When We Met

“I can’t tomorrow. I have . . . a thing.” No fucking way was I going to share that I had a family session with my mom. “The night after next works for me.”

She gave a swift nod and said, “See you then.”

I turned on my heel and strode out the door.

chapter three

Chloe

My six-inch Manolos clacked all the way down the cobblestone street to the new space. For a couple of hours last night, I had sketched and pla

And I was so not going for it. He had the potential to ruin my grade on this assignment and I didn’t know who the hell he thought he was.

I brought the pink Chuck Taylors in my bag and pla

When I rounded the corner, I saw Blake leaning against his truck. He must have gone home to change after work, because tonight he wore dark-wash jeans and a light blue T-shirt. His hair looked slightly damp, like maybe he’d just showered, and his fingers gripped two cups of iced coffees from Common Grounds.

As I approached, his eyes skimmed down my body and landed on my heels. His jaw ticked in irritation, but I didn’t plan on allowing him to intimidate me.

When I reached him he met my gaze, straightened himself from the car bumper and thrust a container at me. “I got you a hazelnut coffee.”

I looked down at my cup and saw he had added cream and maybe some sugar. He’d remembered how I took it. “Cool,” I said, trying to shake away the effect the sentiment had on me.

He stared hard at me, as if willing me to say something else, before finally nodding and heading toward the door. What the hell had that been about? I dug out the key to let us inside.

Silently I opened my sack, slipped off my heels, and then laced up the sneakers. When I looked up, he was watching me with a damned twitch at the corner of his lip.

“Shut it,” I said, and then yanked my notepad out of my bag.

“At least you decided to be sensible,” he said as I got to my feet. Sensible. There was no use for that word in the world of fashion.

My eyebrow shot up. “I’ve never heard a guy complain about a woman wearing heels.”

His gaze slowly slid up my legs. Great, I’d just given him a reason to check me out.

My heart beat erratically upon his inspection.

“True,” he said, finally meeting my eyes. “They do make women’s legs look amazing. But they also look like they might hurt.”

“The things you do for fashion,” I mumbled, and then jerked open my notebook, hoping to change the topic.

“I’ve been working on my idea the last couple of nights.”

I turned to the page where I’d made all of my notes. I sca

He nodded and looked around the space as if picturing it. “Okay.”

“I want to use old film reels and hang them in a few different spots. I figured I could pull out the yards of tape from each spool and string them all around the space. From those pipes, for instance,” I said, motioning to the exposed brick wall and the industrial ducts hanging low. “Then I’ll pin some things for sale on the strands, like our vintage jewelry.”

His fingers rubbed along his jaw and I found myself holding my breath waiting for a response. Any response. He’d been a theater major after all, so he knew about staging. Or maybe he sucked at it or hated it. Maybe that’d been the reason why he dropped out.

“Are you a fan of old movies?” he asked.

“Well, duh,” I said, trying to level my voice so I didn’t sound like an excited child. “Casablanca, Sabrina, Roman Holiday. I want the effect to be like an old black-and-white film and the props will reflect that.”

“Sounds all right, I guess . . . pretty cool idea, not that I’ve ever seen those classic movies,” he said, and I pumped out a breath. Well, that wasn’t a breaking news story. “But I’ve definitely been a part of stage productions that had sets from different eras.”

I turned the notebook sideways to my sketch of the space. “This is what I was thinking as far as shelving goes.”

He moved behind me to glance over my shoulder and I could smell his clean soap scent and a hint of cologne or aftershave. He leaned forward and I felt his breath on my neck. It’d been some time since I’d even allowed a guy to get this close. Especially a completely frustrating, albeit good-looking one. “That’s a pretty good sketch.”

“I am in the School of Design.”

“Believe me, I didn’t forget,” he huffed. “You seem to remind me every chance you get.”

I gasped and looked up at him, only to see a

“Okay, you don’t.” He tugged the notebook from my fingers and I wanted to grab it back and tell him to go screw himself, but I kept myself in check.

What in the hell had he meant by that comment anyway?

He motioned with his hand. “So you’re thinking an A-frame shelving unit against this wall here and then a circular display in the center?”

I nodded and twisted a lock of hair in my fingers.

“Sounds fine,” he said. “There’s only one thing wrong with your logistics.”

“What’s that?”

“It would be impossible for the kind of unit you designed to hold any kind of weight.” He pointed to my drawing. “It would implode once you placed anything heavier on it—even a stack of clothes.”

“I guess that’s where you come in,” I said, throwing up my hands. “You’re supposed to help steer me in the right direction.”

“You mean you trust my judgment?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not just some deadbeat that pounds nails into wood?”

My pulse picked up. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he scoffed. “I can see it in your expression.”

I clenched my fists. “No, you can’t!”

“Just drop it,” he said, handing back my notes.

“No, I don’t want to drop it. Tell me what in the hell you mean.”

He glared at me for a long, painstaking moment before finally speaking again. “Do you remember that day a couple months ago when you walked by the construction site where I was working?” I nodded. “The guys were getting rowdy. That’s what they do—they work hard all day and blow off steam by acting stupid.”

I folded my arms, unsure of where he was going with this. “Nice way to make excuses for them.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Just telling it like it is,” he said, gritting his teeth. Obviously I frustrated him the same way he frustrated me.

“I could tell what you were thinking by the damned look on your face,” he said, pacing around the space.

“They were being pigs,” I said, trying to defend myself. No way was I in the wrong. “When guys act like that, they don’t deserve my respect.”

“Point taken,” he said. It looked like he was going to say something else, but then he restrained himself.

“Whatever. Let’s just get moving and clean this space up,” he said in a clipped voice.

It sounded like he wanted to get a million miles away from me, and I still didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I remembered that day he’d just brought up vividly. I’d been walking home from Happy Hour at Gruby’s, where my roommate Courtney worked. I hadn’t been out in a long time. Fact is, I rarely went out. But my other roommates, Indy and Misha, convinced me to meet them there and I had a really good time. When their boyfriends showed up, I took off to walk home, feeling pretty lighthearted.