When We Met

I pasted the note I’d scribbled for Blake near the doorknob before heading across the street to buy us our iced hazelnuts.

Be right back—getting our coffees. I have an idea! See you in a few minutes.

When I returned, he was standing against the far wall, one ankle crossed over the other, looking amused. And jeez, how much hotter could he get, wearing a tight pair of dark jeans with that fitted red T-shirt? He looked fresh out of the shower, which meant he’d have the clean soap scent that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Not only that, but I was having extreme difficulty tearing my eyes away from his lips. I needed to cut that crap out and act like the other night was just what it had been—something fun and daring.

“What’s so fu

“The fact that I was finally subjected to one of your sticky notes.”

“You should feel special.” I winked.

I thought it was going to be more awkward between us after what had happened at the club. Instead it felt natural, outside of the electricity buzzing in the air between us. The same current that vaulted me toward him.

“So, what’s up?” he asked as I handed him his coffee.

“I had a last-minute idea,” I said, and then nibbled on the inside of my lip, already doubting myself.

“Do you need to consult your notes?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“Ha, very fu

“What is it?” When he straightened to step closer to me, I held my breath.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he was close enough to kiss. I forced that thought from my mind. “What do you think of the idea of building a short runway?”

His forehead furrowed. “For real?”

“Let me show you my sketch,” I said, heading across the space. He followed on my heels.

I lifted the notebook and flipped to the right page. He was standing directly behind me and I could smell his fresh laundry scent. I tamped down the urge to turn and kiss him senseless. I wondered if he was having the same trouble, because he made some kind of noise in the back of his throat before covering it up with a cough.

“We can build it in the back and then move it outside during the sale,” I said, spi

“As long as you’re okay with a very basic design, shouldn’t take more than a couple of nights.”

His gaze darted between my lips and my eyes as a warming sensation slid from the center of my chest to the depths of my stomach.

“Yes,” I said, sounding too breathy. “That’ll work.”

He kept his eyes fixed on my face, his expression cloaked.

“I figured we could model the clothes,” I continued with some effort, trying to pull away from his heavy gaze. “Maybe it would lead to more sales.”

He straightened himself, rubbing his fingers along the stubble on his chin, as if thinking it through. “You have access to models?”

“Sure, from the design college. They use models all the time and most of them are students,” I said. “A few of them might jump at the chance for this opportunity.”

His eyes lit up in approval. “Good thinking.”

“I bet you’d do well on the runway, too.” From what I’d felt the other night, he was rock solid and smooth. I tried not to allow my eyes to rove too much over his body. “Your height, your stature.”

“Keep dreaming,” he said, shaking his head. “Though I have modeled before. It’s decent money.”

“No way,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “You are full of surprises.”

“See what happens when you take the time to get to know someone?” His gaze lingered on mine, amusement dancing in his eyes.

My cheeks burned at the allegation. “Touché.”

He gri

I took a quick sip of my coffee. “Why?”

“You’ve been part of runway shows before, right?” he asked. “The mad chaos that takes place behind the scenes, trying to get the models into the next set of clothes and back in front of the audience?”

My palms felt clammy as I remembered the two shows I’d been a part of in the School of Design. I was a dresser, which meant I stood by my model’s assigned rack and waited to help her between changes. I was extremely organized and had laid out my model’s next outfit at just the exact time so she could slip right in. But he was right—it was sheer pandemonium back there, people yelling out sizes and number order and rushing the models to get their butts back in line.

I didn’t know how my mother had done it on a regular basis. It was the one part of the business I was sure I’d absolutely avoid. While my mother had been extremely driven, I was extremely methodical.

I was cool with shopping and pulling clothes for regular shoots or shows, but throwing together this kind of production, where thinking on the fly and timing were everything, was something that made my heart jackhammer too wildly in my chest.

But if I quieted down and listened—and admitted some things to myself—I would find my own truth. That beneath all of that panicky anticipation, it absolutely did feel magical, to embrace the unexpected.

Just like Blake had described theater. Just like he’d shown me by taking me to a couple of performances. Sure, one was a rock-and-roll gig, but it was still live—and completely exhilarating.

And deep down, I wanted to experience that again—that unpredictable, unbridled sensation—all on my own.

“This show would definitely be run on a much smaller scale,” I said. “Only one outfit change.”

“Ah,” he said, looking at me appraisingly. “Still, I’m proud of you for even attempting to take it on.”

I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me see if I can round up some stray pieces of lumber.” He walked away, leaving me to catch my breath.

When he reemerged, he said, “I don’t have enough here to make do. I can come back tomorrow night after a trip to the lumberyard. Sound reasonable?”

“Absolutely. And thank you,” I said. His eyes seem to light up when I showed gratitude, which made me feel even more terrible about the kind of person he thought I’d been before.

“Although . . .” I bowed my head, suddenly unsure of myself and this ridiculous new idea. I didn’t want to look him in the eye. “You’ve probably got other responsibilities you need to finally get back to. Like with your family.”

“Not exactly,” he said hesitantly. “Besides, it’s been nice . . . keeping my mind occupied. I like being here.”

I looked up and met his gaze and saw desire blazing in his indigo eyes. And it had been placed there by me, which was so hot. If I only had that one thing to take away at the end of this experience—that I’d turned this amazingly sexy guy on—that would be cool by me.

“Tonight I can help hang those curtains in the front windows, if you want.”

“That would be great.” I smoothed out the silky material that I’d just begun pressing. Thankfully Jaclyn had an extra steam machine in the back. It saved us time and a trip to the other store. “If you can start screwing in the brackets, I can hand you these when you’re ready.”

He carried a stepladder to the front of the store, where all of the windows were covered with thick butcher paper, and got to work. After drilling holes in the wall, and screwing in the brackets, I passed him the rods that were draped with freshly hung curtains.

Now all that was left was fixing them to my liking.

Stepping down the ladder, he said, “I’ll trade places with you.”

He held the ladder steady for me while I climbed halfway up the rungs. I gathered the material in my hands, trying to tie the one end while he watched from below.

“Shoot, this side is stuck,” I said, trying to jiggle it loose from the strut.

“Here, let me help.” He took a couple of steps up the ladder and placed his arms on either side of me to help pull the curtain off the nail. His chest was right up against my back, his lips near my ear, and I couldn’t help it; I let out a throaty sigh.