I left it as it was for a long time—until I ran out of room in the main house for my collection.
I pushed the key into the lock of the windowless structure and opened the door, tentatively walking forward on the carpet into the darkness until I could grab the cord that would signal the interior lights.
Sure, I could have used the flashlight feature on my phone to find it, but what fun would that be?
“Ow!”
Step three-point-five put me in direct contact with my industrial sewing machine.
I rubbed my knee. “Sorry, Nellie.” I patted its arm in apology. I’d named her after the American Girl doll who worked in a factory in New York City as a child, changing the threads on the big machines. The name was a callback to the books I loved as a child and a reminder that my favorite era of time had a dark side that the romanticism of the period often overlooked.
Reaching up and a tad forward, I caught the cord and pulled. The uncovered bulb’s soft glow illuminated the immediate area and left the perimeter in darkness. I hung my coat on the rack by the door and traversed the mosaic of garage-sale carpets and throw rugs, pulling on the rest of the lights.
Monty and Xavier had moved the racks of wedding gowns and my clothes from upstairs to the perimeter, leaving the space in the back right corner for the changing area. Behind the hanging quilt were three full-length mirrors and a set of hooks for garments. Beck had installed high shelving for my hat boxes and accessories over the racks, and they brought a touch of decor to the otherwise industrial-looking space. I might keep them here permanently.
In the center of the room, Nellie sat sentry, facing the doors. Behind her, three dress forms—two female and one male, dubbed June, July, and August, respectively—formed a semicircle in front of my cutting table. To the machine’s left was a four- by two-foot table I used as an extension for large projects, and to her right was the antique chest of drawers that held most of what I needed to work through Tuesday. I had to finish up Zaki’s costume, and I wanted to get started on designs for Penny’s gala dress, even if I wasn’t yet one hundred percent certain Tasha had been serious about that or if it had just been a ploy to get me to meet with Zaki.
We hadn’t revisited the topic—our communication over the last few days was centered around the upheaval she’d brought to my calm and quiet—and dare I say, gloriously boring—life. But I did plan to ask her about it, and I wanted to have a few concepts ready, just in case.
Penny was the sweetest human in the world. Her shape had changed since she’d become a mother. We’d spoken about altering the dresses she had for when she returned to playing the harp for events, but it would be nice to surprise her with something new and custom-made.
The light above the changing corner flickered, earning a deep frown from me. “You’d better get your act together before Mr. Marsch arrives,” I told it with authority. I checked my pocket watch. Yikes. They’d be here in less than twenty minutes.
I scooted around Nellie and went straight to August, where the tunic was draped. It was a simple piece at its base, charcoal-gray wool with lighter gray fur trim at the sleeves and hem. Ribbons in shades of blue accented a maroon fabric belt to give the appearance of stripes. I’d tack it onto the tunic, give it a nice, flat knot at the side, and set in snaps to hold it in place. On the worktable sat the loose-fitting dusty blue pants, an elbow-patched shirt, a hat, and pointy boot covers to pull over his hikers.
I may have gone a little overboard with my attention to detail.
The sound of an engine and tires crunching on the snow drew me from my inspection. I hurried to the door to open it. In front of me was a shiny black minivan, not the kind of vehicle I’d expect from a multimillionaire defenseman. He sure meant it when he said he didn’t like to waste money on things.
Zaki grinned at me as he slid the door to the back seat open. The girls were again clad in princess dresses of the same shades as the first two times I’d seen them. I wondered if all of their clothing was Frozen -inspired.
“Wynnie!” In less than five seconds, they’d unbuckled themselves and ran straight for me.
I opened my arms for the embrace and snuck a glance up at their dad, who was closing the van’s door. He wore the same team beanie as last week, but instead of the elegant wool overcoat, he’d donned a sage puffer jacket.
Green was definitely his color.
“Amelie! Do you see the dollhouse?”
“Oh Isla, it’s just as I imagined!”
I laughed. “Come on in to my temporary workshop.” I let go of the girls and stepped toward the door. “Inside you’ll see a lot of pretty dresses, my sewing machine, and all of my tools. It’s important that you don’t touch any of it, okay? There are some pattern books on the table you can look at and some drawing paper and pencils. Feel free to sketch or write while I work on your dad’s costume. Okay?”
“Okay!” they chorused.
I took a deep breath and heaved the door open. “Go on in and explore. You too, Mr. Marsch.”
He winked at me and followed the girls in. I shook my head and scooted around him toward August.
“Nice setup. So do you make costumes for, like, theater productions?”
I shook my head no. “Too much drama. Emotionally charged cast members who are overworked, underfed, and sleep-deprived. Directors telling actresses that they aren’t the right size or shape for a dress. Having to hack up beautiful pieces and ‘theater stitch’ them together to fit around microphones or mend them with staples to make it through a scene.” I shuddered. “I learned pretty quickly I’m the sew-at-home custom-order kind of seamstress.”
“It’s a very impressive space.”
“I don’t usually work here. This garage is just for storing the wedding gowns.”
“I can’t wait to hear more about that,” he said sincerely. “Tasha explained your dress library. I think it’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks heated. “Um, you should check out your costume.”
He followed me to August. “Wow. It looks just like the one in the movie.”
I frowned. “The cartoon?”
“Better than the one in the movie.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Better than the Disney World version?”
I grinned. I liked praise. “Why, thank you. You’re too kind. And I’m glad, because you can get the movie version online for a fraction of the cost. You do like to be frugal, after all.”
He snorted. “I spare no expense for my little ladies nor the kingdom of Arendelle.”
I smiled and shook my head. “They sure do have you wrapped around their little fingers, don’t they?”
He held up his pinky. “And when they have big fingers like mine, I’ll be just as wrapped.”
“And with that…” I removed the tunic from August and gathered the pants, shirt, and hat from the sewing table extension and pushed them toward him. “You can change behind the quilt in the corner.”
I followed him to the makeshift screen and waited. The girls were off in the opposite corner, heads together, no doubt plotting world domination.
Fjord domination?
Zaki’s voice carried over the quilt. “Wow, Wynna-bun. This is softer than it looks. And I think it’s a perfect fit.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied evenly.
“Amelie! Isla! Ready for the big reveal? Can I get a drum roll?” Zaki’s request was jovial and upbeat, like he was revealing something so much more fun than a costume.
I looked over at the girls. They’d paused their frantic whispering and were soon at my side.
“Ready, Daddy!” Isla called. She counted down from three, and they began slapping their thighs and humming a drumroll sound. It started softly and increased in volume as Zaki’s disembodied fingers teased the quilt to the side.
He strode toward us, then stopped holding his arms out and turned in a circle. “What do you think, ladies?”
Nordic Mountain Man to a tee, I wanted to say. Instead, I deferred to the girls.
Isla held her elbow with one hand and tapped her cheek with another. “Nice. But the hair isn’t working for me. Kristoff is blond, like me.”
“I like the hair,” Amelie said. “I think he needs mittens.”
Zaki, no doubt expecting high praise from his biggest fans, held a smile, but his eyes told another story. He was afraid he’d disappointed them.
Little girls could be very hard to please.
“I can make mittens,” I offered. “I don’t make wigs, though.”
“Mommy used to paint his hair,” Isla said.
I caught his gaze. “I’ve never painted hair before.”
“I can order a wig,” he said and turned back to Isla. “Do I have to shave?”
She rolled her eyes. “Daddy. You know Kristoff doesn’t have a beard.”
“But I like my beard.” He sighed. “Okay, but only because you asked me to.”
“Yay!” Isla clapped.
“Isla! The other thing!” Amelie hissed.
“Oh! Daddy, can Wynnie come, too? She has all these pretty white dresses!”
Zaki’s brow crinkled. “Sure. We could use a Marshmallow, the snow monster.”
“No, Daddy!” Amelie giggled.
“Olaf?”
“We already have an Olaf!” Isla reminded him.
I tilted my head, confused. Did Zaki have a girlfriend?
“The dog,” he supplied. “Laffy is short for Olaf, and Vennie is short for Sven.”
“Ah!” I smiled in understanding. “Girls, I am so honored you thought of me, but this is an important daddy-daughter date.”
Amelie shrugged. “Sometimes he’s too much fun and I get tired. If you came, you could help me find a quiet place. Right?”
My eyes widened. For a girl her age to be able to identify the cause of stress and know what to do about it certainly was surprising.
“She gets panic attacks,” Isla explained. “Sometimes I can help, but sometimes I can’t. And Daddy tries, but…”
Zaki cleared his throat. “It’s, ah, new.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Overstimulation leads to meltdowns, and that escalated when the girls moved to Canada last summer.”
“So, can you come, Wynnie?” Isla asked. “We can help you pick out a snow queen dress!”
I met Zaki’s gaze, my eyes asking the silent question. Poor guy looked hopeless. I could definitely help. Amelie sounded a lot like me at her age after my mother left to chase bad guys.
“A snow queen, hmm?” I squatted down to the girls’ level. “Tell me what a snow queen’s dress should look like, and I’ll pull out a few options.”
“Yay!” Amelie wrapped her arms around me from the side. “Thank you!”
Isla tapped her chin again. “Long sleeves, because it’s cold. And big balloon poufs on your shoulders.”
“Puffed sleeves?” I asked, rising up and edging backward until I was sitting in the armchair.
“Yes!” Amelie crawled into my lap. “And a big skirt, like a bell!”
“Okay, I have a few like that. What else?”
“A crown!” they shouted simultaneously.
“I have several. How about we choose the dress first, and then you can help with accessories?”
“Yes!”
“I’ll need an assistant to help carry the dresses. Someone tall, strong. Know anyone?” I guided a giggling Amelie off my lap.
“Daddy, will you hold the dresses?” Isla sighed. “She was talking about you, you know.”
He bowed. “Kristoff at your service.”
I returned his grin and spun on my heel toward the opposite wall, where the petite gowns hung. I had two dresses in mind that would be a good fit—and fit me. One was a scaled-down version of Princess Diana’s from the early 1980s and the other a sparkly strapless number from the early 2000s. Instead of sleeves, it had arm-length fingerless gloves with poufs just below the shoulder.
I retrieved the clear garment bags from the rack and hung them over Zaki’s arm. “Follow me.”
I led them to June and July and removed the gowns from the bags to set them up on the dress forms. I pinned the gloves to July at each side and stepped back. “What do you think?”
The girls each ran to a different dress. Of course. I sighed. “You want to be the tiebreaker, Mr. Marsch?”
He shook his head no, but his lips twitched.
I braced.
“I think you should try them both on,” he suggested.
“You do, do you?” I smiled tightly, convinced he was making this harder on purpose for his own entertainment.
“Yes! Try them on!” the girls echoed.
“Fine,” I agreed, turning back to him. “But first let me make sure your costume is set, okay?”
He nodded and continued to hold my gaze. The seconds ticked by, making the blink of time feel like eternity and derailing my whole train of thought. “Fair enough.”
Compose yourself, Arwyn.
Easier said than done.