Tahira in Bloom Page 6

  “Who takes the pictures for your Insta?” Juniper asked.

  “I usually take them myself,” I said. “Unless I’m modeling.”

  “Lately she’s been modeling with Matteo a lot, so I take the pictures,” Gia added. “The power couple gets a lot of attention.”

  “Who’s Matteo?” Juniper asked as she waved at an older man and woman across the street.

  “My boyfriend,” I said. “He’s Gia’s cousin. He’s trying to build a following as an Instagram model.”

  “Ooh,” Juniper cooed. “That is sooo cute that y’all work together! I prefer girls myself, but there’s slim pickings around here, so I’m single. Your boyfriend should’ve come up here, too. But Lord, there would not be room in that flat. Can I model sometime?”

  Gia grinned. “You should put her in that oversize blazer you made, Tahira. She has the height for it.”

  Juniper nodded, smiling. “I know I’m not really, you know, pretty pretty, but models are more interesting than pretty, right?”

  Gia shook her head. “Shut up. You’re totally pretty pretty. You’d be great.”

  She was pretty, and if I was going to be here all summer, I would need someone other than Gia and me modeling. “Have you modeled clothes before?” I asked.

  Juniper shook her head. “Rowan was in the school fashion show last year, but I didn’t even try out. I’m such a dork at school; I would have been laughed off the stage.”

  Rowan had been in the fashion show? Clearly, I wasn’t the only one to notice that his outside was much more attractive than his inside. But I didn’t want to talk about Rowan—mostly because I didn’t think it was right to call him a douche canoe in front of Juniper, and those were the words that came to mind when I thought of him.

  Maybe I could try Juniper’s conversation quick change. “What’s that building?”

  “The library and community center. I wanted to work at the library this summer, but Mrs. McLaughlin only hires college kids. Ageism, right? I’ve read more books than that Adams girl . . . but I guess it’s good—the library booth is the most boring booth at the festival—and I’d have to be there all day because Mrs. McLaughlin thinks she’s too important to stay put. Did y’all bring any books up with you?”

  “Just some sewing books,” I said. The sidewalks widened after we passed the library, but there were more people walking on them. I squeezed close to Juniper as a woman with a massive stroller approached. Juniper said hello to her as she passed.

  “That’s Yolanda Torres,” Juniper said. “She’s the head of the festival this year.”

  “Oh, look how pretty that little courtyard is!” Gia said. “This whole town looks like a postcard. What’s the deal with this festival?”

  “No one told you about the festival? The Bakewell Festival of Flowers is massive. It’s at the end of August, and there’s a midway with rides and games and food trucks. Last year there was an arepas truck from the city. Oh, and they have this custom ride with spinning flowers. It’s on the logo for the festival. There are also all these contests, you know, best garden, best flower arrangement. The biggest is the Bloom—that’s the floral sculpture competition. This year they’ve partnered with some hoity-toity horticultural association, so it’s an even bigger deal. They did this winter ball in December to raise money, so the Bloom prize is epic now. Not that I want to enter. Row will, of course. He came in second last year.”

  Juniper kept describing this community fair while I kept looking around on the way to the store. This must’ve been the downtown core, if you could call it that. The buildings were two stories tall and were more tightly packed together, and they were somehow even brighter and more flowery. We walked past a small specialty-food store, a hardware store, and an antique shop. Plus two banks, a bookstore with a front window filled with gardening books, a Chinese restaurant, some sort of bistro, an auto garage, and a large clock-tower building with a big, manicured garden in front of it.

  “So how come you two ended up coming here, anyway?” Juniper asked as we passed a store that looked like it sold only plaid things.

  “I was supposed to be working with a designer this summer, but the job fell through.” I told her about Nilusha, the bird, and the lost internship.

  “And I came along because I can’t have a summer without Tahira,” Gia said. “Don’t worry, T, we’re going to get so much new content to make up for losing your job.”

  Juniper looked at me, tilting her head. “That sucks about the internship. This is why you really don’t want to be in Bakewell, right?”

  I turned to Juniper. How did she know I didn’t want to be here? It wasn’t like I’d ever said that—aloud, at least. I smiled. She was perceptive. “Nothing against Bakewell; it’s just . . . the experience with the designer would have been better for my college application. I’m trying to get into FIT.”

  “Is that an art school?” Juniper asked.

  “It’s a fashion school in New York.”

  Juniper’s eyes widened. “Sounds intense.”

  “You’ll get into FIT,” Gia said. “You have twenty thousand followers. You’re, like, ridiculously talented.” Gia was my biggest cheerleader, but honestly I didn’t think she understood how stressed I was about this. Everyone who made it big in fashion had big platforms, but they also had connections, talent, and all the right kind of experience.

  And maybe expecting to get that experience from a town with less people living in it than I had Instagram followers (but more flowers, apparently) was a bad idea.

  I rubbed my palm. No. No self-doubt now. No second thoughts. I didn’t have any other option but to be here. I had to make it work.

  Juniper pointed ahead. “There’s Lilybuds.”

  I saw the store for the first time, and it took all my self-control not to make a face. It wasn’t very big, and it had large windows on either side of the door. Above the door was one of those oval wood-carved signs like the welcome sign into town. Was there some sort of Bakewell discount on those or something? LILYBUDS was in cursive writing in the middle, surrounded by pink, purple, and yellow flowers. Looking in, I could see the window display, complete with mannequins in floral dresses, and more batik than at one of those Thai beach photo shoots. Fixing this place up was going to be a serious project.

  “Is everything church-picnic wear?” I asked, trying not to frown but probably failing.

  “The stuff in the window’s not great,” Juniper said. “But Shar got some new things in recently that are pretty cool. I’m saving up for the black linen overalls. Anyway, should we go in?”

  Whether I wanted to be here or not, I was going to turn this store around and put my own personal stamp on it.

  I took a breath. “Yes. Let’s get started.” I opened the door.

  6

  LILYBUDS AT LAST

  Girls, you’re here! Look at you three!” Sharmin Aunty said as we came in. “So fashionable. My customers are going to love you. I hope you had a pleasant walk.”

  I put on my smile, ready to lay on all the praise for Bakewell, but I didn’t really have to. I forgot I had Gia the Positive with me.

  “It was lovely!” Gia said. “This town is not just cute, but cu-ute. So picturesque. I can’t wait to check out the little shops and restaurants! The bookstore was just darling!”

  Sharmin Aunty chuckled at Gia, then turned to me. “What about you, Tahira? What did you think of Bakewell?”

  “I think this is going to be an awesome place to live, Sharmin Aunty.” I was pretty proud of that enthusiasm, to be honest. It sounded real, at least to my ears.

  “It’s a wonderful little town. Tourists will start invading heavily next week; then it will really pick up. And you don’t have to call me Sharmin Aunty here. Everyone calls me Shar. You too, Gia. I’m Shar, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Excellent.” Sharmin Aunty—Shar—nodded. “Why don’t you three look around a bit while I finish this paperwork. Then I’ll give you the grand tour
and train you on the computer. Sound good?”

  We split up to look around Lilybuds. After a few minutes, I was just as underwhelmed as when I’d first peeked in the window. Walls painted boring beige. Gray, industrial carpeting. And the clothes? Yeah, the stock was clearly leaning into either the Sunday-church crowd or the new-age-hippie crowd. Except with more flowers. Because this was Bakewell—flowers were a given.

  Shar’s official tour took about five minutes. Stockroom in the back, small bathroom. And the selling floor.

  “I usually showcase merchandise by color,” she said, “but I like to change out the front stock often. Like these.” She held up a long, daisy-printed skirt. “I’ve had them since April, but I sold three yesterday because I moved them here with the yellow tops.”

  I nodded. She didn’t need to tell me about the power of merchandising.

  Gia flipped through some dresses on a rack. “Do you sell any, you know, casual stuff? Streetwear?” she asked.

  Shar looked confused, so I elaborated. “Denims, maybe some cords, graphic tees? Urban looks?”

  Shar shook her head. “I carry primarily dresses and skirts. Florals do well because that’s why people come to Bakewell. No jeans or T-shirts, other than the festival T-shirt.”

  “I heard they’re not doing a festival shirt this year,” Juniper said.

  “Really?” Shar asked. “Why not?”

  Juniper shrugged. “Not enough people bought them last year. The BFF logo is kind of lame. The art is, like, from 1988 or something.”

  I raised a brow. “BFF?”

  “Bakewell Flower Festival. Mom said the acronym predates texting, so we can’t complain.”

  Gia snorted. “But who even says ‘BFF’ anymore, anyway?”

  Exactly. I tried not to roll my eyes.

  It didn’t matter what I thought about Bakewell or Lilybuds—I was here for a purpose. I pushed my hair behind me and mentally got to work on the reason I’d been hired—to rebrand Lilybuds. “I’m excited to get started with the changes to the store. There’s this exclusive line out of Copenhagen we should look at—I think it’s going to be a big deal next year.”

  “Ooh, Søren Anker! Good call, T,” Gia said. “They have this bag that—”

  Shar put her hand up. “Copenhagen! Heavens! I’m sure that’s not right for my little shop.”

  “Oh, are you trying to keep to Canadian lines?” I asked. “That’s cool. Buy local and all that. Nilusha Bhatt might work. What are the price points you’re looking at? Maybe we can get her to make an exclusive capsule collection.” I pulled out my phone. I could use my connection here. This would be great for Shar and Bakewell as a whole.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Tahira,” Shar said. “I’m happy you’re here to help me choose some new pieces and freshen up a bit, but I’m not looking to change suppliers. I’ve built good relationships with my wholesalers, and they have a large selection. We could bring in new hats!”

  Hats? I looked over to a rack near the counter that already contained hats. Straw ones, with flowers on the brim.

  I bit my lip. Stay positive, Tahira. This might not be all bad. If these wholesalers really did have a large selection, maybe I could find things that had a bit more city cool and a bit less flowers?

  “Do they have a catalog or something?”

  “They’re online.” Shar stepped behind the counter and motioned me over. On the computer, she brought up a website—Brandon’s Apparel Wholesale. “I buy a lot from here, but I have two more that I also use. Ooh, these are new!” She opened to a page of long dresses, miraculously not floral. Still not what I was envisioning.

  “I could see these working,” Gia said, leaning over me to see the screen. “Or wait, look at that one!” She pointed to a flowery thing on the sidebar. “So Coachella, right?”

  “Oh my God, yes!” Juniper nodded vigorously. “I totally saw dresses like that from the footage from the Coachella music festival last year. I want to go to one of those big concerts one day.”

  I gave Gia a look. She knew this wasn’t my aesthetic. She wasn’t really helping here.

  “How about I look at these later,” I said. “I should start by making a plan for the store. Maybe make some sketches?”

  “Sounds like a great idea,” Shar said. “I’ll show Juniper and Gia the computer system.” She switched to the point-of-sale program.

  I grabbed my iPad from my bag and started at the back of the store, making notes on the things I would change. Definitely a coat of paint to start. Clean white walls would make a world of difference. Maybe new flooring, too. Ebony hardwood would look good. Or slate tile. I stood in the center of the space and looked toward the back, imagining a customer seeing the store for the first time. Maybe a feature wall there? Everything was so cluttered now, but that was an easy fix—reduce the stock on the floor so the key pieces would stand out more. And definitely hide at least half the florals.

  After making copious notes and a few sketches, I connected to the store’s Wi-Fi and pulled up the website for the wholesaler. I took a closer look without any commentary from the others. Could I make any of this work? It sucked I wouldn’t be able to bring in any real designer lines, but after seeing Bakewell, I suspected Nilusha Bhatt would probably be wasted here. I found some solid high-waist twill skirts with buttons down the front that had potential. And the linen overalls Juniper had mentioned in many colors—I actually liked those. I might even be buying myself a pair.

  I grinned. It wasn’t all bad. I could make this work.

  Despite a few hours of training and a few minor rushes of customers (I figured five people in the store at once was a rush), I managed to make a long list of ideas and a few rough sketches for my proposal for the new Lilybuds. I was excited, but I kept my ideas to myself. This project was for my FIT application—I didn’t need it done by committee. I would compile it all tonight and present it to Shar tomorrow. Hopefully we could start implementing some of the changes by the end of the week.

  Late afternoon, Juniper took me to the famed Hyacinth’s to pick up coffees for everyone. Gia stayed with Shar at the store in case there was another rush of customers. On our way there, Juniper said, “They make the best chai frappés.”

  I wasn’t thirteen and didn’t live in suburbia. I didn’t drink frappés. “Do they have flat whites?”

  Juniper shrugged. “Probably.”

  Hyacinth’s was, of course, floral themed. But the outside patio had comfortable cushioned bench seats and chic black umbrellas. I could see a significant amount of time being spent here in my future. As we waited in line at the busy café, a few people came in after us and stood behind us. But two people, what appeared like a woman and her daughter, came in and looked right at Juniper, and then the girl headed straight for us instead of the back of the line with her mother. She was tall, about our age, and exactly what others would call an all-American girl, or all-Canadian, I supposed, which meant white, blonde, blue eyed, and nonthreatening. She had on a striped nineties-style T-shirt and white jeans and sneakers. Her hair was in long curling-iron waves and she had pink lips. Her mother was an even blonder, but older, version of the girl, wearing a blue and yellow floral sundress I recognized from Lilybuds.

  “Oh great,” Juniper said quietly, clearly irritated that she had the attention of these two.

  “Hey, Junebug,” the girl said, planting herself beside Juniper. “Love that skirt; the whole look is so unique!”

  “Hey, Addison,” Juniper said uneasily. “This is Tahira. She’s working with me at Lilybuds. She’s Shar’s niece from Toronto. Tahira, this is Addison. She’s in my grade at school.”

  Addison’s eyes traveled from my shoes up to my hair. Her expression made it clear that she wanted me to know exactly who was queen bee around here. “Nice shirt,” she said sarcastically.

  I rolled my eyes. Just terrific. Bakewell had mean girls. “Um, thank you?”

  Addison turned back to Juniper and flashed a smile that looked faker t
han her “Longchamp” bag. “So, Junebug, did you think about what I asked?”

  Juniper’s jaw clenched. “Do you mind not calling me Junebug?”

  “Everyone calls you Junebug!” Addison stepped closer. “I really hope you’ll agree to help us out—for old times’ sake. Our team needs you!”

  Juniper glanced at me briefly, then at her feet. “I said before, I don’t think I’ll have the time. I’m working this summer. And you’re not even really asking me to be on your team, are you?”

  “I’m asking you to be our coach! That’s more important than being on the team! Really, I would love to let you join, but with Sadie, Cameron, and Kelsey, there isn’t space. And Kelsey and Sadie are dying to go to New York. None of us have ever been, and you went last year. You wouldn’t want to go with us, anyway. You’re too awkward for the stuff we want to do. It’s totally not your scene. We’re going to go dancing and—”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted. I couldn’t figure out what exactly Addison wanted June to coach her for, but if she thought negging was the way to convince June, she’d be dealing with me first. “Juniper said she won’t have time. I’ve been hired to do a complete rebrand of Lilybuds, and she’ll be helping me.” I mirrored the once-over the girl had given me, making it clear I was as unimpressed by her fashion choices as she was with mine. “This town could use a style makeover, to be honest. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  That got me a death glare from the mean girl, which was fine. I’d rather her wrath was on me than on Juniper. Juniper may have been naive and a little too earnest, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be bullied or manipulated by a classmate.

  “Tahira’s a designer,” Juniper said. “She has her own clothing line and everything. And twenty thousand Instagram followers.”