Bright Lights, Big Christmas(34)

“Hi.” The salesgirl was young, barely twenty, Kerry guessed, with very blond hair pulled back from her face in a severe ponytail. She was dressed in all black. The girl touched the cuff of Kerry’s jacket. “I love this! Is it vintage?”

“Um, yeah,” Kerry said, surprised at the girl’s friendly manner. “At least I think so. I got it at a flea market.”

“I love shopping vintage.” She lowered her voice. “But don’t tell my manager. Now, what can I help you with?”

Kerry felt her anxiety level drop a notch. “I need something … special. But I’m not sure I can afford anything in here.”

The girl studied Kerry, and she felt even smaller and shabbier than when she was outside the shop. This was a mistake. She turned to go.

“Hey,” the girl said. “Don’t leave. I wasn’t judging you. I was just trying to figure out your sign.”

“My sign?”

“You know. Your astrological sign. I’ll bet you’re a Virgo. Am I right?”

Kerry’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“Oh, astrology is my superpower, along with hailing cabs and my flawless ability to shape eyebrows. And I’m a Virgo too, so I can spot one a mile away. I’m Astrid, by the way. We’re logical, practical, perfectionists with an eye for detail. That’s you too, I bet.”

“Guilty,” Kerry admitted. “I’m Kerry and I need something to wear for a dinner date tonight, and I’m panicky because I need to get back to work.”

“Where are you from? I swear I detect a Southern accent.”

“North Carolina.”

“The mountains, not the coast, right?”

“How did you…”

“I’m from Raleigh,” Astrid said. “You don’t meet a lot of Tarheels up here in the city.”

“You don’t have an accent at all,” Kerry said.

“Oh, honey,” Astrid drawled. “I’m an actress. I put it on and take it off as needed, like a pair of Spanx. Now, let’s find you a killer outfit. What were you thinking of spending?”

Kerry felt herself flush. “I’m kind of on a tight budget.”

“How tight a budget?”

“Two hundred,” Kerry whispered. “Impossible, I know…”

Astrid touched the cuff of Kerry’s jacket. “I gotchu, girl.”

She steered Kerry toward the back of the shop. “You’re an eight, right?”

“More like a ten.”

“Wait right here. I’ve been hoarding this one sweater for just the right customer.”

When Astrid reappeared, she was holding a cashmere sweater in a luscious deep teal. It had a keyhole neckline tied with a bow, and elbow-length sleeves.

“Isn’t this yummy? It’ll be spectacular with your coloring.”

Kerry ran her hand down the fabric. “How much?”

“It’s not that expensive,” the salesgirl said. “It’s marked way down because we’re already starting to get in our spring resort wear.”

“How bad is not bad?”

“One eighty-nine,” Astrid said, handing her the sweater. “Go put it on. I swear, it’s like this thing was waiting for you to walk in here and take it home.”

In the dressing room, Kerry removed her shirt and blazer and pulled the sweater over her head.

She held her breath when she turned to look in the mirror. The fit was perfect. The color was lovely, and the cashmere was softer than a baby’s sigh. She was changing back to her own clothes when she heard her phone ding to signal an incoming text. It was from Murphy, and in true Murphy form, it was short and to the point.

WHERE THE HELL R U?

“How’d you like it?” Astrid asked, pushing aside the curtain.

“I’ll take it, but I have to get back to work, like now,” Kerry said.

She followed the girl to the cash register and handed her the gift card.

“Do you work around here?” Astrid asked, as she rang up the sale.

“I’m working at our family’s Christmas tree stand on Abingdon Square. My brother just texted me that I need to get back there.”

“Wait. Is your brother Murphy?”

Kerry answered the question with another question. “You know my brother?”

Astrid laughed and flashed a dimple. “Honey, everybody in the neighborhood knows Murphy Tolliver. My boyfriend and I always get our trees from y’all.”

She wrapped the sweater in tissue and slipped it into a glossy shopping bag.

Kerry reached for the bag.

“Wait,” Astrid said. She darted over to a jewelry display. When she came back, she dropped something into the bag.

“That’s a little sercy from one Tarheel to another,” she said. “We can’t have you going out tonight without some pretty new earrings.”

“Now I know you’re a Southerner,” Kerry said. “I’ve never met anybody from outside North Carolina who knows that a sercy is a gift.”

“Like a lagniappe, if you’re from New Orleans,” Astrid agreed.

“But I can’t let you do this,” Kerry protested.

“Already done,” the girl said. “At my price, they’re practically free anyway.”