Picture (Im)Perfect

Picture (Im) Perfect

Kyra Lennon

Picture (Im)Perfect © 2021 Kyra Lennon

All rights reserved in all media. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

All characters and events featured in this book are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any person, organisation, place or thing is purely coincidental and completely unintentional.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

1.Chapter One

2.Chapter Two

3.Chapter Three

4.Chapter Four

5.Chapter Five

6.Chapter Six

7.Chapter Seven

8.Chapter Eight

9.Chapter Nine

10.Chapter Ten

11.Chapter Eleven

12.Chapter Twelve

13.Chapter Thirteen

14.Chapter Fourteen

15.Chapter Fifteen

16.Chapter Sixteen

17.Chapter Seventeen

18.Chapter Eighteen

19.Chapter Nineteen

20.Epilogue

Other Books by Kyra Lennon

About The Author

Chapter One

Tegan

Hi, could I interest you in…?

Another person hurried by me in the pouring rain, dodging me as I tried to give them a leaflet about The Bridal Loft’s latest special offer. Just like all the others had done for the past hour. And the past few days. Weeks.

I glanced at my watch as the second hand ticked, reminding me how much time I’d wasted out there underneath my umbrella.

It was four p.m. on a February afternoon, and I should have had eager brides tripping over each other to try on dresses. The phone should have at least rung once or twice as excited women asked about availability for trying on dresses, or booking in adjustments because they thought they still hadn’t shed the pounds they’d put on over Christmas.

But I had nothing. I’d been running at a loss for more months than I wanted to admit. In spite of hours and hours spent researching what I could do to turn my bridal boutique around, I’d hit a brick wall.

On top of that, a few months ago, my douche of an ex, Jimmy, decided it would be fun to dick around online with one of his work colleagues. Seeing a picture of Melissa from human resources’ boobs on my boyfriend’s phone when he was dumb enough to have it open while sitting next to me was not my idea of fun.

Taking another look at my watch, I sighed. Time to go home. Staying out there until five was not worth my time when I could go home, find something unhealthy in my freezer to eat, and curl up in front of the TV.

It only took a few minutes to run upstairs, flick the lights off, put my cash float into the safe, set the shop alarm, and lock up.

As I walked down the stairs to the front door of my shop, I peered into the salon that occupied the space beneath my store and waved to Jill. Jill was an older lady who owned the salon and gave fabulous advice to the unlucky in love, like me. She was not having the same customer issues as me. The sympathetic smile she gave as she waved back only made me feel worse, but I forced a smile back in her direction before heading down the street to the car park.

***

Seriously, Em. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m down to basic TV and Netflix, and I’m eating Super Noodles and bread for tea. If I have to go back and live with my parents, I will lose my mind.

I wasn’t even kidding. Well, a little about my parents, but not about the Super Noodles. What I’d wanted was a 12-inch pizza, some garlic bread, and a massive slice of cheesecake, but that wasn’t a luxury I could allow myself. My budget was at its limit, so I was living like a student, keeping the heating off as much as possible and bundling up in extra layers to keep warm.

There was a long pause down the phone line, and eventually, Emma said, Tegan, I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe it’s time to cut your losses and sell up. If you do that, you’ll have enough money to keep on paying your rent and then you can find a new job.

Believe me, I knew that was rapidly approaching my only remaining option, but my heart broke a bit more every time the thought crossed my mind. The Bridal Loft was my dream. Weddings are magical, and for as long as I could remember, I’d been obsessed with them. With the whole journey brides go through as they prepare for their big day. I was no wedding planner, but I did know a thing or two about design. I had a degree in Fashion Design and Marketing, and I’d spent most of my free time in uni learning all I could about the bridal market in particular. University was where I’d met Emma, and while she shared my passion for weddings, her business mind was not as strong as mine. So, she designed and did dressmaking and alterations for me, and I took care of the books.

I know. I sighed. I know that’s the sensible thing to do, but I don’t want to give it all up.

I don’t want to either. You and I built The Bridal Loft up from nothing. It breaks my heart too, but we have to be practical here.

It’s okay for you though. You’ll find another job. God, you could even set up your own business if you wanted to. But that shop is my baby. I wouldn’t have been able to run it without you, but to give it all up… that’s my dream over.

The words brought tears to my eyes, and a dose of good, old-fashioned ‘woe is me’ washed over me. In the last year and a half, I’d gone from full of optimism to an almost pessimist. And in the last eight months, I’d gone from sharing my life with what I’d thought was my forever guy, to learning to live alone.

I didn’t want to lose anything else. Not my home, not my shop, and I certainly couldn’t afford to let my self-esteem slip any further. When your guy prefers a virtual fuck to the real thing, with a woman who is almost old enough to be your mother, it really does a number on your confidence.

Then perhaps you could see it as an opportunity to build a new dream.

"I don’t have another dream, nor the money to create one. I wiped the tears that still hadn’t fallen away from my eyes. I just… I don’t know where to start with fixing my life and saving my shop."

There was a slight pause, then Emma said, Give me ten minutes, babe. I’ll be at yours with a bottle of wine and we will figure this out. I promise.

She hung up without a word, and I shot a small smile at my phone. Emma really was the best friend a girl could ask for.

I stood up and binned what was left of my noodles before washing up my plate and cutlery, then looked down at myself where I stood in my kitchen. I’d changed into my favourite pair of fluffy PJs as soon as I’d got home, and my feet were dressed in a pair of unicorn slippers. I plodded across to the mirror that hung by the front door and gave myself a long look.

I picked up my brown hair and lifted it up, making it into a fake updo for a moment as I focused on my face. My brown eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but in spite of my outfit, I looked pretty good. I always went to work in full make-up, which I hadn’t yet taken off. There was a weird irony to the fact that I looked like a bride before she puts on her dress on her wedding day.

Dropping my hair, I went back to the sofa and continued watching Friends until Emma arrived.

She got to my flat twenty minutes later, holding a couple of pizza boxes and a small white bag that smelled like chips, and there was a bottle of white wine in her other hand.

Your cheer-up party is here, she said, holding up the bottle. I smiled as I let her inside.

Emma was pretty much my hero. She was a whirlwind of energy and happiness, and she had a heart of gold. I know every girl thinks she has the best bestie, but I was sure in my case it was true.

She breezed through to the kitchen and started opening the boxes and getting out plates before I’d even shut the door, not a single blonde hair out of place. I joined her, grabbing glasses from the cupboard and taking the corkscrew from my drawer. We worked silently, not saying a word until we sat with our food on our laps and glasses of wine on the coffee table.

If I haven’t said it before, I don’t think I could survive without you, I told her, inhaling the aroma of Italian goodness in my hand.

Emma laughed. Believe me, I'm right with you on the whole stressed out thing. But at least I don't have to worry about paying full rent now.

I nodded. Emma has moved back with her parents in 2020, and she actually kinda liked being with her folks, though she had expressed a desire to look for her own place again; that was until the struggles with the shop became blatantly clear.

Are you still thinking of moving out? I asked.

She shrugged, pulling a piece of pepperoni off her slice and popping it into her mouth. I will. But I don’t want to do that until you know what you’re doing with the shop. I would rather be employed by you than anyone, but… she trailed off, knowing this would lead us right back to the depressing topic.

Ems, I’m sorry. I placed my pizza slice back on the plate and sighed. I told you before, you don’t have to wait around for me. I can’t give you enough hours like I could before. I won’t be offended if you look for another job.

I really wouldn’t have either. I’d be sad to lose her, but she was my best friend. I would never stand in the way of her doing what she needed to do.

I don’t want another job, babe. Like I said to you before, I will only look for one when you have made a decision about what you want to do. I’m not going to abandon you when you need me.

She held up her hand for me to fist bump, and I laughed as I did. She really was the best.

We set about eating, continuing to watch TV as we ate and sipped on the wine. Well, I say watch. It played in the background while we both ignored it, seemingly lost in our own thoughts. It wasn’t until the food was gone that I put my attention back to the TV and snorted out a laugh when I saw it was the Friends episode where all the girls hire wedding dresses and sit around Monica’s apartment.

See. No matter what I did, weddings were part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Sure, I could have considered working for another bridal store, but since everyone was struggling, I doubted anyone else was looking for staff. Even if they were, it would feel weird to work for someone else in the same industry after being my own boss.

I stared at the TV, watching as the girls talked about how good they felt all dressed up.

That was what I missed. The joy on women’s faces when they tried on the dress they’d wear as they walked down the aisle. The weeping relatives as they told their loved one how gorgeous they looked.

The happiness.

I just needed to find a way to harness that.

Wedding dresses. Happiness. Smiles. Celebration. Togetherness.

The words circled around my brain, pictures forming of female solidarity, of marriage, of fun.

Holy fucking shit.

I jumped up from the sofa like something had bitten my arse, my empty plate sliding to the floor, cutlery clattering.

What? What’s wrong? Emma jumped up too, looking around as if she’d see something scary running across the couch.

I’ve got it!

You’ve got what? Woman, start making sense!

Emma still looked frantic, and a giggle escaped my lips. I wasn’t sure I actually had it yet, but I had the seeds of an idea that might save my business, and I needed to get it out of my system before I exploded.

I pointed to the TV screen. Look. Look at them. Emma turned her head towards the screen then looked back at me and shrugged. Those girls were all sad, but then they put the wedding dresses on, and they felt special, right?

Yes, Emma said slowly, clearly not understanding.

We have a shop full of wedding dresses that nobody is buying or renting out right now. But you know what I see on social media all day, every day? People who are sick of the pressures of life. People who are bored. People who just want something different. So, what if we turn the dress shop into a party place?

Emma’s eyes narrowed, confusion written clear across her pretty features. A party place? It’s a bridal boutique, not a nightclub.

I help up a hand. "I’m not thinking of a nightclub.