“Cripes,” I said. “This is a public space! Have some decency, Chief. Put a shirt on. It’s not exactly like I can call the cops on you for indecent exposure. That would give us a conflict of interest.”
“Oh, honey.” Allie fanned herself. “There’s nothing indecent about that.”
“Allie. You’re not helping.”
“Just casting my vote to say I’m fine with this,” Allie said with a shrug. “Just the chief of police showing off his guns. You got a license for those, Cooper?”
“I have to agree with Allie on this,” Mrs. Beasley chirped from the nightgown section of the store. She must have been hiding out somewhere all along, probably because my mother’s store had a better view of the street than her own. “He’s doing his civic duty protecting the town with those... guns.”
Mrs. Beasley is an older woman who runs the knitting club and spends most of her time sitting in the storefront across the street watching my mother’s storefront in hopes of picking up the latest gossip. Gossip in Blueberry Lake is currency. The more you have, the richer you are, the more popular you will forever be.
“Am I the only one with any sense with professional decency around here?” I remarked to no one in particular.
Cooper looked the slightest bit chastised. But he quickly recovered, turning a blush of embarrassment into his standard look of annoyance. I wasn’t sure if it was me who caused him to always look annoyed or if that was just his general state. Either way, I got that look from him a lot.
“I’m trying to get a shirt on,” Cooper said. “That’s the problem. I think I have the wrong size.”
“No,” I said, examining him closer. “It’s actually supposed to fit like that. It’s a slim-fit shirt. It’s supposed to be tight.”
“Amen,” Allie contributed unhelpfully.
“This is more spandex-fit than slim-fit,” Chief Dear said. “I’ll have to eat nothing but lettuce for a week if I want to fit into this thing.”
“You’ve got too much buttoned,” I said, leaning forward and releasing some of the pressure from Cooper’s chest. “You’re supposed to wear it like this.”
“I agree,” Allie added. “Lose the buttons.”
“The more the merrier,” Mrs. Beasley said. “Keep unbuttoning, honey.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m not doing this,” Cooper said, glancing at himself in the mirror. “I look like an idiot.”
“That’s not the shirt’s fault,” I said.
“Why have any buttons at all?” Mrs. Beasley called, still hung up on the mathematics behind Cooper’s shirt. “You’ll feel a lot better set free like that. All Superman with your chest just busting right out.”
“Come here,” I demanded. “Let me finish showing you how this works.”
Before I knew what was happening, my hands were on Cooper’s chest. I was buttoning his shirt buttons, collaring his collar, and wiping away fake lint off his shoulder as a finishing touch. It wasn’t until I completed my styling ritual, that I realized my hands were still on Cooper’s chest.
“You can take a picture if you like,” he said softly enough for my ears only.
I felt my face flame red. I yanked my hands away, swatting his shoulder in the process. “I charge extra for comments like that.”
There was a twinkle in his eye as Cooper rested both of his hands on his hips. “Now that wasn’t so hard,” he said, turning to once more look at himself in the mirror. “Was it?”
“Your chest?” I asked, then backtracked as my cheeks turned neon. “Oh, you meant the buttons.”
“How about both?” Allie called. “I bet you’ve touched a lot of chests. How does Cooper’s compare to the rest?”
My mother, Cooper, and Mrs. Beasley—along with the other three women perusing the store—all turned to stare at me.
“What do you mean?” I asked warily. “Why would I be touching chests on a regular basis?”
“Because you styled all those people out in Los Angeles,” Allie said matter-of-factly. “Are you telling me you never laid your hands on Danny Sloan’s chest?”
“Well, that’s true,” I admitted. Then I turned back to Cooper. “What do you think?”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’m not going to be able to replicate this for the wedding,” Cooper said, turning to me with a suspicious gleam in his eye. “Any chance you want to accompany me to the wedding? In a professional capacity only, of course.”
“You’re hiring your stylist to go with you to a wedding because you can’t button your own shirt?”
“Name your fee.” Cooper gave a good-natured clap of his hands. “I’ll pay it.”
“You’re preposterous,” I said. “And those pants do not match your shirt. As for the shoes, you can put them straight into the trash. I’ll get you some new ones.”
Cooper barked a laugh. He glanced over my shoulder to my mother and raised his eyebrows. “You were right. Your daughter doesn’t pull any punches.”
“Sorry,” my mother offered.
“I’m right here,” I said. “I can hear you both.”
“Jenna, a moment?” my mother asked. “In private, please.”
I followed my mother over behind the cash register. Allie crept suspiciously close, organizing a stack of hair ties that were perfectly organized before she touched them.
“For the sake of our business,” my mother said, “I must insist you accompany Cooper Dear to the wedding.”
“Our business? You mean your business.”
“I’m open to making it a family business,” my mother said easily. “The keyword being family.”
“You’re just trying to set me up on a date and disguising it as an appointment.”
“Oh, it wasn’t all setup,” my mother said. “Poor Cooper legitimately had no clue what to wear to the wedding. In a true, neighborly fashion, I offered help from the only person I knew who could help him.”
“Fine,” I said. “For the sake of our store, I will dress Cooper for the wedding, but I’m not going with him as a date.”
“I suppose that’s a start.”
I made my way back to the changing room, leaving my mother to stare at me. When I got to Cooper’s room, I raised a hand and knocked twice.
“Cooper,” I called out as the door swung open. “I have to apologize for my mother’s—oh, my. You are naked. I’m so naked. I mean—I’m sorry. You’re naked. Sorry. I didn’t see anything.”
“Jenna!” Cooper looked up in surprise.
I stomped my foot. “Haven’t you ever heard of locking the door?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of installing functioning locks?” Cooper shot back. “The door was locked. Or I thought it was.”
“Yeah, that one’s been broken for ages,” Allie called unhelpfully. “Forgot to get that one fixed.”
Cooper Dear stood in the changing room, naked from the waist up as I’d so kindly observed. From the waist down, he wore only a pair of black boxer shorts. At least, that’s what I thought he was wearing—before I slapped a hand across my eyes to shield them from the view at hand.