Chapter 2 - An Unwelcome Bride
At eleven the next morning, Willow Street was coated in a dusting of wet, gray slush.
Lily wiped down the vinyl booths with a warm rag, humming a melody she could only half-remember from childhood. Every few seconds, her gaze involuntarily darted through the rain-streaked window toward the boutique across the street.
The ivory lace gown was gone from the front pedestal.
In its place stood a gaudy, sequined ballgown that looked stiff, hollow, and blindingly modern. Lily stopped wiping, her heart giving an involuntary, painful squeeze against her ribs.
The bell above the diner door chimed sharply as Frank stepped out from the kitchen holding a tray of clean cutlery.
"Don't look, kid," Frank said quietly, not looking up from his silver knives. "Rich folks take things fast."
Before Lily could answer, the glass door swung open with aggressive force, bringing a blast of icy wind.
Claire Whitmore stepped inside, shaking an expensive umbrella while brushing raindrops from a pristine camel-hair coat. Behind her trailed Marianne Vale, carrying an oversized garment bag draped in thick protective plastic.
"Is this the only place on this miserable block with an espresso machine?" Claire asked the empty room, wrinkling her nose at the smell of grilled bacon.
Marianne hurried behind her, her face flushed with fawning flattery. "Miss Whitmore, I can have an imported roast sent directly to your fitting room if you prefer."
"No, I need caffeine now before I try this ridiculous dress on again," Claire said, dropping into Lily's corner booth.
She tossed her designer handbag onto the table, barely glancing at Lily’s faded blue apron. "Double espresso, oat milk, and wipe this tabletop again. It feels sticky."
Lily stood frozen for two seconds before professional discipline took over her reflexes.
"Right away," Lily said evenly, filling the small pitcher while watching Marianne set the long garment bag across an adjacent booth.
A small tear in the zipper revealed a glimpse of delicate ivory lace embroidered with tiny forget-me-nots.
Lily felt the breath leave her lungs in a sharp gasp as she stared at the exposed hemline. It was the dress from the window.
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"Look at this seam," Claire groaned loudly to Marianne, gesturing dismissively toward the garment bag. "The neckline is completely outdated, like something an impoverished prairie schoolteacher would wear. We need to cut the lace off completely and plunge the back."
"Of course, Miss Whitmore," Marianne agreed instantly, nodding like a servant eager to please. "Whatever changes you want for the Hale wedding will be done by tomorrow evening."
