To Brie or Not to Brie Read Online Free

as her wedding planner. To tell the truth, she was overwhelmed
     having to do it all herself. The previous owners weren’t offering a lick of help.
     But I’m on the case. Now”—Tyanne tapped her watch—“I need you for a maid of honor
     dress fitting next door. Got a half hour? Meredith is already there.”
    With longing, I eyed the Brie sitting on the cheese counter. After the fiasco with
     the shallots, I had wanted to make a successful dessert. On the other hand, I couldn’t
     wait to see my dress. Ice cream would have to wait.
    Rebecca nudged me. “Go on. I’ll defend the fort.”
    * * *
    Entering the colorful Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe always took me back to childhood memories
     of my grandmother and me sewing. In addition to being mayor of our fine city, my grandmother
     ran the Providence Playhouse. Often she brought home swatches of fabrics, and we pieced
     together costumes for a production. I would never forget the variety of textiles she
     gathered: nubby wools, cool cottons, and jerseys in wild, exotic patterns. A color
     palette, she advised me, helped convey a mood on stage.
    Freckles, Sew Inspired’s owner, felt the same as I did about color. As a tribute to
     autumn, she had redecorated in warm rusts and golds. In the display window, she had
     spread silk leaves on the floor and draped the mannequins with mustard-colored crinkle
     knits. In the shop, handmade brown-toned quilts adorned the walls; each told a story
     about the history of Ohio.
    “This way.” Tyanne led me beyond the racks of thread, lace, ribbons, and buttons.
     “We’re doing the fittings in the back. Oh, did I tell you that Amy and Clair are here,
     too?”
    Amy and Clair were my nieces—well, not actually my nieces. Their father, Matthew,
     was my cousin, but long story short, I called his girls my nieces for simplicity’s
     sake, and they liked it. We all had the same last name: Bessette.
    “And their mother?” I asked tentatively.
    “Lucky us.” Tyanne batted my arm. “She’s busy at her shop. Follow me behind the luscious
     curtain.”
    Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe wasn’t set up as a boutique. People didn’t normally come
     to the store for dress fittings, but Meredith had insisted Freckles—Providence’s expert
     with a needle—design the wedding attire. Beyond the velvet curtain at the rear of
     the shop stood a stockroom.
    Tyanne pulled back the curtain and gestured for me to enter first. Floor-to-ceiling
     cubbyholes held more fabrics and more accessories. Freckles, who was button-sized
     withthe most adorable grin and a penchant for the color orange, approached me. She held
     her arms wide for a hug.
    I reciprocated. Though I barely reached five-foot-three, my chin hovered above the
     top of her head. “Where are your girls?” I asked.
    “Super Dad has them for the day. They’re studying the changing leaves. Doesn’t that
     sound fun?” Freckles and her daughters, a homeschooled thirteen-year-old and a surprise
     one-year-old, played and studied in the stockroom. “And now for our fun.” She pushed
     up the sleeves of her orange V-neck sweater and clapped her hands. “Amy and Clair,
     it’s time. Come out, please.”
    My preteen nieces popped from behind a pair of rattan dressing screens and ran toward
     me. Each did a twirl.
    “Wow!” I said.
    Freckles had created a pair of frothy cornflower blue dresses draped with toile. Clair
     revolved like a ballerina in a jewel box. Amy, closer in height to her sister than
     she was a few months ago, whipped around with fervor, her dark chin-length hair fluting
     out with abandon.
    “Wow!” I repeated.
    “Is that all you can say, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair stopped twirling and searched my
     face with intensity. She was such a serious soul.
    “Yes,” I said. “I mean, no, you look delicious, like spun sugar.”
    Clair poked her sister. “I told you our dresses were beautiful.”
    I noticed Amy’s mouth was turned down in a frown. “You don’t like