27. Chapter 27
Dane
Walking the runway of what I thought would be a small-town fashion show is a lot more flashy than what I imagined. For one, there are news channels here. And two, the panel of five judges not only contains some very executive-looking individuals, but also the mayor.
Bright lights beat down on me as I stride forward, doing my best not to trip and make a complete fool of myself. All I need to do is walk, stop, count to ten, turn, and walk back. Easy, right?
Wrong.
Because people are screaming .
Okay, maybe not screaming but...hollering? Hooting? Whatever it is, they’re loudly proclaiming their approval.
At least, that’s what it feels like.
When I reach the end of the runway, I stop and slip one hand into the olive-green joggers Daria made. They’re one of the most comfortable pairs of pants I’ve ever worn, but according to one of the very excited ladies in the third row, they also make my butt look great.
Suppressing my amusement, I turn to see my family.
All four of them grin back like me strutting around in Daria’s finery is the touchstone of my life.
Theo sits behind Parker with his arms crossed, pretending not to love this, and it appears Max has found them too because he’s seated next to Dad, adding to the pandemonium with his ridiculous catcalls.
He holds up his phone and snaps a picture I know he’ll use as blackmail later.
I shake my head and disappear backstage to change into the next outfit. Daria intercepts me the second I do.
“How’d it go?” she asks, vibrating with nervous energy as we trek back to the changing stations. “Sounded like Shania Twain stepped on stage out there.”
I chuckle. “If only.”
“Do you think they liked the outfit? Or just how you wore it?”
I stop to give her my full attention. “I have no doubt they loved it. These are easily one of my favorite pairs of pants.”
She tucks her clasped hands under her chin adorably. “Really?”
“I’d never lie to you, D.”
Her brown eyes take on a caramel glow under the backstage lights, her skin a deep tan. It takes a lot of mental scolding to keep from reaching out to run my thumb across her smooth cheekbones.
Then another model bumps into me from behind, breaking my trance. “Oh, sorry,” I apologize, and start walking again. Briar’s already at the dressing cubicles, helping Jamie into her next outfit when we approach.
“There’s our guy,” she squeals. “Sounds like you were a showstopper!”
“Easily the hottest model here,” Daria adds, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing me with pride. I’d like to preen at her approval but can’t. Not with how I already almost messed everything up tonight.
Sure, we shared a moment just before I went on stage, but isn’t that how our relationship always seems to go? One step forward, two steps back?
“I think I heard women's bodies hit the floor from swooning to death,” Daria adds with a humorless chuckle.
The lady from the third row comes to mind, and I shake my head. “Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is, all right?”
She smiles and ushers me toward the dressing room, handing me the next outfit. “All right. I’ve gotta go help Jamie, but I’ll be back to check on you in a few. Briar’s here for whatever you might need.”
It doesn’t take me long to discard the first outfit and put on the next. I’ll be wearing the same navy dress pants for the business casual category as I am for the Evening Wear one, but instead of just the simple dress shirt, I’ll be adding a jacket and tie.
When I push the curtain back and step out, Briar smiles up at me. “You look great!”
“Thanks.” I give the collar another tug.
“Dane.” Daria rushes over breathless. “You’re almost up.” Her gaze sweeps over me as she runs her hands along the tops of my shoulders to brush away imaginary lint. “Perfect.”
I so badly want to sweep her into my arms and show just how perfect we are together, but I don’t. I head to the line of waiting men, ready to show off her design.
This time, I expect the catcalls and buzz from the crowd, but thankfully it’s not as intense as last time. Maybe third-row lady got ushered out or something. I do my thing and stop, sliding my hand into the pocket of my slacks while angling my body toward the judges.
But as my gaze sweeps the crowd, a familiar head of auburn hair comes into view that sends chills down my spine. Laura . I blink against the bright lights and look again, but she’s gone. I know it was her, though. Had to be. Same heart-shaped face, same porcelain skin.
Heading back down the runway, I meet Max’s eyes, silently trying to relay the message. His expression sobers, and he holds up his phone.
He’s the only other person in my small circle who has seen Laura in person. If she’s here, he’ll be able to pick her out of a crowd.
Once again, Daria intercepts me the second I reach the backstage dressing area. “Not as much fanfare this time, huh?”
“Don’t worry, they loved it.” I force a smile to reassure her while my pulse pounds in my ears.
“How did the judges look, though? Impressed? Annoyed?” Daria’s attention drifts to the clothes I’m wearing.
“I mean, I know I didn’t really go outside the box on this one since I ran out of time, but I believe men’s clothing should be classy and traditional and.
..” Her words are drowned out by the steady beat of my pulse. My vision tunnels.
“Dane?” Jamie’s face appears in front of me. “You look a little pale all of a sudden.”
“Are you all right?” Daria grips my arm. “Come on, let’s get you some water.”
Both women direct me toward the refreshment table where Briar’s already pouring me a glass of lemon water. “Here you go.”
I gulp it down while silently berating myself. You have got to get it together for Daria. Don’t let your anxiousness and panic ruin this for her.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure the three concerned women in front of me. “Just got a little overheated there for a second.”
Seeming to buy the lie, Briar and Jamie nod, but Daria asks, “Are you sure? If you feel ill or—”
“No, I’m good.” I set my cup on the table and straighten. “Onto the next one.”
As soon as I’m tucked into the dressing room, I shoot Max a text.
Me: I swear I just saw Laura in the crowd.
The little dots appear almost immediately, telling me my friend was expecting my text.
Max: Dude. No way. Where?
I give him the general location.
Max: I’m on it. If she’s here, I’ll document everything.
At this point, there’s little else we can do. When I tried for weeks to get the restraining order, the police made it clear that if I didn’t have documented proof of her actions, I wouldn’t be able to get one. The notes left in my apartment are what finally helped my case.
I won’t make the same mistakes this time.
After sending Max a quick thanks, I change into the last outfit and pray I don’t mess this all up for her before we even have a chance to begin.
The crowd went wild for her last look of the night. I’ve never felt so exposed while being fully and appropriately clothed, but I have a strong suspicion that the women in this audience came for more than just fashion.
Thankfully, there was no sign of Laura on my last trek down the runway. And a text from Max confirmed he hadn’t seen her either. Could I have seriously imagined seeing her in the crowd? And if my brain is starting to create wild scenarios like that, what does it mean for my mental health?
My thoughts are a mess tonight, vacillating between my old stalker and hopefully-soon-to-be girlfriend.
I huddle with Daria, Jamie, and Briar backstage, awaiting the judges’ final ruling. Daria wrings her hands together, over and over, as nervous energy radiates from her. The urge to massage the tension from her shoulders is almost too strong to resist.
But I’m not about to cross any more lines tonight.
Something tells me that when we get home, things will be different between us. All I can do is hope and pray she’s open to talking it through with me. I never should’ve said the first thing that came to my mind when we were alone in the restroom. Never should’ve let my heart speak for me.
She made it abundantly clear she’s not ready for a serious relationship, and I told her I was cool with that even though, deep down, I am anything but cool with that .
I want it all with her. Anything she’s willing to give. I just want her .
And call me crazy, but I think I can make her happy. Give her what she really craves in this life—a loving home, steady assurances, and a patient, faithful kind of love. Maybe that’s the presumptuous idiot inside me talking, but it feels true.
I think we’d be great together.
Daria’s dark gaze finds mine, almost as if she read my mind.
“May I have the designers line up on stage, please?” the backstage coordinator calls, dragging my eyes away from the woman who has my thoughts in a jumbled mess.
“This is it,” Jamie squeals, giving Daria’s shoulder a quick shake. “The moment you’ve been waiting for.”
“Or the moment it all blows up in my face.”
“D,” Jamie scolds.
“Your designs stole the show,” Briar adds brightly. “Couldn’t you hear the crowd go wild every time these two took the stage?” Daria’s blonde friend gestures between Jamie and me.
Daria sighs, glancing over her shoulder where the other designers have started to head for the stage. “Pretty sure that had more to do with my models than my designs.”
“Hey,” I say, gently gripping her upper arm. “Either way this goes tonight, it was worth it.” I purposely, intentionally hold her gaze. I want her to know that even if she doesn’t win this show, she’s won my heart completely.
Her expression shutters, and she steps back. “Thanks,” she murmurs, then shifts her attention to the girls. “To all of you. Couldn’t have done it without you.” The three friends share a hug. I stick my hands into my pockets, giving them space, then watch as Daria slips away to the stage.