Cindi-Ella Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Cindi-Ella

  COPYRIGHT

  1 | Shiny

  2 | The One

  3 | Glimpse

  4 | A Taste

  5 | Down the Block

  6 | Change

  7 | Ella, Interrupted

  8 | A Gift

  9 | After Midnight

  10 | Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  More Books by Bokerah

  About BOKERAH

  CINDI/ELLA:

  WHEN SHOES SPEAK

  A Modern Fairy Tale Book 1

  BOKERAH BRUMLEY

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

  Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cindi/Ella: When Shoes Speak by Bokerah Brumley

  Copyright © 2019 Bokerah Brumley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including

  photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,

  without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the

  case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other

  noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Fan Mail:

  Bokerah Brumley

  P.O. Box 367

  Cisco, Texas 76437

  www.bokerah.com

  www.superbokerah.com

  Cover designed by Humble Nations

  www.goonwrite.com

  1

  Shiny

  Cindi

  “I can’t concentrate in flats.”

  – Victoria Beckham

  PARIS, TEXAS

  The wrong pair of shoes can change your life, Cindi.

  My fashion and design instructor’s parting words rolled around in my head as I shifted my bags and studied the map app on my phone, comparing it with my surroundings and my grandmother’s note. Runway models always threatened to kill for the best shoes.

  My tiger-striped orange tabby, Gus, complained about the jostling of his cat crate. I didn’t have time to make the feline comfortable, so I ignored his meowing pleas.

  I arrived so much later than I intended. We had bus trouble in Arizona and now I couldn’t find the place. My feet were killing me. Obviously, I’d picked the wrong pair of shoes for my trip to Texas.

  The farther I went, the crappier my cell’s reception got. Directions weren’t my strong suit, but, according to the last screen on the GPS, I had to be getting close to my destination. At least according to the last screen on the GPS.

  A burst of wind sent a cloud of newly fallen leaves skittering across the sidewalk. I stopped abruptly to stuff my grandmother’s note back into my jacket pocket before it slipped out of my hand.

  Grandmother’s boutique faced the town square. I knew that much. But I didn’t know from which side, and I didn’t even know what street I strolled. After I asked for directions, the guy at the bus stop pointed, and I went as quickly as I could.

  If nothing else, I could make a lap around the center of downtown to find the purple door leading into my grandmother’s exclusive boutique. She said it would be next door to The Godfather’s Closet men’s clothier shop. I hadn’t seen that place either.

  The crosswalk light turned from the green running man to the red palm, and I stopped on the curb with a handful of other pedestrians. The closest green street sign read Main and something I couldn’t quite see it. Gus meowed.

  I moved to the side by two strides to get a look at the street sign. Lamar. That’s the street she said she was on. Why was this taking so long?

  Behind me, a man cursed.

  I glanced over my shoulder into a scowling face.

  “Hey,” he growled as he yanked his foot out of the way. “Look first.”

  Since I was directionally challenged, I already stuck out like a sore thumb and was late because of it. Trampling other pedestrians didn’t help at all. “I’m sorry. I’m new.”

  The light turned green again, and he hurried around me, muttering something I couldn’t make out in response. Gus hissed at him. I assumed he heard what the man said.

  I tucked my phone back in my pocket and then stepped out into the crosswalk after him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t read signs and directions.

  Well, not exactly.

  It was more that maps were a foreign language to me, and I wasn’t at all familiar with Paris. This small town wasn’t the poetic, romantic, European Paris everyone I knew wished to vacation in, either.

  This version of Paris boasted a faint smell of cattle on the breeze and oversized trucks in almost every one of the downtown parking spaces. Tall men wore cowboy hats and boots and made me feel tiny by comparison. I wasn’t in San Francisco anymore.

  Old shops lined the town square: an instrument and music store, a diner, a drycleaner, and several antique shops. On the corner stood an old movie theater with the name of a classic movie on the marquee. Each establishment displayed team logos from the local high school football team.

  I grimaced. The whole scene resembled something out of Andy Griffith or some other highly idealized version of the good ol’ days. I’d gotten used to the glitter and glamour of a big city, and Paris, Texas, was the opposite. Culture shock forthcoming.

  A group of teenaged kids rode by on bicycles, calling to one another.

  Originally, I’d wanted to land a place in New York with my Arts degree, but my grandmother sent a letter, inviting me to join her at Once Upon a Ballgown. She cited her old age and enticed me with an offer of free rent.

  She couldn’t pay much. Yet, as the only opportunity I had received in the last six weeks of my final semester, the choice had been simple. Besides, I needed to make something if I wanted to survive, and the cost of living in Paris, Texas, wasn’t as bad as the Big Apple. Surely the business experience would be worth something.

  I stepped around a couple, loitering on the sidewalk as they peered into a jeweler’s window.

  Mémère’s handwritten missive had been a shock but her offer couldn’t have come at a better time. I thought she’d died years ago. I spent several days researching her to make sure she wasn’t somebody masquerading as my grandmother.

  Everything checked out, and I hopped on the next bus to Texas. I chewed my bottom lip and nearly switched to my fingernails. When stress hit, bad habits resurfaced. I hoped I’d made the right decision.

  Sounds of construction emanated from a square building down the street. At only seven stories, it was still the tallest downtown building. Everything else rose only two or three stories. The air carried the smells of barbeque and Mexican food, mixed with the acrid smoke from a fire.

  Clop-clop-clop.

  The out-of-place sound of horse hooves came from behind me, startling me, and I nearly tripped over my own two feet. That’s weird. We were in the city; those sounds didn’t belong here. But as it came closer, I spun to meet it.

  A man grinned down at me, already friendlier than the impatient, cursing pedestrian from earlier. This handsome stranger sat astride a piebald horse that walked along the street next to the sidewalk.

  “Howdy,” he said as he tipped his hat and ambled by as though having a horse in a bustling downtown was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Hi,” I squeaked too late.

  Keep it cool, Cindi. The horse and rider had already meandered down the street out of earshot. I shook my head. I couldn’t get over this place.
Freaking out over a creature would mark me as a tourist. I’d been in San Francisco too long.

  They had mounted patrol units in New York. I’d have had to get used to that, too. I chided myself, pulling my gaze away to check the time again. No magic words could fix what a flat tire on the bus had caused.

  Nope. Still late. Gah.

  I retrieved my cell and typed her phone number from the letterhead my grandmother had used. I strolled the correct street, so I had to come across the boutique eventually. It rang twice before she answered.

  “Bonjour? Allô?”

  When I heard her Parisian accent, it made me feel better about considering the job as my solution. How the elderly woman had wound up in Paris, Texas, I still didn’t know. Or how my mother ended up leaving the small city. My decision had me anxious, but hearing my grandmother’s voice took the edge away.

  “Hello, Mémère,” I said, barely taking time to space out my words, “this is Cindi. I’m on your street, but I’m having trouble figuring out which store is yours.”

  “Well, where are you, dearest? What are the shops?”

  Her question brought me back to the present, and I looked up the street and down. “I just passed an old guitar repair shop, and it looks like there’s a boot store at the corner.”

  “Oh? Why, then, I believe you have arrived. From the bus stop, we’re just past the music store.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t see you.”

  “Blink, dear.”

  “Blink?”

  “Of course.”

  Silence followed. I peered around the square. Then I blinked.

  Directly in front of me, two shops appeared where I could have sworn they hadn’t been before. I didn’t know how I missed them. “I found you, Mémère. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  “Of course, darling. See you in a moment. Ta-ta.”

  The line went dead. I hadn’t seen the woman since a childhood visit my mother dragged me on. The two spent the whole weekend fighting.

  Mémère appeared in the window above her shop, Once Upon a Ballgown. She searched the square until she caught sight of me, and my stomach tripped.

  My grandmother’s hair had gone white, piled on top of her head in a haphazard up do. She waved, her smile as bright as the noon glare.

  I hurried across the street, still puzzling out how I’d missed the two businesses until after I blinked. Though, it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d missed the obvious.

  In glittery gold paint, the words Once Upon a Ballgown decorated the awning that shaded the purple door. Happily Ever After Accessories had been added beneath.

  The Godfather’s Closet had been a high-end gentlemen’s clothier since the 1800s. At least that’s what my internet research said. I kicked off my shoe and rubbed the top of my foot against the opposite calf before replacing my shoe.

  When I stepped up onto the curb, I paused to smile at a young, dark-haired man, standing on the sidewalk. Then I peered into the window of the shop next door. An older man glowered from behind the counter. Beside him, under a glass display case, a pair of clear pumps glittered.

  Gorgeous shoes did something to my soul, but I found it odd that they were on the counter at a men’s clothier. They must have belonged to somebody’s mother.

  When I stepped back from the window, the young man stared past me, down the street as though he wished to be anywhere but there. He turned away. A small gold key glinted on the sidewalk beside his scuffed and worn leather shoes.

  I scooped the key of the ground and tapped him on the shoulder. “You dropped this. Wouldn’t want you to lose something important.”

  I must have startled him because he spun around. Clear brown eyes reflected the world back to me. He had wide shoulders, a handsome face, but his gaze held a secret that haunted him. He seemed surprised that I noticed him at all.

  I pushed the key toward him. “Here. I think this is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  When he took it, his touch sent a jolt through me. For a moment, it seemed that he felt it, too, and I froze. What will he say?

  But he merely slipped the key into his pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  He took a step away, but I didn’t want him to go yet. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again?” I asked.

  He turned back, tipped his head to the side, and smiled. Then he darted back inside the shop with the sparkly shoes. I lingered and scratched an itch on the back of my calf.

  Directly to the left of their entrance, Mémère’s apartment awaited. A ballgown drawing, also done in gold, covered the front of the purple door. Afternoon shop hours had been painted onto the bodice of the dress.

  The rectangular entrance seemed smaller than the one in my vague memories. I laughed at myself. It should seem smaller. I had grown several feet taller since the last time I had been to visit.

  The lock on the purple door clicked, and I grasped the handle and stepped inside. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the light change. When they finally did, I realized that, in all of the time, nothing about the foyer had changed.

  Stained glass floor lamps illuminated the space, and a pair of wingback chairs graced the space in front of a fireplace. Intricate mosaic tile designs covered the foyer floor, and a violet arrow had been worked into the motif with the words Once Upon a Ballgown. The arrow directed shoppers to the double-door boutique entrance beneath the impressive curling mahogany staircase that led to the second floor.

  I shifted my bags again and jostled Gus once more, making him meow. Then I took the steps to the right of the arrow. Mémère lived on the second level of the building. We would share the living quarters between us. She insisted her apartment was large enough, but I wasn’t convinced. I recalled little of her living space, and two adults took more space than she probably expected.

  I didn’t bring much with me: one carry-on bag, the cat carrier, and a purse. I’d sold my furniture in a garage sale. My roommate had taken my bed. The rest of my things consisted of six large boxes that I had shipped that morning before I climbed onto the bus that brought me from San Francisco, California. They would arrive in five more days. Though, I expected to see them in fourteen. Mémère promised two outfits from the boutique, and I would make do until my boxes arrived at the end of the week.

  I flew up the steps, two at a time, winded by the time I reached the top. I twisted the old-fashioned door bell. A half-second later, the door flew open, and I stared at the character that welcomed me.

  Mémère stood on the threshold, her hands clasped over her chest, beaming at me. Her cheeks bloomed with a healthful blush, and her snow-white hair had been piled on top of her head in a lovely mess of waves and curls.

  Her joy at my arrival didn’t seem real until that moment. It felt as though I had been holding my breath the whole time, waiting for her to retract her offer. Instead, she gestured for me to move closer, and I took a step.

  Her Victorian clothing covered every inch of her from wrist to ankle and took me by surprise. Vintage materials made up every inch of her outfit, right down to the low-heeled boots. She even wore a tiny hat with a bouquet of peacock feathers sticking straight up from the hat band. In a feat of fashion engineering, it rested on top of the mound of curls.

  She wasn’t what I expected.

  Most of all, Mémère didn’t look infirm, feeble, frail, or any of the other things she’d implied in her letter. Had she been entirely honest or only intending to take pity on a lowly, broke college graduate?

  I set my bags on the ground beside me. “Hello.”

  She extended her arms wide, gesturing me forward. “Welcome, my dearest Cindi Ella. It has been too long.”

  I hesitated a moment, then stepped toward her. My grandmother wouldn’t mean me ill, and I didn’t want to begin my stay on the wrong foot.

  “Mémère,” I said. “Lovely to see you.”

  She squeezed me and then stepped back. “And where is this Gus?”

  I waved to the
cat carrier at my feet. “He’s taken to hissing at new people. I think the traveling has gotten to him.”

  She crouched down in front of the carrier and opened the front. “Gus, Gus, come out, sweetling.”

  I stepped toward her. “Please, don’t. He could get away.”

  Instead of listening, she reached in and drew the big cat out. “Nonsense. He’s happy to be here.” She set him on the ground beside her, and he sauntered into her home.

  I could only gape. The cat had never done anything for me voluntarily.

  Mémère took my arm and drew me into the apartment. When she let go, she extended her hand to encompass the room behind her. “I think you’ll find there’s room enough.”

  As I scanned the space, I took several steps forward, and my jaw slacked. “It’s... incredible, Mémère.”

  The entire level had been designed as an open space with twelve-foot ceilings, broken only by columns and dividers that didn’t extend to reach the ceiling. Tasteful antiques, fine china, and décor spanning centuries covered every inch. Photographs of my grandmother with many different famous people were dispersed throughout.

  Who was my grandmother?

  “Almost three thousand square feet of living space, love. Room enough for both of us.”

  “And one Gus,” I added.

  Her eyes twinkled. “Of course.”

  I turned slowly. “Is your boutique this large? Does the first floor match the second floor?”

  “My boutique is less than half the size of this living space. Storage makes up the other part downstairs. Though, if we organize my things in storage, we would have the room to throw a ball, celebrating your arrival.”

  “A ball?” I drew the word out.

  “A dance. Paris hasn’t had a proper debutante ball in ages.”

  I snorted. “I’m hardly a debutante.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. A ball makes a special kind of magic that shouldn’t be missed by anyone.” She paused. “Anything else troubling you?”

  I stared at her a long moment, trying to determine her seriousness. Surely, she wasn’t. Finally, I said, “I’m amazed and, frankly, a little puzzled.”