A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [78]
The woman’s disapproval was readily apparent. She studied me with her querulous gaze, and it was all I could do not to stoop down. I’m just a few inches short of six feet tall, and when my long brown hair’s up in a knot like it was nearly all the time, I knew I could be an imposing figure. Maybe if I was one of those rail-thin nymphs that weighed next to nothing I could still get away with my height, but I was solid—at least ten pounds overweight even for my frame—and that was saying a lot.
She sniffed the air, then said, “No, I’m afraid you won’t be able to help me after all.”
“Come on, it’s way too soon for you to give up on me. If it involves cards, believe me, I can do it.”
Tm sorry, but I suppose I’ll have to use a printing
business in a larger city. I had hoped to offer something at least a little above the ordinary to our guests and friends.”
As she started for the door, I said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want? Then I’ll let you know if L can do it or not.” -
She paused, which was a good thing, because I was getting ready to tackle her before she could get out of my shop. I’d only been open two days, but in that , time I’d had three people come in to ask me for directions to other businesses along Oakmont, and a spry ; little old man had wanted change for a single so he | could buy a newspaper. I hadn’t sold a card yet, not1 I a single piece of card stock or stationery, or even a . stamp for that matter, and my sister’s prediction of I doom kept echoing through my empty store.
“I need wedding invitations, but they have to be different: something bold, yet dignified; daring, yet classic.”
I wanted a pony myself, or at least a way to make my first month’s rent. “How many invitations are you going to need?”
“This is a very exclusive event,” she said. “We’re holding the guest list down to our four hundred closest friends.” She looked around my small store, then said, “Perhaps I’d better see if someone in Charlottesville can help me. Thank you for your time.”
As her hand touched the doorknob, I said, “Actually, that might be for the best. After all, I’m certain my designs would be too outré for you.”
As I’d hoped, she looked intrigued for the first time since she’d walked into my shop. “What did you have in mind?”
“Let me get some samples for you.” I raced to my workroom, a small space in back where I made the customized cards and papers I hoped to sell. I’d just finished a fresh batch of handmade paper, and I’d included some glitter and tinsel in the mix on a lark. I took a few sheets from the drying rack, grabbed a
handful of my more experimental selections and hurried back before she could get away. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have dead bolted the front door to keep her there until I could make my pitch.
“Here are a few possibilities,” I said as I laid the sheets out on the counter in front of her.
She studied the selection, paused over my latest effort and picked it up. “But it’s still wet.”
“Of course it is,” I said as if it were the most common thing in the world to handle brand-new paper. “As I said, this is all cutting-edge. The textures are amazing, aren’t they? I can create whatever paper we decide to use, based on your needs and tastes. There are lots of variations.”
She looked around my shop again, then stared at me for a moment before speaking. “And you’re certain you can handle this?”
“I can honestly say that I haven’t had a single dissatisfied customer since I’ve been in business.” Well, it was the truth. The man I’d made change for had been extremely grateful, and if there had been anything wrong