Chapter 2
GRACIE
Zipping up my purse, I sling the strap over my shoulder.
My mom is in the corner of the boutique, busy comparing material swatches against one another, and I’m not even sure she notices that I’m about to leave.
She’s in her zone. Piper Arrows is a vision of elegance.
I hope to have received her genes when I get older, down to her thick hair that still falls below her shoulders.
Not many women can pull that off with age.
She is also quite a bit younger than my dad.
“I’m going to head out, I promised to meet Lainey,” I say as I approach the door.
“Have fun.” She doesn’t even glance up as her concentration remains.
The corner of my mouth snags to form a smile because she is just talent and kindness all rolled into one.
I’ve learned from the best, and I’m in love with working on my current creations—dresses with a sophisticated classic feel.
I also have new design software that I’m getting the hang of.
Still, I prefer my little notebook of sketches.
It’s part of the tradition. My mother and late-great-grandmother have passed down the ritual, whether they intended to or not.
My great-grandmother arrived from Europe and worked her way up from seamstress to a woman with a designer label, and she would carry around her journal when observing people.
Many would assume I’ve gone the easy route and stayed in the family business, considering my mom is already established with Piper Ginger, partly named after her.
But you can’t fake design ideas. Plus, we have a different style, and I’m still learning in some ways.
Closing the door behind me, I can still hear the bell jingle above the door. Taking a few steps toward the corner of the street, I glance down while I tie the belt of my oversized sweater.
Suddenly, I feel a strong bump against my shoulder because someone else just plowed into me.
“Sorry,” we say in unison as we both steady our footing.
My eyes scrape up because it’s that masculine voice that sears through every tingle inside of me.
I’m met with the vision of dark hair, and his whiskey-brown eyes are electrifying, lit today with a flare because of recognition, but I swear I notice something more sinister.
He could strip me naked with only his gaze.
“We meet again.” Asher smirks lightly. He’s standing before me with dry cleaning draped over his shoulder and his fingers wrapped around the hook.
I blink twice, and a light switch is flipped inside of me. My brows shoot up, and I feel my own smirk crawl on my face. “So it seems.” It lingers in the air because neither one of us looks away, and the brief silence feels as though we are testing the waters. I’m not even sure for what.
“Not planning your wedding with the rabbi?” he teases.
I smile that he remembers. “Nah, he doesn’t know how to use a stick, so that’s a no-go.” His eyes grow wider. “A hockey stick,” I clarify, but I enjoy that his mind just went off track.
The instant attraction is concerning, the way it takes over my entire body. It’s overpowering. That is exactly why I tear my gaze away. “You’re carrying dry cleaning.” My jaw goes slack.
Asher’s face squinches. “Why do you make it sound as though it’s strange.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just kind of assumed you would have someone do that for you. An assistant, housekeeper, though we established there is no girlfriend, so that option is off the list.”
His smirk morphs into a grin, and I’d like to think that he is enchanted by me. “Well, I wear a lot of suits for games, and I am a normal forty-year-old man who can manage errands just fine.”
My lips stretch a line. “Forty. Good to know.”
“As opposed to your…” he preambles.
“Twenty-seven… I’m twenty-seven.” I smile.
“Good to know.” He cranes his neck and skims his eyes over my shoulder. “That’s where you work?”
I follow his line of sight and land on the boutique. “Yes. That is where the magic happens,” I proudly answer. His mouth opens but then snaps closed. I squint my gaze to get a better read on his mind. Then it hits me. “The design magic.”
“Right,” he voices tightly. “Interesting displays.”
Looking back, I notice my mother staring through the window with a puzzled face, only to shake her head to herself and return to her task at hand. It isn’t her that Asher notices, though.
“Can’t handle a little black lace and stockings?” I ask. The mannequin displays a classic collection, the type of lingerie that never goes out of season. The holiday-focused display will go up next week.
He clears his throat. “No. I can handle that just fine. But since I’m a man of honesty, then I will admit that seeing that and you in the same vision is a little…” He tips his head gingerly to the side.
My eyes widen as I patiently wait for the end of his thought. I even smile flirtatiously. “What?” I say, goading him.
“I’m a gentleman today, so I shall not answer.”
I nibble on my bottom lip and almost blush. Luckily, I can get a grip of situations. “Manners get you far. With the holidays coming up, you’d better be nice.” I wiggle a finger at him.
“We still have Halloween before I need to worry about Santa’s naughty list,” he deadpans.
“Exactly. Only nice boys get candy when trick-or-treating.”
He drags his strong hand across his tight jawline. “I’m going to pretend you meant nothing by that. I ensure people avoid the penalty box on a daily basis. I would consider that a point for the nice list.”
My hand lands on my tipped-out hip. “Depends. Did you smile at the dry cleaner?” I fake seriousness.
“Yes. Any more questions? I sense this conversation is taking an odd turn.”
Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “It seems so. That is why I’m going to head along.” I cluck my tongue.
He steps to the side. “Sure. Anyway, have a good day.”
“You too.” I smile politely in passing.
Even walking away, I feel a heavy set of eyes watching me. I can’t help wondering what he is thinking.
Le sigh, we both have things to do today.
Throwing a few bags of bite-size chocolate bars into my cart, my best friend Lainey follows suit.
“You’re more than welcome to join us for Halloween,” she reminds me before blowing her sun-kissed lock of hair away from her eyes. Lainey is a single mom to her son, Enzo, which means trick-or-treating in the damn cold. Her brother used to live here but moved to play hockey for another team.
“I’m good. I’m just going to hand out candy, turn the light off early, and relax on my couch. Maybe I’ll work on some designs.”
Halloween isn’t for a few days, but I already have my relaxing plan in place.
“I’m envious,” Lainey comments.
We continue our stroll down the aisle at the superstore near the highway. “No, you are not. You love Enzo to the moon and back.”
The type of smile only reserved for her son breaks out. “I do. One day maybe you will experience the same type of love.”
I lift a shoulder, as I’ve only thought about having kids once or twice. Right now, I’ve been focused on my dress designs and getting my feet on the ground for making a name for myself.
Changing topics, I can’t help but tease her. “Still want to strangle your neighbor?”
Dread fills her face. “Ugh, don’t remind me.” That was slightly unconvincing which is exactly why I do remind her.
“Why don’t you ask Tyler to go trick-or-treating with you?”
She swipes a plastic witch decoration off the shelf into her cart. “He has hockey. They have a game or practice. It’s the universe telling me that I shouldn’t have to put up with his company.” He plays for the Spinners and is actually quite talented.
“So that’s a ‘no, Gracie, we won’t be going to the next game so I can watch him skate and hope his jersey ends up on my floor,’” I tease her.
She playfully shoves me as we turn the corner. “Don’t be annoying. If I go to a game, it’s because the Spinners are actually worth a ticket these days.”
“Probably because of the new coach who wears a suit well.” Asher definitely has left an impression on me. Every word he speaks is on my level. It feels like we share the same thoughts that are completely rewarding to my imagination.
It’s true, I might have watched an extra game on TV just to see him coaching from the bench. I just wasn’t going to admit that earlier when I ran into him. Men in suits who cause my nipples to peak purely from words alone deserve my attention, including screen time.
Lainey pauses for a second to think. “I guess he is kind of easy on the eyes. Kind of the older yet still young, so he looks good in a suit kind of vibes.”
“He’s kind of suave yet cracks a smile in a warm way. I mean, he’s probably even better with his clothes off.” I have no problem owning my thoughts or views. Being blunt has always come naturally to me. My dad says I take after my great-grandmother in that department.
Lainey chuffs a laugh. “Does he not have a wife or girlfriend? Because if he doesn’t, then that right there is a red flag. He isn’t a bad catch.”
I study the sale on laundry detergent on the display at the end of the aisle as we slowly stroll. “Single.”
“How do you know?”
I smirk to myself at the encounter we shared. “I’ve run into him twice now, and we spoke. He was at dinner with my dad the other week and we ran into one another in the hall. Then earlier today, outside of the boutique. For someone we all assume is uptight, he has a loose button or two.”
Her eyes pop out as she stills. “Someone is smitten.”
Rolling a shoulder back, I’m aware that the guy has a pull. “Sometimes flirtation comes naturally between two people,” I justify. Besides, I haven’t been with someone in over a year.
“Maybe.”
“I’m fairly confident that if the team loses a game, then Asher is completely unleashed in the bedroom,” I say without thought.
She bubbles a laugh. “Filtered that thought much?”
“What?” My voice rises an octave. “I notice these things. Sex is a very natural human instinct, and we don’t need to wait for Mr. Right to enjoy it.”
My friend blows out a breath. “True. I’m just trying not to picture it. I prefer to keep the photos with hockey players painting pumpkins in my head. Did you see them?” Lainey pulls out her phone, swipes, then hands it to me. “You are going to regret that you didn’t make it to the team party.”
Probably. My dad is always invited, and normally I tag along, but I wanted to help my older brother, Drew, with his kids since his wife was out of town.
I skim the photos on the social media feed. Hockey players painting a scary pumpkin, hockey players painting a superhero pumpkin, hockey players painting a referee pumpkin, and a hockey coach with a feigned smile painting a ghost pumpkin.
“He looks like he doesn’t want to be there,” I observe and swipe more photos, then stall on one.
“And now he most definitely appears like he doesn’t want to be there.
” Asher has a pirate hat on and an inch of a forced smile.
That is until the next picture where he cracks when someone hands him a Labrador puppy that needs to be adopted.
An honest smile looks good on him. I tip my head to the side a smidgen as I study him. “Well, this photo is…”
“Fire emoji, wink, fire emoji, pepper, heart, fire emoji? Yeah, the post comments answered that thought for you.”
I chuckle as I hand her phone back. “I mean… the guy has looks. Worth another chat, too. If the opportunity arises, I might as well allow fate to run its course,” I reply nonchalantly.
She chuckles. “Lucky him.”
“Maybe.”
Fantasies are safer, though.