The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,136

forty-eight hours, especially since we’d be taking a break to celebrate Thanksgiving, but with everyone bustling about and pitching in, it looked like Sheepish would open for business on schedule.

Beau, looking dapper as always in a black-and-white-checkered waistcoat and red bow tie, unloaded boxes and handed yarn off to Felicia, who was filling floor-to-ceiling cubbies with a rainbow of soft, colorful skeins that practically begged to be touched. Caroline was stocking display towers with pattern and instruction books, pausing to look at each one before assigning it to the correct category—knitting, crocheting, quilting, sewing, or miscellaneous. Heath stood on a chair, hanging a blue-and-coral patchwork quilt on the wall, a sample for the first class Polly planned to teach in the new shop. Teddy unloaded more boxes, arranging a small but carefully curated collection of bright, modern cotton fabric on shelves. Bug and Pebbles lay on the floor nearby, paws tucked under their chins, following Teddy’s every move with their big brown eyes. Trey stood on a ladder in the center of the room, hanging a circa 1960s crystal chandelier unearthed from Calpurnia’s hoard that hadn’t found an eBay buyer but looked totally perfect in the space.

I looked up and smiled at him as I walked by. He smiled back, pursed his lips into an air-kiss meant just for me, then popped his eyebrows up and down and gave me a look, the look that said he couldn’t wait until we were alone, and that always gave me the same giddy, fluttery, shuddery, roller-coaster-drop sensation that came over me the first time we kissed. I kept waiting for it to wear off, but so far, it hadn’t. I was starting to think that it never would, which was wonderful.

I touched my fingers to my lips, tossed Trey’s kiss back to him, and went to the front of the shop to see how things were progressing there.

Happy, looking sharp but casual in a crisp white blouse over a pair of black cigarette pants, was in her element, cheerfully barking orders to Lorne and the recently paroled Slip about where to place groupings of cushy, chintz-covered armchairs and pillow-strewn benches. The mismatched mélange of shabby chic, thrift shop furnishings brought the space together in a cozy, comfortable, inviting jumble that shouldn’t have looked good together but somehow did.

“Can you believe it?” Polly asked, coming up behind me and beaming as she looked around the room. “When I dreamed about opening my own shop, this is exactly what I had in mind—something modern and open but still homey. I mean, look at that.” Polly pointed to an overstuffed armchair upholstered in sage-green toile. “Doesn’t it just make you want to curl up and knit something? Happy, I don’t know how to thank you. I’d never have been able to pull this together myself.”

“It looks fantastic,” I said. “Happy, you’ve got wonderful taste.”

Seeing that the rest of our crafting crew had gathered by the front window, Felicia and Caroline left their workstations and joined the party.

“I can’t believe the difference,” Felicia said, looking around the room and pushing her glittery red glasses, the ones she reserves for special occasions, up the bridge of her nose so she could see better. “Every single thing in this place looks like it was absolutely meant to be here. Happy, sugar,” she declared, “it’s absolutely perfect.”

“You’ve got a gift,” Caroline said, nodding her agreement as she looked toward Happy. “You really do.”

“Oh, well.” Happy flapped her hand to dismiss their praise but looked more than a little pleased. “It’s coming along. Lots to do yet, but we’re getting there.”

“I wish we had some champagne,” Polly said. “Not that I would have any, but still, if we did, I’d raise a toast to Happy. To everybody. It’s not going to be like last time, is it?” she asked, looking at me with a grin that was anxious and excited all at once, as if she might explode from pure happiness.

“It’s not going to be like last time,” I assured her. “Sheepish is going to be a big success. I’m sure of it.”

“So am I,” Polly said. “And I’ve got all of you to thank for it.”

“How about sweet tea?” Caroline said, pointing to a pitcher that was sitting on a nearby table. “Can’t we toast with that?”

“In Charleston? Absolutely,” Felicia ruled, bobbing her head so the rhinestones in her glasses glinted in the sunlight that poured through the front window, casting a sparkling rainbow against the freshly painted white