Chapter 3
DREW
After two years, here she was. Kensey Blake could always bring a smile to my face, even on bad days. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d been missing her until she walked into my store holding one of her amazing muffins.
On any other day, I would have canceled all my commitments to hang out with her, but duty called. I pulled the Escalade onto the street and glanced over at her again. She looked exactly the same and completely different all at once.
That was the only way I could put it. Same Kensey. Same pretty smile that had a way of making whatever room she was in feel manageable. Same dark eyes that caught everything, missed nothing.
Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, and the bright sun coming through the passenger window gave her an ethereal glow. She was wearing a simple spring top and shorts, nothing pretentious like we sold at the store.
I put my eyes back on the road.
“This thing is enormous, Drew. It’s like a tank trying to move through the city.”
“I had to pick up a few things,” I said. “Normally I drive the Porsche.”
She laughed. “That’s the Drew I remember.”
She had just blown my entire afternoon apart in the best possible way. I couldn’t believe she was in town. Damn. Just wow. Seeing her just made the whole day better.
We were stuck in traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, brake lights stretching out ahead of us as far as I could see. I kept finding reasons to glance over at her instead of watching the cars that weren’t moving anyway.
She’d cut her hair since I’d last seen her in person. It wasn’t short, just different. I had seen that face every day for so many years, it never occurred to me that one day I might not see her. And then she had moved to the east coast.
“You’ve gone quiet,” she said, catching me looking. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just weird having you actually here instead of on a screen.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good weird, obviously.” I shrugged. “It’s just I can barely believe you’re here.”
“Surprise,” she said with a chuckle.
The last few months, I’d let our regular calls slide more than I wanted to admit.
Having a regular day job really cut into a man’s free time.
There was always something. Always some fire that needed putting out right that second, and by the time I had a free minute to breathe, it was too late to call someone three time zones away.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed actually seeing her face until she was standing in the middle of my showroom holding one of her muffins like she’d never left.
Traffic crawled forward another few feet and stopped again. I reached over to the cup holder where I’d set the Tupperware, then popped the lid and pulled out one of the muffins. I took a bite before I could stop myself and moaned again.
“Oh my God,” I said around the mouthful. “These are so good. And you know me well. You know I can’t eat just one, so you brought extra. This is why we’re friends.”
“I made a whole batch. There’s more at my parents’ place.”
I nodded. “Please eat one too, though. I can’t be the only one in the car stuffing my face.”
“Drew, they’re for you.”
I shook the container a little. “Take the muffin.”
She rolled her eyes but grabbed one anyway. There was something satisfying about watching her take a bite.
“See?”
“I made them,” she said with a laugh. “I know they’re good.”
“Scrumptious is what they are.”
“So where are we going, exactly?” she asked. “You said you have a meeting.”
“Beach club out in Malibu. We’re doing the kickoff party for Blackwell Summer there in a couple weeks.
” I checked my mirror and changed lanes.
“Instead of a normal runway show for the new collection, we’re doing something different.
Models just walking around the party in the clothes instead of doing the whole runway thing.
Mingling, basically. Letting people see the clothes in the wild.
I’ve got to meet with the club’s general manager, walk through some details, make sure everything’s locked in. ”
“Wow.” She turned in her seat to look at me, eyebrows up. “Setting up fashion parties. That is a very far cry from the Drew I used to know.”
“Yeah, it’s been an adjustment. But I’m not gonna lie, I like having something to actually build. Feels different than just floating around and checking on my investments here and there.”
“I can tell.” She gestured at me. “Look at you. Mr. Business.”
I glanced down at myself at a red light. “I never cared much about clothes before this. Still don’t, honestly. Give me board shorts and a T-shirt any day. But in this world? Looks are everything. People notice if you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed.”
Kensey grinned. “Drew Blackwell, fashion mogul. Who would have thought?”
“Hardly. Most of this stuff is all planned out of the New York office. I just handle the stuff that happens on the ground here. Like today.” I exhaled. “Which, between you and me, I’m not totally built for. I am not organized enough for this kind of thing.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said with total confidence.
The valet at the club took my keys. I came around to open Kensey’s door before he could get to it.
She climbed out and then went very still as she looked up at the building in front of us.
It had a clean white facade and every shrub and blade of grass was expertly manicured so that nothing looked out of place.
“Drew.” She leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not dressed for this. They’re going to think I snuck in off the beach. Homeless person crashes country club, news at eleven.”
“You look great.” I meant it without even having to think about it. “And if anybody in there has anything to say about it, I will personally sit them down and teach them some fucking manners.”
That got a small laugh out of her. The tension in her shoulders eased a little. I put a hand in the small of her back, just briefly, guiding her toward the entrance, and told myself it didn’t mean anything beyond making sure she felt okay walking in.
The general manager, Walter, met us just inside the doors. “Mr. Blackwell, welcome,” he said and shook my hand like we were old friends.
I supposed in a way we were, given how many calls we’d had setting this up. A server appeared out of nowhere with two flutes of champagne on a tray. I took one, handed the other to Kensey, who arched an eyebrow at me before taking a sip.
I winked at her and sipped mine. She grinned.
“Right this way,” Walter said, leading us through the lobby. “Let me show you the space.”
The dining room opened up ahead of us. It was a large room with windows that faced the ocean. Glass doors opened onto the patio that ran straight out toward the sand.
“This is where we’ll set up the majority of the tables,” Walter said, gesturing. “Indoor seating here. Then we extend out onto the patio for additional seating and a standing bar area.”
“And the wardrobe setup?” I asked, trying to stay focused even though Kensey was a few feet away making a goofy face. I knew that look. She thought this was over the top. It was, but it was what people expected if they were going to drop three thousand dollars on a pair of pants.
“Side room just off the kitchen corridor,” Walter said, walking us toward it. “Racks, mirrors, steamers, the works. We use it for bridal parties normally, but it’ll work just as well for your wardrobe team.”
I nodded, glancing at the room, mentally checking it against the list they had sent me from New York.
Kensey drifted up beside me as Walter started explaining the menu, which included caviar and calamari.
“Oh, darling,” she said, just loud enough for me to hear, “this venue is simply divine. One does so love a good seaside soirée, don’t you think? Please tell Jeeves I only eat beluga caviar.”
I bit down on a laugh. “Stop.”
“I simply must ask, darling.” She fanned herself with one hand. “Will they be serving the eighty-nine Chablis? I cannot possibly drink any other wine.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I am exquisite,” she said, and the accent slipped entirely as she grinned at me, delighted with herself.
I grabbed a folded napkin off the table and flicked it at her. She caught it with a laugh, giving me big eyes and jerking her head. The universal sign we were busted.
“Mr. Blackwell.” Walter’s voice cut in. I felt twelve years old again.
“My apologies,” I said, fighting to keep a straight face while Kensey absolutely lost it next to me, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
He launched back into his presentation like nothing had happened, sweeping one arm toward the glass doors. “Shall we step outside and review the patio layout?”
“Please,” I said, with as much dignity as I could scrape together.
Kensey fell into step beside me, perfectly composed now, hands clasped behind her back like a woman touring an art museum. I didn’t trust it for a second.
We stepped out onto the patio and the ocean hit us immediately.
Salt air, the sound of waves, a breeze that lifted Kensey’s hair off her shoulders.
Walter was pointing toward the far railing, explaining something about tents and bartenders.
I was doing a reasonable job of paying attention until Kensey drifted to my left and bumped her hip against mine.
Hard enough to knock me half a step sideways.
I planted my foot and kept my eyes on Walter. “Wind off the water,” I said, nodding seriously. “What happens if it’s a strong wind?”
“We have wind screens.”
I cleared my throat. “And the lighting situation—you mentioned that in the last call. String lights along the railing?”
“Exactly.” Walter gestured along the perimeter. “We have a few options. Hurricane lamps provide a romantic atmosphere. I would recommend the Edison bulbs.”
“Absolutely,” Kensey said dramatically.
I turned to look at her with what I hoped was a warning expression.
She was staring out at the ocean. Completely serene. The picture of innocence. She took a slow, thoughtful sip of her champagne—pinky out.
I turned back to Walter. He was talking about the number of staff that would be circulating through the party, bragging about the customer service ratings and other stuff I was not paying attention to because she was looking at me.
I didn’t have to see her to know she was staring at me. I could feel it like a physical thing. Like she was poking me.
Don’t look. Do not look at her.
I looked at her.
She went completely cross-eyed at me. Both hands wrapped primly around her champagne flute, posture perfect, face absolutely deranged.
I pressed my lips together, inhaling through my nose and doing my best not to react. She was going to get me in trouble.
Walter was still talking. I nodded, although I had no idea what I was agreeing to. It could’ve been anything. I might have just approved a petting zoo.
“Walter.” Her voice was normal and perfectly pleasant. “I have a question.”
Walter turned to her, delighted to include her. “Of course.”
“Will there be a swan centerpiece situation, or are we going more minimalist?” She asked it with total sincerity, head tilted.
Walter blinked. “I—we can certainly explore that. Are you thinking an ice sculpture? That could prove problematic in the heat.”
“She’s joking,” I said.
“I’m not joking,” Kensey said serenely. “Swans are very stylish.”
“We’re not doing swans,” I said.
She shrugged. “One swan.”
“Zero swans,” I said.
“One tasteful swan.”
“Kensey.”
She pressed her lips together and looked back out at the water. Her shoulders were shaking. Walter was looking between the two of us with the patient, pleasant expression of a man who had survived a thousand rich girl meltdowns and had seen everything. He simply waited.
“Apologies,” I said.
“No, I think swans would look great,” Walter said smoothly. “Anything you want, we’ll accommodate you, Mr. Blackwell.”
We finished the tour, Walter walking us back through the room one more time to confirm the flow.
She behaved herself, settling into the explanation with a curious expression.
Her boredom looked like it had been replaced with interest. I could understand that.
Kensey was getting a look behind the curtain of an unfamiliar world.
“Now,” Walter said, clapping his hands together once we’d circled back to where we started. “All that’s left is finalizing the menu. Are you ready for the tasting?”
I looked at Kensey. “You hungry?”
She rubbed her hands together like she was preparing for battle. “Let’s do this.”
Walter smiled and led us toward a table set near the patio doors, pulling out chairs for both of us before signaling toward the kitchen.
I sat down across from Kensey and thought, not for the first time today, that this was already shaping up to be a far better afternoon than I’d expected when I woke up this morning.