Chapter 20
SAPPHIRE
Not everything has worked in my favor today.
Rush-hour traffic was a nightmare, and I ended up jumping out of my cab several blocks from Coral’s boutique, so now I’m rushing down the sidewalk, desperate to find a dress.
Tick tock. The time is pushing on, and if I don’t find anything in the next couple of hours, then I’ll be forced to wear something I won’t feel right in.
I continue down the sidewalk, enjoying the slightly cooler air bellowing around the hem of my dress when I spot someone who looks familiar walking toward me, a suit bag in one hand, his phone in the other, his attention glued to it.
“Eli.”
His head snaps up, his sunglass-covered eyes covering half of his face.
In a moment of weakness, he smiles. Not just a mediocre one, but a full-blown, takes-your-breath-away smile.
And while I have never been into suits, the one he’s wearing today is really doing something to me.
Specifically, to the area between my thighs as heat grows there.
Wow. The visceral reaction my body has to him confuses me, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.
As if realizing he’s smiling, it disappears as fast as it appeared, and I almost want to tell him it’s okay to be happy to see me, but I don’t.
“What are you doing in this part of town?” I ask.
“Picking up my tuxedo for tomorrow.” He holds the suit in the air by the hook of the hanger that’s peeking out of the hole at the top, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his dress pants.
“It’s my last errand to do before the big day.
” His eyebrows lift from behind his sunglasses on his last two words.
I get the impression he’s not a lover of weddings. He’s not a lover of much.
Today he looks like he belongs in an aftershave commercial.
Specifically, the one with David Gandy wearing nothing but his tighty whiteys.
I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, and now that I do, I can’t unsee it.
It amuses me that Eli is utterly unaware of women side-eyeing him as they pass by, checking him out not once, but twice.
Yep, he’s very, very easy on the eyes. Scrumptious and a head turner.
“So, you’re finished for the day?” I play coy, but I’m already formulating a plan.
“Yes.”
“Great.” I step toward him and loop my arm around his that he’s not using to hold his suit, spinning him around in the direction he just came from. “I need some help.”
“What? No. I need to go,” he protests.
“You just said you didn’t have anything left to do.” I start walking and squeeze his arm tighter, gripping onto him, encouraging him to follow me. “And I could really do with a man’s opinion.”
“On what?” He’s a step behind me, and I swear I am almost dragging him, pulling him along the sidewalk.
Kidnapping him more like, but semantics.
“A dress for tomorrow.”
He tugs on my arm to stop me from taking another step.
“I can’t help you with that.”
“Of course you can. You know the type of wedding it is, who will be there, and the event’s tone. The vibe.” I look down at my outfit. “For example, I can’t wear what I have on right now. This is a test, Eli, so be careful what you say.” I waggle my finger at him.
Today I’m wearing a navy dress adorned with a playful print of tropical leaves and flowers, featuring an embroidered golden hem that catches the sunlight.
Letting go of his arm, I stop and stand back for him to get a better idea of my outfit and I do a little pose.
He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, really committing to the test. “I like your dress and your shoes.”
“This dress is one of my favorites, and you like my espadrilles?” I lift one foot in the air like a flamingo.
“Your espa-what?” he splutters, confusion lining his brow.
“Es-pa-drilles,” I repeat slowly. “I can’t wear these to a wedding. I need delicate heels and a dress that wasn’t bought five years ago. You failed the test, Eli.”
He drags his hand down his face. “Fuck my life,” he mutters. “You’re exhausting.”
Lifting my hands up in surrender, I say, “Okay, well, if you’re not up to the task, I’ll go ask that guy over there to help me find a dress; he can assist with the zippers and tricky buttons.
Although I’m not wearing a bra, so that might be awkward.
” I don’t know why I say that, but I do, and I point to a stranger, a broad-looking guy with a man bun who, in the past, used to be my usual go-to type, but somehow his mismatched shorts and worn T-shirt don’t do it for me anymore. I’m more of a suit girl now, it seems.
Eli doesn’t let me take one step toward the guy with the man bun before he reattaches himself to me and stomps angrily, holding on to me firmly. “You’re trouble, do you know that?”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or not.” I chuckle.
“Well, it’s not a compliment.”
I think it is. He’s annoyed, but I don’t think he would agree to come with me if he weren’t interested, as well as being slightly jealous of the guy I said I would invite to pick dresses with me.
My inner mischievousness gives itself a little high five. He passed my tiny test with flying colors.
He likes me.
I know he does.
But he just doesn’t know what to do about it, and I don’t think unpredictable and unconventional are his thing, which I am. I’m more of a doodler outside the margins, and he’s more meticulous than messy.
I have a feeling that I’m not the type of woman he usually goes for, although I wouldn’t know because I haven’t been able to find out anything about his past girlfriends.
He’s so stuck in his ways, and I guarantee he has a type.
Several weeks have passed since the night we had dinner, and yet he’s a mystery to me; all I know is that he likes the artist I do and prefers his desk to be tidy, immaculate even to the point that everything lines up perfectly.
He wears a particular color of shirt on certain days of the week: gray on Tuesday, blue on Friday, and white on all the others.
For a man so rigid in his daily routines and set in his ways, I still can’t believe he agreed to attend the retreat with me again yesterday.
At first, I thought I was testing him, but now I’m convinced he’s joking, maybe laying a trap to see if I’ll back down.
I want to, but I refuse to take the bait.
I won’t lie, it’s childish of me to imagine him outside his comfort zone.
There’s no way he’d enjoy forced improv, spontaneous activities that demand quick decisions, where rules change and are constantly in flux, and it’s chaotic.
I might have hesitated to book our spots, but just picturing him struggling to adapt, watching his inflexibility clash with unpredictability, that mental image alone is enough to make me want to book it.
Right away. If I had the time I would, but that will have to wait until after the weekend.
The time spent together tomorrow may also help me understand him and his particular ways better. I’m hoping the wedding will bring us closer too.
How do you get close to someone who has sharp defenses around them, like a porcupine with its quills out?
Eli might be a mystery to me, but as far as he’s concerned, I think I’m also more of a mystery to him.
I can see his mind racing, and the look of confusion mixed with surprise on his face when we’re together, like now.
He looks startled, like a baby deer caught in the headlights, and I swear half the time he’s scared of me, or maybe just bamboozled. I can’t decide.
Then there’s the watching. Observing. Studying my every move like I’m a fish in an aquarium. Why does he do that?
“You had better be quick,” he says, sounding cross, his arm still hooked with mine.
“Why, I thought you had nothing on this afternoon?” I snort. “Sorry, I’ll rephrase that because that sounded like you were naked for a moment. That’s not what I meant.”
He tenses next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize again. “I didn’t mean to say the word naked. Although that’s how we all arrived in this world, naked and without a care in the world.”
“Will you stop saying the word naked?” His voice sounds deep and raspy.
“Why? Does it annoy you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He lets out a long breath of exhalation that sounds a lot like exasperation and ignores my question. “Where is this store?”
“Right here.” I point to the sign above Coral’s boutique and march us toward it.
“Encore.” Eli reads the sign out loud.
I unhook my arm from his, already missing our closeness, and place my hand on the door, getting ready to open it. “It’s a preloved dress boutique. Coral gives dresses a second chance to shine again.”
“Right.”
I don’t think he’s all that interested, but I add, “Like upcycled furniture and thrifting. Only designer.”
“I understood the first time, Sapphire.”
My eyes flick over my shoulder. “Okay, Sir Grouch-a-lot.”
“Sir Grouch-a-lot?” He flinches.
I really am overstepping, but we are out of work time, so what the hell.
“Yes. You are permanently grouchy, like a troll under a bridge. You shall not pass.” I exaggerate an impression of a troll, dropping my voice so it’s low and drawn out.
“Although you smile sometimes, and when you do, those moments are beautiful. You’ve been doing that more lately, and once—nope, maybe twice—you’ve laughed. Is that a record for you?”
“Beautiful?” he asks, as if taken aback by how I described him, before flattening his lips into a thin line, annoyed that his day isn’t going quite how he planned because of me.
“Yes,” I confirm. “So do more of it when we go in here, because it makes you look very handsome. Dashing.”
“Dashing?” he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitch, threatening to break out into one of his knockout smiles.
I roll my eyes, regretting I told him that, and push open the boutique’s door to be hit by a rush of cold, air-conditioned air.
It’s just what I need to stop feeling hot and bothered around him.
Still, I wonder if air conditioning can really save me from the heat he ignites inside me because every time we meet, my insides melt like chocolate left out in the sun too long.
This was a bad idea, not one of my finer moments. Being near him makes me feel like I’m a kettle about to whistle… all the way to his bed.
Yup, this was a really, really bad idea.
And yet, he’s hardly putting up a fight as he follows me into the store.
“I was lying about not wearing a bra. I have one on, just in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
I glance behind me to be met with flared nostrils, his jaw tensing, and that thick vein in his neck pulsing wildly.
Liar. He was definitely wondering.