Hattie Glover’s Millinery

that you have quite a talent.”
Notwithstanding Mrs. Darrow’s vulgar hat, which Hattie wished she had not put on display. She felt unaccountably pleased at his assessment, even though she felt quite certain this fellow handed out compliments like penny candy.
“Thank you,” she replied.
Again his eyes pierced her. “Thank you for creating a perfect gift that will say, I appreciate you, and pray we may remain friends.”
The end of an affair with a meaningless token. Hattie’s temper prickled on behalf of this unknown paramour. What a cad the man was. She should not find him attractive at all.
She drew his attention back to the mannequins and pointed out a side-angled straw with a minimum of embellishment. “Will this do? If so, I will wrap it for you.”
“No hurry. Make one similar to it and I will stop by to pick it up.”
There was no way she would create a hat on account for a stranger who might never return. Bad enough when her regular customers were slow in paying their bills. Such was the hazard of being in trade. The more prestigious the client, often the worse they procrastinated, even if they were wealthy.
“I’m afraid I must ask for payment in advance,” Hattie said firmly.
Another smile carved a groove on either side of his mouth. “Of course. How much?”
Hattie quoted a price, then retreated behind the counter. Her customer paid the required amount, and she slipped the money into her cash box under the counter. “May I have an address for delivery?”
He shook his head and a lock of dark hair escaped its pomade to tease his forehead. “I’ll return in… How long will it take?”
“Two days. If you don’t wish to wait, you may take the display model with you,” she urged.
Now the transaction was complete, the fellow leaned lazily against the counter. “I don’t mind returning. Are you always so eager to be rid of your customers? On another day, I might be persuaded to buy a pair of gloves or a fur tippet or something.”
“I don’t sell tippets. And it isn’t the season for them.” With his money in her till, she could afford to be rather caustic.
Her sharp tone only spurred him to laughter. “I don’t blame you for thinking me a reprobate, but I wish to assure you I am at least an honest one.”
“Are you certain you understand the definition of the word?”
He grinned. “Aren’t you a clever thing?”
His patronizing tone made Hattie bristle. “I am not a ‘thing’ at all, but a person, a business person to be precise. One who demands respect from her customers.”
“I did not intend to sound so frivolous. I offer you my abject apology, madam. A woman as beautiful as you must be forced to fend off unwanted attention too often. I apologize on behalf of my gender,” he said without a smirk. “It occurs to me I never introduced myself. Guy Hardy.” He offered a hand to shake, his expression as open as the sky on a cloudless day.
“Mrs. Harriet Glover.” She took his hand to shake it once, briefly pressing palms. The effect of the touch was electric. Even after she’d returned her hand below the counter, her flesh still tingled.
“You are married?” Hardy asked.
“My husband is deceased,” she lied. A widow in business was not uncommon, but a single woman living by her own means was rarer than a unicorn.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He paused. “To own a store is an admirable achievement. You must have a head for business as well as the creative touch.”
His compliment seemed sincere enough, so she replied politely, “Thank you, Mr. Hardy.”
He remained, looking into her face a moment longer while his fingers tapped the brim of his straw boater. Then he dipped his head and offered a farewell. “Good day, Mrs. Glover. I shall return soon for the hat.”
Before she could reply, the shop door opened and another customer entered. It was Miss Jennifer Pruett, she of the scarlet ribbons and cherries. Come to collect her hat, no doubt… except her mother was not escorting her as usual, and she was visibly upset, clutching a handkerchief to her face.
Hattie hurried to the young woman’s side. “Are you quite all right, Miss Pruett? Whatever is the matter?”
“I… I cannot say.” Another bout of sobs erupted.
Hattie put an arm around her heaving shoulders. “Come with me to the workroom. When you feel calmer, you may tell me what has happened.”
“May I be of assistance?” Hardy asked. “Do I need to summon a policeman, young lady?”
Miss Pruett shook her head and mutely waved off the suggestion with her sodden handkerchief. “N-no. Nothing like that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hardy. I will attend to this situation. I appreciate your offer of help, but it is best you go on your way.”
Hattie smiled at Hardy before guiding Jennifer Pruett to the back room.
*
What the bloody hell just happened? Guy found himself on the other side of the shop door and walking down the street without a clue as to how he got there.
Of course, the weeping young lady had been a shock. He hoped no man had accosted her and that she’d be all right. But the sight of her tears wasn’t what made him feel like he’d taken a punch to the head in a boxing match. It was the smile the milliner had casually tossed at him before banishing him from her store.
He’d noticed she was nice looking from the moment he entered the shop, for he always took note of pretty women. And he’d found her even more attractive as she jabbed at him with words that put him in his place. But it wasn’t until that smile left him dumfounded that he realized Harriet Glover was beautiful. More than beautiful. Smart, opinionated, capable, and lovely with her sharp green eyes and that mass of chestnut brown hair piled on her head. Made him want to pull out the pins and watch it come tumbling down—along with the barriers she had raised