The Many Dates of Indigo

CHAPTER THREE

An hour before opening, Adorn, Indigo's upscale boutique, was quiet. The quaint corner shop was like the closet many women fantasized about: walls of shoes, a small rack of dresses, a back corner of high-end handbags, and a display case of sparkling jewelry. Raw oak floors, exposed brick walls, and modern fixtures made up the place Indigo had dubbed her second home.

"What did you say you hit again?" Hazel Rodgers, the shop assistant, asked. She looked away from the shattered windshield on Indigo's truck, visible through the shop's glass front door, and back to Indigo.

Indigo stopped counting her stack of five-dollar bills. "I didn't hit anything." She placed the greenbacks in the cash register. "A crazy bird flew into me." The incident still made her heart beat a little faster. The way the sparrow had crashed into her windshield had startled her and caused her to swerve into another lane as she sped down the busy freeway.

"Is it still alive?" Emery, who was leaning against the checkout counter, asked. Emery Cortez was the owner of Percolate, a coffee shop two stores down, and had been Indigo's friend since their days at Crawford University. Hazel, whom Indigo had hired a few years ago when the shop started turning a profit, was Emery's cousin.

"What?"

"The bird."

Indigo shrugged then closed the cash drawer. "I don't know." She grabbed a pair of orange ballet flats off the counter and advanced to the side wall. "But look at my windshield . . ." She pointed to the vehicle parallel-parked in front of her store. "It looks like someone balled up a piece of paper and then tried to straighten it back out."

Hazel, a caramel-hued twenty-three-year-old, nodded in agreement with her boss. "It looks jacked." She sprayed cleaner onto the glass door.

"Something else I have to add to my to-do list," Indigo breathed out as she slapped the shoes back on the shelf. "Along with finding a man to escort me to my thirtieth birthday party."

Her mom had sent her a voice memo that morning reminding her to send a list of people she wanted invited to the party—an event she'd hoped her mom had forgotten about since she hadn't heard anything about it recently. But apparently Stella had just been waiting until after the baby shower to focus on the next big Clark family shindig.

"Find a man?" Emery asked and pushed away from the counter. The corners of her mouth quirked up. "What are you talking about, Indie?"

"Yeah." Hazel stopped dragging the rag over the glass, making more streaks than wrinkles on a pug's face. "'Cause that's easy." She rested her hand on her narrow waist. "All you have to do is come to the club with me, and I'll have you with a bae in no time."

Indigo's flawlessly made-up face scrunched. "I'm looking for a well-suited suitor."

"Not a hookup." Emery cut in. "And you can't find love in a club."

"That's not what Usher says," Hazel rebutted.

"But didn't he get divorced, though?" Indigo's nude pumps clicked on the hardwood as she crossed the store. "Or are you talking about his second marriage?"

"He didn't meet her at the club," Hazel clarified with a flick of her curly hair.

Emery tsked. "How do you know?"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Hazel frowned at Emery. Their family resemblance shone through in moments like this, the snark in their tone and the roll of their eyes, even though Hazel was three shades browner than Emery. "Isn't coffee like . . . in demand right now?"

"I have employees for that." Emery gestured to Hazel. "Kinda like you."

Hazel pointed her rag-wielding hand at Emery. "I am a partner." Indigo's forehead crinkled, and her mouth twisted. "I am a coworker of . . ." Hazel rephrased, but Indigo slowly shook her head. "I am a—"