32. Piper
Piper
B y the time Archie and Frankie come back from surfing, I’ve showered, worked for over an hour, and been on the phone with Stella making more plans. She’s agreed to meet me at Frothed, even though I’m conflicted about letting Archie buy me breakfast.
I want to celebrate the work he’s done on his proposal, but I don’t want to spend money he soon won’t have.
Archie has no idea what it means to not have money flowing into your bank account.
I went through a rough transition when Malcolm quit giving me money, but I had a vague idea of how much things cost. Archie doesn’t.
He’s got a hard reality check coming.
But I’m confident he’ll be okay, mostly because he’s more interested in maintaining a relationship with his dad—despite Malcolm’s many, many flaws—than he is about losing access to his dad’s fortune.
Malcolm doesn’t deserve that kind of loyalty from Archie, but it’s who Archie is to his core. Loyal to a fault.
And, honestly, I can’t find any fault with that. It’s one of my favorite things about him.
But also, his tenderness. His protectiveness. Even his stubbornness…
And—let’s be honest—his perpetual shirtlessness.
Stella is already at Frothed when we get there. While I’ve been designing, she’s been researching crowdfunding sites.
“I think I’ve found a good one,” she says after we order and find a table. “IFW isn’t as well-known as other sites, but it’s specifically built for women entrepreneurs, and they have all kinds of coaching.”
“That sounds awesome,” Frankie says, and I nod in agreement.
Stella explains more about the company while we wait for our order. As she talks, I feel Archie studying me, and I have a hard time focusing on what Stella is saying. I wonder if he’s getting excited about what we could create together.
Mitzi brings out our coffee and pastries and sets them in front of us. Archie thanks her, then turns to me.
“How are the designs coming?”
“I’m making progress. I’ve drafted how to rework five of my favorites from the New York line Valente stole, so they have a California vibe.” My eyes are tired and my whole body hurts from hunching over my screen, but I’m energized in a way that only the hard work of creating can do.
“Can I see them?” Archie’s smile sends a little shiver of excitement through me.
Somehow, I’ve reverted to the eleven-year-old me who wants more than anything to be seen by Archie. Except, I realize, that’s not what this is. I want to show Archie my designs because I’m proud of them, and I want him to share in my excitement.
“Yeah. I’ll show you after breakfast.” I return his smile.
“I want to see them!” Frankie and Stella say at the same time.
“You can see them, too.” My cheeks warm while my chest swells with affection. I wouldn’t be doing what I’m attempting without their support. I barely know Stella, but if I go through with her ideas, I’m going to need her propeller energy for the next few weeks. More likely, months.
Creating a new line of clothes isn’t something I can do overnight.
And it’s not something I can do without the friends I’ve made here in the past week, including Archie.
Surrounded by this group of people willing to support me, even though they barely know me, my determination to stop Valente getting credit for my work returns.
Yesterday, that seemed impossible. Today, though, I’m ready to fight, whatever the sacrifice.
“I’m going to have to stay at Valente for a bit longer,” I say, and they all blink with surprise.
“Why?” Archie asks, already settling into what I’m recognizing as his protective posture. Shoulders back, chest out.
It’s a very sexy look for him.
“I need to know more about what Valente has planned so I can better plan how to launch my surprise attack.” With the amount of work I have ahead, walking away from Valente right now would only hurt me.
Until I’m ready to launch my line, I can use them the way they’ve used me. “And I need the money.”
My eyes dart to Archie. One of us has to bring in some money until we’re ready to launch. He won’t have his allowance anymore.
Archie purses his lips. He may not like the idea, but he doesn’t fight me.
“And,” I continue, “I want to find out where they send their scraps and deadstock to be salvaged. I’ll need a supplier if I want my designs to be authentically upcycled.”
Once I’ve finished my coffee and ebelskiver, I take my iPad from my bag and pull up my designs. Then I slide it to Archie.
He scrolls quickly through each picture, and I try to see my designs through his eyes.
Each look has a lighter feel than my original New York line, with less denim and more linen, repurposed scarves, and deadstock voile.
As I drew them, I kept getting more ideas about the types of fabrics I can use when I actually start sewing them.
The stack of fabrics with defects I’ve gone through at Valente has loads of potential.
Archie pauses on one piece at the same time Britta comes to the table and peeks over his shoulder.
“Oh! That is so pretty. You know who would love it?”
I glance at the patchwork denim skirt with white stitched waves across the front and red accent stitching around the hem and pockets. It’s the one denim piece in this collection, and one of my favorites.
“Who?”
“Georgia!”
As soon as she says the name, Stella pops up and looks, too. “You’re right! That red stitching with her red lipstick? Perfection!”
My jaw drops. They’ve unintentionally highlighted a huge blind spot in my collection. “You’re right, and I need to make sure my pieces are size inclusive.”
“What does that mean?” Archie asks.
“Curvy girls like Georgia deserve to have cute clothes, too!” Stella claps.
I nod. “And…it’s the right thing to do.”
I’ll have to find a designer who knows how to design for non-traditional sizes, but I’ve already got a few people in mind, including my friend Gwen from school. She started designing her own clothes as a teenager when she couldn’t find what she wanted in her size.
While I think through this new idea, Frankie joins Stella and Britta behind Archie and ooohs at the spaghetti strap midi dress I’ve drawn with mismatched vintage linens in soft coastal blues, whites, and sage green with sheer side panels made from gauzy curtain fabric.
“I want this!” She taps the screen, and my excitement grows.
“That will look great on you.”
Archie stays silent as he scrolls to the next image. I can’t read his face.
“Dibs on this jacket.” Stella points to the oversized quilt jacket I’ve created.
I’ll bring it to life with vintage quilt scraps, old towels, and discarded sweatshirts in a color palette of pastel pinks, peaches, creams, and ocean blues. Every seam has visible mending.
“It’s perfect for cool nights at the beach,” she adds.
“That’s exactly what I made it for,” I say, excited that she sees the same vision I did when I drew it.
Archie scrolls to the last piece—a bomber jacket with a repeating wave pattern—and studies it carefully. “I like this one.” He turns the iPad so I can see. “I recognize this wave.”
He points to the image on the back of the jacket.
“It’s Hokusai’s Great Wave—he was a Japanese artist.” I glance at Archie and whisper under whatever Stella is saying to Britta and Frankie, “I thought of you when I sketched it.”
His mouth twitches into a smile.
“I almost used the ‘Surf City’ image from your apron, but I went with the wave instead.”
Archie laughs.
“What’s funny?” Frankie asks.
“Nothing.” Archie shakes his head and sends me a smile that catches my breath. There’s a barely contained laugh behind his grin, but also gratitude. Like, he needed to laugh, and I’m the person who helped him do it.
I like making Archie laugh.
I want to do it again, but I settle for shifting slightly so our knees touch.
His attention is on Frankie. He nods as she talks, all while sliding his hand down his leg until he finds my knee. With his thumb and forefinger, he draws slow circles there. Warmth ripples through me, growing into a wave of heat when it reaches my stomach. I close my eyes and take a long breath.
I know what the fight ahead will cost Archie, but I may be even more excited for Mom’s divorce than she is.
Kissing him can’t come soon enough.