The Summer Bargain Blowup

Chapter 1

Kristen Benton hated shopping in Boston. Being here reminded her of being in school, and right now, she didn’t want to think of her looming loan deadline for Yale. But Grandma Agatha that both she and Angie, Kristen’s little sister, buy the best gowns. Boston was the closest metropolitan shopping district to their small town, Sugar Creek, Vermont, that would sell designer gowns. With the pinging of the door, they both stepped into the boutique smelling of designer perfume and money.


“Why do I need to shop here for a dress?” Angie clomped in with her Sweet Milk Dairy shirt and flannel.


“You need one for the pageant.”


“Can’t I just wear one from Annette’s shop?” Angie faced the large window dominating the front of the shop. Cars drove by on Boston’s high society Newberry Street.


Kristen shook her head, combing through dresses with a determined glare. “Annette’s dresses are all well and good for prom and local events.” She held out a blue sequined dress and propped it against her sister’s shoulders. “Grandma Aggie is sponsoring us. So we do as she bids.”


“Why do we have to be in this stupid pageant anyway?”


“Because Grandma Aggie is making us, that’s why,” Kristen muttered. Grandma Aggie always wanted to be high fashion in New York, but ended up with low fashion in Sugar Creek.

Kristen straightened her spine and combed through racks of designer dresses, glaring at her sister’s choice to wear boots meant for mucking out the cowshed. That girl could be the biggest tomboy. Not that Kristen was any more sophisticated. With a family dominated by the male persuasion—two brothers older than Kristen and two brothers between her and her two younger sisters—the two older Benton sisters grew up close and were definitely tomboys.

Kristen and Angie would surely make fools of themselves strutting across the stage, trying to look glamorous in high heels.


And they didn’t belong in this bougie boutique. Kristen flipped over a tag. These prices were out of this world!


A sales clerk rushed over, bringing with her a cloud of perfume and condescending looks, as if the sisters touching the gowns disgraced them. “I am the owner. May I help you?” A strong Boston accent poured from her mouth. Her gaze raked over Kristen with a disapproving frown, jowls wagging like a waddle. With a head of silver hair, she pinched her lips while inspecting the sisters.
“We’re just looking for a dress.” Kristen continued looking through the racks, trying not to let her embarrassment show.
“Two dresses actually,” Angie added, eyeing her sister, bumping her shoulder. “One for me. One for her.”


“That Eduardo Bianci you’ve got over your shoulder is gorgeous. But perhaps out of your price range.” Pointing to a rack at the back of the store, the owner frowned. “Would you like to peruse the discounted rack?” The owner plucked up the gown and tried to rehang it. “We only sell these gowns to our exclusive and bespoke clientele.”
What snobbery! Kristen’s jaw grew tight at the insult. “Are they for sale or not?”


The owner looked confused at the question. She passed her hand along the rack with only a few gowns. “These are the last of the season.”


“We want to try these on.” She plucked up the previously chosen dress the lady had just replaced. Perhaps before her brother Eric and his girlfriend Charlotte had saved the dairy, she would’ve been cowed by the snobbery of this woman, but, by golly, their family had money in the bank just like anyone else.


“Mr. Bianci himself delivers gowns from New York.” She crowed like a rooster. “We expect him any minute.” 
Kristen wasn’t sure why that mattered, except maybe the owner was trying to intimidate her, but she wouldn’t be bullied. Taking stock of her outfit, Kristen regretted wearing her jeans, quilted duck boots, and flannel shirt—typical fare for Vermont. At least she’d dressed in her best flannel shirt to come to Boston. She wasn’t a complete hick! 
“Let’s just go,” Angie whispered, tugging on Kristen’s sleeve.

“We can shop somewhere else.” 
Finding a parking spot and even driving in the city stressed Kristen out. She was not getting back in the car unless she was going home. 
She checked her watch. She didn’t have time to go to another store. Kristen needed to get back to Sugar Creek to get to her best friend Coco’s bridesmaids’ dress fitting.

This wasn’t the only formal gown Kristen was wearing this summer. Between being the maid of honor and competing in the Miss Sugar Princess pageant, her summer was booked with formal dresses.


She opened her mouth to say something snippy when the door pinged, drawing Kristen’s gaze to the front, squinting from the sun glaring off a red sports car out front. The mansions surrounding the shop shimmered in the early June sun.


A man in a suit entered. Only he didn’t just enter, his presence filled the boutique, strutting like a cock in a henhouse.


Kristen raised her eyebrows. Although of average height, he carried himself well, like a man born to wear a tailored suit. His eyes shone with competence, swaggering with so much confidence, any woman would swoon. Kristen didn’t see any harm in staring at such a gorgeous specimen of a man, albeit from a distance. Under the guise of looking at another dress. She held it up, peeking at him through the space in the hanger. 
He caught her eye and winked with a smile.


Drawing in a startled breath, her face warmed as she replaced the hanger.
Stepping away from the sisters, the owner’s eyebrows peaked with concern. She melted into a smile when she recognized the man. “Ah, where is Signore Bianci?” 
The man held out his hands. “What? Are you disappointed to see me? Am I just the delivery boy?”


“Not at all, Ward. How are you?” 
“Well. And I don’t have to ask you to know how you’re doing. You’re looking radiant as always.”


The woman brightened—and blushed?—as the younger man stroked his tie down the center of his broad chest. 
Kissing the air above both cheeks of the store owner, Ward held the woman’s elbows. “Mimi.”


She returned the air kisses. “Signore Bianci couldn’t make it?” 
Taking a step back, he relinquished his hold on her. “Unfortunately, no. He’s making a house call this weekend for an important client. Actually, I am to join him shortly, but first, I had to fulfill his last commission and deliver the dresses to our favorite client in Boston.” His dazzling smile filled his face.
Kristen had to look away from the brightness.


Behind him, a fleet of workers hauled in gowns wrapped in plastic shimmering in every color of a garden, held over their arms, as if they were bringing in bunches of summer bouquets.


“And here are the gowns!” Mimi clapped her hands, giddy with excitement, directing the workers to take them behind the curtain to their storage area out of sight. “You are just in time. These women were just looking at the last Eduardo Bianci gown.”


His eyes turned toward Kristen and her sister, barely giving them a glance. “Oh, indeed? I wish I had time to show them the latest creations. But alas, I must be on my way.”


At his brief gaze, a deep heat crawled out of Kristen’s shirt, flaming her face. He didn’t think they were important enough to pay attention to.


Something at the window drew his attention.
“Excuse me.” He held up a finger.
Kristen followed his path toward the gaggle of women bursting through the door with a ping.
Chattering around him, three rail-thin, well-dressed women carried handbags, wore high heels, designer clothing, and plenty of makeup. All of them gorgeous. Model gorgeous. All model thin. Their hip bones jutted from their clothing looking like half-stuffed, well-dressed scarecrows.


“We saw your car parked out front,” said one of the women with wide eyes and a never-ending smile. “We wanted to get the first pick of this season’s gowns.”


“Come see!” With a grin, Ward gestured to the three well-heeled women, leading them toward the back of the shop.


Kristen’s jaw dropped. Didn’t he just say he didn’t have time? The snub rubbed her the wrong way.


The tall blonde bubbled with enthusiasm, sipping from a designer water bottle.
“Oh, I can’t wait.”

A brunette clapped her hands as if seeing dresses were the most thrilling thing in the world.


Ward winked at the brunette. “Signore Bianci designed them for you, you know.”


Gag me. Kristen turned away, plucking another dress just to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t throttle something. He wasn’t in too much of a hurry to show those women the new collection. Who was she fooling? A guy like that would never take time for them. Gorgeous people mate with other gorgeous people. The end.
Curtains to the back swallowed the four of them. Even Mimi tittered at the cash desk, sticking her head into the curtained back room, ignoring Kristen and her sister.


Kristen grew conscious of Angie’s boots and fleece pullover. This was the problem. Kristen could never shake her dairy-farming background. Shame warmed her center. Maybe they should just leave. 
After the royal snub by both of them, her heart ached, not out of ego, but for her poor sister! The last few years had been hard for them, emotionally and financially. After the death of their father, and the bullying at school, they at least deserved some respect. Should they just leave? Sure. But the thought of going to another store and enduring this snobbery all over again made her sick. By golly, she would not let them snub her away.
“Go into the dressing room,” Kristen told Angie, feeling fiercely protective. “I’ll gather some dresses.” She shot a hot glare at the distracted owner behind the counter. All the women made such a fuss over Ward. Kristen plucked a few dresses and carried them to the dressing rooms.


Mimi didn’t seem to care that they were dressing now. Kristen pulled down the curtains of damask in the changing room area next to the desk. For as much as they will be paying, what lousy service! She fumed as she undressed in front of a mirror in the dressing rooms nearest the cash desk. The open ceiling allowed her to overhear the chittering of the girls just behind the curtain. 
Kristen rolled her eyes, stepped into a dress, and slipping it over her shoulders, studied herself in the mirror. The layers of fabric complemented her figure. She swished to the left and to the right to see the effect of her flounces, smiling all the while. She had to admit, it felt heavy and light in just all the right places, filling her with girlish desires.


“Where are your customers?” Ward’s voice cut through her thoughts. He must be at the cash desk talking to Mimi again.
Kristen froze, stilling the ruffling of taffeta and lace to eavesdrop.


“Oh, they’re just country bumpkins. I doubt they’ll spend any money.”
“Country bumpkins they may be. Their money is as green as anyone else’s.”


Kristen’s jaw dropped. He just called them country bumpkins! He agreed with the wretched classist store owner. Heat poured under the dress, even though the unfastened back was exposed to the cold. Her chest rose and fell. She hoped her sister didn’t overhear this conversation. 
Part of her wanted to strut out of there without spending anything, but she didn’t want to validate what Mimi said. But her disappointment poisoned the dress. She couldn’t buy it now. “How are you doing, Ange?” she yelled over the top of the dressing room stalls, hoping Ward would hear that she was nearby.


“I love it!”


“Great. We’ll get it.” Torn at giving the shop money, she decided to get a dress for Angie, but not for herself. She still had some self-respect. She would just wear her bridesmaid gown to the pageant. Surely, it could pull double duty.
Peeling off the despised dress, she felt a cool rush of air. She threw on her flannel and buttoned it. 
Country bumpkins indeed!
Stepping outside of the curtains, she carried her dress to the counter.


Ward leaned an elbow on the cash desk, relaxing into his gaze which was directed at her. Kristen tried to ignore his lazy stare.


“Did you not find anything suitable?” Mimi’s tone mocked her.


“I didn’t get the personal treatment some customers had.” She cut a glance to where the three models still oohed and awed in the back. “But my sister found something. We’ll take the gown.” 
Mimi returned the icy stare.


With a large grin, Angie emerged from the dressing room, hair a mess, carrying the dress of her dreams over her arm. “You should see this on me.”


“I’m sorry you didn’t find anything to your taste.” Ward genuinely sounded saddened. “Our public seasonal trunk shows might be more fitting for a preview. If you want a personal consultation, you’ll have to come by the flagship store in New York, but today,” he unhitched himself from the cash desk, his voice holding an edge to it, “I must be off.” He turned and stalked off then, banging his keys against his hand. He swirled, walking backwards. “Although if I had to pick a flattering gown for you,” he addressed Kristen, “I would suggest the faille strapless gown in rose with matching stole in our newest collection. Mimi can help you find it.”

With a slight dip of his head, he turned and headed toward the front glass doors, opening them with a ping. “And Mimi, give her the friends and family discount.”


Discount? Kristen seethed. He thought they were too poor to afford one of his dresses. She most certainly wouldn’t try the gown he suggested. But curiosity tugged at her. Why did he suggest it? “All right. Let me see the dress he mentioned.”


With a tight frown, Mimi disappeared behind the curtains and returned with the dress still ensconced in plastic.
Taking it into the dressing room with a huff, Kristen undressed again, hoping and praying he was wrong. Stepping into the swirling, foamy dress, Kristen hiked the fabric up over her hips, shimmying to get it to fall into the right places. 
Once it hung correctly, she looked into the mirror. It looked beyond flattering. It was stunning. But everyone knew they put skinny mirrors into the dressing rooms to make you look better. 
She smoothed bell-shaped skirt and patted the flat neckline. Delicate fabric flowers studded the bottom of the hem, blooming upward toward her waist.
It looked…It turned her golden-brown hair into a stunning chestnut and her swarthy skin into a radiant tan. 
How did he do it?
How did he guess which dress would please her the most? 
Wrapping the buttery stole around her shoulders, she frowned. She didn’t want him to be right. But she loved the way the dress felt on her; the perfect style, the perfect fit. Swinging her hips, she admired her image in the mirror.


He couldn’t have known.
He had made the suggestion offhand, hadn’t he? He didn’t know her well enough to prescribe the prefect dress for her, could he? What an annoying man!