The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance (29 page)

Meghan tipped her head, squinting a little at him. “Tell me about this island?”

“It’s nothing special. No electricity or running water.” He glanced at her. He could probably see the shock on her face. “Hey, that’s what an outhouse is for.”

“You’d think I’d be used to stuff like that, coming from Iowa, but apart from school camping trips as a kid, I’ve never roughed it.”

“Not sure this would qualify as roughing it. There’s a propane generator and a well for drinking water. Mostly it’s all about running around on an island. We’d make up games, stories about who we were—pirates or intrepid explorers—and then act them out. My parents’ one rule was that we had to be ourselves in the house.”

“So no tents?”

“Not unless we wanted to have tents. The house is actually pretty big. Five bedrooms? And a huge wraparound porch.”

“Nice.”

“Come with me? Go shopping with Kassie another time?”

Meghan shook her head. She grinned. “Nope. Absence will just have to make your heart grow fonder.”

Dan’s eyes never looked bluer. “Not possible,” he said quietly.

Meghan looked down at her salad and concentrated on getting the last grains of rice onto her fork. Ironic to work so hard for the last morsels when she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow.

Meghan was up and dressed on Sunday at nine-thirty when Kassie knocked. She was a little surprised that Kassie got up that early.

“When it’s a shopping trip? I’ll get up at dawn, if that’s what it takes. C’mon, I’ve had friends put a couple of things aside for you.”

She literally tugged on Meghan’s hand, then stopped at the doorway. “We need some things. Do you have a strapless bra?”

Meghan did, but she had to dig through her underwear drawer to find it. While she did that, Kassie inspected all her shoes, taking two pairs—some low-heeled navy pumps and a strappy pair of sandals—with her.

“Okay, we’re ready. Let’s go.”

“I’m pretty sure Cinderella found
her
fairy godmother easier to work with.”

“Yeah, but Cinders ended up in some stupid pink thing,” Kassie retorted. “Shoot me if you end up in anything pastel.”

Oh, God, was Kassie going to make her buy some slinky black dress? Meghan wasn’t sure she could carry that off. Kassie’s awareness of fashion had to be better than Meghan’s, so it would probably be okay.

It was clear that Kassie was a frequent shopper at all the stores they went to—consignment shops on South Street and used clothing shops on Chestnut and even the Goodwill in South Philly. It wasn’t that anyone paid attention to them, but Kassie knew where everything was.

They had lunch at Silk City, a retro diner in Northern Liberties, then headed out to the Main Line.

Kassie found the dress in a hospital charity shop in Bryn Mawr. Smoky gray tulle with a fitted bodice and unlined tulle across the shoulders and upper arms giving the merest suggestion of sleeves. She sent Meghan to the dressing rooms to try it on.

As Meghan stripped down to her undies, she heard the middle-aged saleswoman talk to Kassie. “It would have had a belt, probably diamanté or gray rhinestones, but that’s missing, of course.”

Good thing they were chatting. Meghan still couldn’t figure out how the dress unzipped.

“I was thinking that a length of black velvet ribbon would work perfectly,” Kassie said.

Okay, that got the dress open.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” the saleswoman gushed. “Your friend will look so pretty.”

“I can hear you two, you know,” Meghan mumbled.

Once she’d changed bras and stepped gingerly into the full-skirted dress, she brought it up over her hips. “I’m not sure it’s big enough,” she said.

“I’m sure you’re small enough,” Kassie said.

“Okay, well, you get to zip it up.” Meghan opened the dressing room door and turned around.

“Oh.” Something in the saleswoman’s voice made Meghan glance over her shoulder.

“You look like you stepped out of a 1950s issue of Vogue,” the woman explained. “Come see—there’s a full-length mirror here.”

When Meghan looked, she hardly recognized herself. The dress wasn’t fancy, but it did wonders for her figure. Small-waisted, the illusion of hips, and even a bit of décolletage. The bra wasn’t quite right, but she could probably get something better at Target.

Kassie tugged on the tag dangling from under Meghan’s right arm. “Can you do anything on the price?”

The saleswoman seemed uncertain. “I really shouldn’t, but it’s so perfect for your friend, I’ll take five dollars off.”

Kassie nodded.

When another customer needed help, Meghan leaned toward Kassie. “How much is it?”

“With the discount, under twenty.”

“You’re kidding. It’s gorgeous. I bet you couldn’t buy the fabric for that much.”

“Lord no. This silk tulle is fantastic. And I checked the label. Mollie Stone.”

“That’s good?”

Kassie snorted. “It’s not Dior, but it’s what my mother would call ‘a good name.’ And at a proper vintage clothing shop, it would probably sell for seven hundred or so.”

If Meghan had been wearing the high-heeled sandals, she’d probably have fallen on the floor. “Seven hundred
dollars
?” she hissed.

“Don’t feel bad about this place. My mother’s on the board. They’re doing fine. They can afford to let you have it for a song. But shh, don’t say anything.”

The saleswoman took Meghan’s money and handed her the dress, carefully folded and placed in a used shopping bag. Meghan felt like cradling it all the way back to Kassie’s car.

“Okay, now that we’ve got the dress, we need a few more things,” Kassie said as she drove away. Ten minutes later, they were parked behind a tiny lingerie shop that appeared to be closed. Kassie knocked and a petite woman with hair the color of red wine let them in. Kassie had, it appeared, made an appointment for Meghan to be fitted for a proper bra.

“I can’t afford this,” she whispered to Kassie.

“No, but I can. As your fairy godmother, I get to supply something, right?”

No way Meghan was going to make a scene. “Oh, all right.” She’d find a way to repay Kassie someday.

It took nearly an hour, but at the end of it, Meghan had a delicate little shopping bag lined with the palest pink tissue paper cradling a nude strapless bra and matching lace panties. She was pretty sure she could have purchased an entire outfit for work for the same amount of money, but when she’d tried on the dress over the bra, she could see why she needed it. Once again, Kassie had been right.

On the drive back to West Philly, Meghan tried to thank Kassie. “I still can’t believe I was that girl in the mirror.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We have to find you shoes and a bag and I’ll need to do your hair and makeup on the night.”

“No end to the fairy godmother business, is there?”

Kassie grinned. “Not when it’s done right.”

After the late summer chill of Casco Bay in September, Philadelphia was sweltering. Dan collected his car from long-term parking and headed for Meghan’s apartment. She hadn’t answered the phone, so maybe she was at Kassie’s place. Anyway, it was getting close to dinner time, so she had to come home soon to cook one of her new healthy meals.

He’d missed her. He’d told everyone all about her, how smart she was, her sense of humor, how she’d cracked the SMS case. Chris had smiled, his sisters had rolled their eyes in their classic “we know what’s really going on” expression, and Mom had gotten that “I might be getting more grandkids” gleam in her eye. He’d wanted to tell her that he would marry Meghan, but it was premature to discuss that with his parents. They’d jump the gun…again…

He called Meghan’s office phone at the oddest hours. He didn’t want to call her apartment. That felt too needy. Instead, he’d had a blast leaving her tiny messages. “Hi, hope you’re having fun.” Stuff like that. He figured she’d enjoy listening to them on Tuesday morning.

Dan parked alongside the brick apartment building, grabbed his overnight bag and buzzed Meghan’s apartment. No answer. He couldn’t buzz Kassie’s place without her code, so he collected some of the mini-Sputnik seedpods at the base of the huge sycamore trees on 43rd. He lobbed them at Kassie’s windows. On the third Sputnik attack, the window slid open.

“What?” Kassie demanded. Then she saw Dan. She turned away from the window. “It’s for you.”

Meghan appeared behind the screen. “Dan? What are you doing here?”

“Making a fool of myself, apparently. Can I come up?”

“I’ll come down.”

A faint voice said, “Okay, Juliet, your Romeo’s here. Now shut the window. You’re letting all my nice, cool air out.”

A few minutes later, Meghan greeted him at the security gate. “Hi.”

“Hi. Going to open the gate for me?”

She looked startled, then laughed. “Yes, I am. I’m just surprised to see you.”

He took her hand as they walked toward the door leading to her side of the building. “I came straight from the airport.”

Before she could put her key in the front door, he dropped the suitcase and pulled her into his arms. “I missed you.”

It was a kiss of homecoming. Who cared he’d only been gone for seventy-two hours. Anyway, it had felt longer.

They kept kissing until someone behind them cleared his throat. “Uh, I need to get to the door.”

“Sorry.”

The guy—a pimply undergrad—shrugged. “It’s nice to see old folks getting it on.”

Dan looked at Meghan. She just laughed.

“Do you want to go to dinner?” Dan asked. She might not have enough to feed him.

“No, it’s okay. I made a huge batch of cold soup today.” She led the way up the stairs.

“Sounds yummy.” Sounded like an oxymoron—cold soup.

“It is.” She caught his eye. “No, really. You dare to come here and then doubt my culinary abilities?”

“Well, I didn’t entirely come for the food,” he admitted.

“Tough. I haven’t eaten yet, so you can eat with me or go hungry.”

“Cold soup sounds delicious. I’m just eager for dessert.”

“Ha ha.”

Over dinner—the soup was very good—they talked about their respective weekends. Dan described the annual lobster-and-clam bake on the tiny stretch of pebbly beach. Meghan told him about the fireworks and free concert she’d attended Friday night.

“And on Saturday, I made this.” She got up from the table, returning with a small, lumpy red square.

“It’s lovely. What is it?”

“My first pot holder. I knit it.”

Her face, glowing with happiness and pride, took Dan’s breath away. He’d seen her all buttoned up in a suit out-arguing Blackjack’s niece in the moot court. He’d seen her composed even in the presence of the firm’s chairman. He’d seen her understand the minutiae of technical specs described by engineers. But it was a small lumpy square of knitting that made her this proud.

“I love you.” It was out of his mouth before he could pull it back.

She clutched the pot holder tight to her chest. Her mouth was open and the look in her eyes—well, he couldn’t figure it out. She looked scared.

Dan stood up and put his arms around her. “It’s okay. I’m sorry if I startled you. You looked so happy.”

She pushed him a little, just enough for her to get her arms free. She wrapped them around his waist, resting her cheek on his shirt. He could feel the pot holder at his back.

“It’s okay,” he said again, his lips against her hair.