Free Crewel Yule by Monica Ferris, Melissa Hughes Page B

row but can’t piece a pattern? No wonder people glanced at it, then went on by.
    It did not occur to Lenore that it was still early in the buying period, or that customers saw the unhappy scowl on her face and kept on going.
    “Here’s the coffee you wanted, Lenore,” said Vinny Moore, President of Bewitching Stitches, putting a Styrofoam cup of foamy café latté down in front of her. “And here, have a pastry, it will cheer you up,” he added, holding out a paper plate with three fruit-filled selections.
    Too deep in misery to get the hint, she shook her head and Mr. Moore retired to the other side of the room.
    Lenore contemplated the stack of patterns gloomily. It was going on ten o’clock, and there had been a steady stream of customers through the suite. There had been a few sales, but not enough to lower the stack noticeably. Certainly not enough to qualify her pattern as a hit.
    Lenore felt part of the problem was bad placement. She should be seated next to the check-out table, where people had to stand and wait while their orders were rung up. There, having nothing else to do, they’d take a closer look at the model. Then they would, perhaps, see past the snagged fabric and inadequate finishing to the clever design.
    Or maybe it wouldn’t help. Mr. Moore should know his business; maybe he looked at her model and just plumped her down here to sink or swim.
    Lenore needed a big success here at the Market. The pattern deserved it, and good sales would mean they’d buy her next pattern, too. Her husband Cody stayed on as credit manager at Harley-Davidson because the pay was good and they offered great benefits, but the work was not challenging and he often talked of starting his own accounting firm. Now that Mike and Alyssa were both in school, her husband—not unjustifiably—wanted her to share the burden and find a full-time job. But if this new pattern led to regular work as a designer for Bewitching Stitches, her income could easily go higher than what she could earn as a full-time cashier at Pik n’ Save.
    Maybe she should have canceled her appearance in Nashville, and just taken a chance with Bewitching Stitches’ catalog presentation. No, making a personal appearance—Meet The Designer!—was important, despite the cost of travel.
    Well, then, maybe she should have left the crappy model at home. No, the pattern was complex and difficult, and it needed a model. A photograph or drawing wouldn’t do. But this model . . . It was tooth-grindingly awful to have to put this thing on display. Oh, there had been a few customers who could see past the flaws, but most were just coming in long enough to buy patterns by known designers, and would only have paused if something brilliant caught their eye. Something like the properly finished model Belle had promised Lenore.
    There ought to be a special place in hell for people who deliberately smash the dreams of others, thought Lenore savagely. And Belle can’t get there any too soon.
    Another customer came in, glanced very briefly at Lenore and her model, then turned away. It was a rejection so clear Lenore nearly cried out in protest. But she stuffed it down, though the effort deepened her scowl.
    Then her anger flared up even brighter at the injustice of it all. Wouldn’t it be great to go find Belle? Lenore had seen her at breakfast, filling a plate with scrambled eggs in the buffet line, laughing and talking just as if she were not some kind of weird monster. Cherry wasn’t with her. Lenore thought about that. Was the partnership in trouble? There was certainly some tension between Belle and Cherry. Lenore recalled the sudden silence that fell when she came in a week ago, and, once before that, Cherry turning away too late to hide her angry face. Probably Belle’s fault. No, undoubtedly Belle’s fault! The witch.
    And here was Belle in Nashville, in easy reach. All by herself, Cherry wasn’t with her.
    But how to get away? Lenore, overwhelmed by a