Chaska rested his hands on her shoulders. “It will take time to build your clientele, but I have no doubt that your shop is going to become a reason that people drive to Scarlet from Boulder and Denver.”
“I hope so.”
This had been Chaska’s wedding present to her.
He’d handed her the lease to the shop on their wedding night and then worked beside her for two months, painting the walls, refinishing the wood floors, installing display cases and lighting, restoring the beautiful Victorian exterior. Winona had helped, too, as had her father and Star. They had made the trip down a couple of times, bringing the kids, who got to see their first moose—not to mention their first wolf. It was her father who had come up with the name for the store—Tanagila’s.
Now all Naomi needed were customers.
She glanced around, wanting to make sure everything was perfect. Paintings and photographs hung on the walls, including some of her own work. Pottery and blown glass pieces in a rainbow of colors sat on glass shelves together with small sculptures of bronze and stone, bigger sculptures sitting on the floor. Glass display cases held jewelry—rings, earrings, bracelets, pendants, necklaces, tie clips, belt buckles, and more—with Naomi’s signature pieces given special prominence in the center case.
Everything here had been made by Native artisans, many of them from Pine Ridge. The idea had come to Naomi the week after her naming ceremony when she’d met with some of her new artist friends and had listened to them talk about how hard it was to reach potential customers. If the shop were successful, it would give them all another source of income and funnel revenue into Native communities that desperately needed it.
A white van stopped in the street outside the shop. A man climbed out and walked to the back, then pulled out a large bouquet of flowers. Naomi didn’t realize they were for her till the man ran up her front steps and pushed through the door. “Naomi Belcourt?”
Naomi stared up at Chaska, who shrugged. “They’re not from me. IwishI’d thought of that.”
She took the flowers and set them down near the cash register, then retrieved the card and opened it, her throat growing tight.
Congratulations on your big day. We’re
sending all our love and prayers.
Mitakuye Oyasin.
Dad, Star, and the kids
She handed the card to Chaska, who read it and gave it back to her. “Your old man sure knows how to come through for you.”
Yes, he did. He’d been true to his word, doing his best for her in everything, getting his name on her birth certificate, paying for her wedding dress and hosting the ceremony in his yard. He was still fighting to get her adoption annulled. There hadn’t been a moment since getting the results of the paternity test when he’d let her down.
The back door opened, and Winona appeared, a white pastry box in her arms. “Sorry that took so long. I got a dozen scones and a dozen blueberry muffins, plus some cookies just in case. Where should I put them?”
“On the counter there next to the coffee.” Naomi had wanted to have refreshments on hand, part of making the store’s opening special for her customers. Except that there were no customers. “If no one comes, I guess we’ll have to eat these ourselves.”
Win had already picked out a scone. “I’m okay with that.”
Footsteps on the wooden walkway.
Rose appeared, bundled against the cold and waving at them through the window. She walked inside. “I just had to be your first customer.”
“Welcome.” Naomi accepted a patchouli-scented hug. If Rose liked the shop, it would be better for business than taking out a full-page ad. “I’ve got coffee, scones, and muffins over there.”
But Rose’s gaze was on a blown glass vase. “Oh, this is lovely.”
The door opened again, and Rain and Lark stepped in, followed by a woman Naomi didn’t know, someone who wasn’t from Scarlet.
Lark glanced around, a bright smile coming over her face. “Wow!”
Chaska leaned down, spoke for Naomi alone. “See? Things will be fine.”
By noon, they’d gone through the scones, the muffins, and four pots of coffee and were down to the cookies. Winona and Chaska had gone out to get more and to grab lunch for the three of them.
Naomi answered people’s questions. She’d counted sixty-five customers so far, a mix of locals, people she recognized, and people from Boulder who told her they’d read the newspaper article about the store. She’d already sold several higher-priced pieces—a painting by a Hopi artist, a Navajo squash-blossom necklace, one of her signature bracelets—along with dozens of smaller items.
If every day were like this one…
The door opened again, and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. She wasn’t a local, her blue pantsuit and the diamond rings on her fingers telling Naomi that she was well off. A business traveler perhaps?