Chapter Twenty-Three
SHAY
THE SHUTTER CLICKS.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, lowering the camera and double-checking the shot.
It is beautiful.
They’re always beautiful.
Cindy exhales a laugh.
I always memorize clients’ names. This close, trust is everything.
She wraps the silk robe tighter around herself. “I can’t believe I did that.”
I smile, recognizing the familiar feeling from almost every client who walks through my doors. The hesitation when they tug at the lace they never thought they’d wear.
The laugh that says this isn’t me right before they realize it actually is.
“You did amazing.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“I was so nervous.”
“You overcame those nerves,” I tell her. “And I promise you’re going to love the result.” I tilt the camera toward her, thumb flicking past the throwaways until I find the wins—the frames where the posture, expression, and light all clicked into place.
“That’s me?” She says it quietly, like she doesn’t want to scare the image away.
I nod, watching the way her mouth curves, confidence blooming where nerves used to live.
That split second when they see themselves the way everyone else does never gets old.
“I didn’t know I could look like that.” She straightens. “My boyfriend is going to love them, but I think I love them more.”
There it is—the best part.
“Thank you again,” she says, before slipping into the change room.
I walk to the door. When I open it, the distant hum of the shop slips in, muffled by the red velvet curtains at the end of the hallway. I hang my camera in my office as I make my way back down the hall.
My phone buzzes, sending a familiar flutter of excitement through me. His name flashes on my screen.
Miss you. Always thinking about you. Had a second and wanted you to know.
I smile so hard my cheeks ache.
I type back something just as soft because this is what we’ve been doing for months.
Texts.
Voice notes in the dark.
Five-minute calls stolen between clients and dinner rushes.
Every time we plan something real, life shoves it sideways. So I’ve been saving the important stuff.
Not a text.
Not a call.
I want to say it, looking straight into his eyes.
My phone buzzes again.
Restaurant’s grand opening soon. Maybe you can come?
My stomach flips.
He told me about the opening weeks ago, tucked in among other things. The menu, the paint colours, how he couldn’t sleep the night they installed the ovens. I’ve had the date circled on my calendar since.
I type: Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be there. I’ve got something I want to tell you. In person.
I stare at the message a second before hitting send.
My heart jumps like I’ve stepped off a ledge. This is it. I’ll finally tell him.
“Thanks again, Shay.” Cindy slips on her coat. “I look forward to the finished photos.”
“I’m excited to work on them. I’ll be in touch.”
I hold the red velvet curtains aside for her, and we step into the front of the shop.
The smell changes.
Lavender and warm vanilla give way to amber and leather.
The bell hanging on the front door jingles as two women leave after Cindy. Laughter trails out after them.
Tess spins to face me. “We sold out of the bullet vibes before noon,” she squeals, hopping in place.
She grabs my arms, shakes me, then hugs me too tightly.
I laugh. “That’s fast for a soft opening.”
Tess twists her hair into a messy bun, a few strands escaping around her face.
No mirror.
No second-guessing.
For someone who lives online, she doesn’t fuss about things like her appearance. She’s just comfortable, however she shows up.
I admire that about her.
“Exactly.” Her hands fall to her hips. “No ads. No announcement. Just friends, friends of friends, and vibes. If this is the warm-up, imagine the grand opening.”
“Busy. It’ll be busy.”
“I told you.”
She did.
Bigger market. Better foot traffic. A fresh start.
She’d pitched spreadsheets and neighborhood stays for weeks during late-night wine arguments.
I told her flat-out I wasn’t moving for a man.
So we didn’t.
We moved for us. Signed the lease, hauled the boxes, and built the shop.
He just... happens to live in the same city... and has no idea I do too.
“Please tell me you’re inviting Cash to the grand opening.” Tess straightens the straps on a lace teddy, then steps back to see the whole display.
“I will.”
She squints at me, fingers moving to straighten the second teddy. “You should’ve invited him today.”
I shrug. “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Her eyebrows spike in the air. “You should’ve told him that too.”
She’s been pestering me to do just that since we rolled into town, and I’ve almost blurted it out a dozen times. But every call, he sounded exhausted, buried under prep and permits and a hundred moving pieces. I didn’t want to drop something this big on him between orders.
Not through a screen.
Not between rushes.
Face-to-face.
“He’s been so busy.”
Tess folds her arms, those evaluating eyes locked on me. “You could’ve been cuddled up at his place this whole time. In his bed. Under his sheets. Naked.”
“He’s barely there, and you know that.” But the idea has played in my head more than not. “Sometimes he crashes at the restaurant. I don’t want to just drop this on him.” I shrug. “I’m going to tell him at his grand opening.”
“Alright.” She nods. “I like this vibe.” She wiggles her body like she’s actually feeling the vibe. “I like all the vibes.”
I laugh.
“We packed up our whole lives for this place. You and me. Tess After Dark.” She points at the black tee she’s wearing, the logo printed small over her chest. “And Shay’s Boudoir in the back.” She spins, throwing her thumbs over her shoulder toward my logo printed on the back.
My phone buzzes again.
Can’t wait to see you, too.
My chest loosens.
“And I have to restock the oils.” Tess moves behind the counter and sets an unopened box on top, scanning like she’s lost something.
I join her and pick up the box cutter she set on the second shelf.
She loses everything the second she sets it down.
I hold it out to her. “Looking for this?”
She takes the pink cutters. “Thank you. I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached. It’s been so busy.”
“That’s good.” I lean my hip against the counter. “People like it.”
The door jangles, and a group of giddy women pour in, making knowing eyes at Tess.
They recognize her instantly. Phones are already half-raised for selfies.
One minute, I was road-tripping with a camera. The next minute, we were signing papers and hauling boxes across the country.
Tess’s toys are in the front. My studio is in the back.
It’s perfect.
“People like you.” I nudge her. “Go on. Woo them with your delightfulness.”
She snaps the cutter shut. “I am delightful.”
I chuckle. “You’re a ball of sunshine.”
“I am a ball of sunshine.”
I laugh again.
She turns to me as she backs away. “Your next appointment should be in your studio.”
“My next appointment. I don’t have an appointment until three.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Who?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on your books.”
But she does. She manages the whole thing.
“Tess?”
“Gotta go.”
“Wait. I want to know her name.”
Tess turns and greets the women, who immediately ask her for a selfie.
I grab my schedule book and flip it open. Sure enough, there’s an appointment on the block. An unnamed appointment.
Gah. That’s not how I like to greet the ladies who are putting their trust in me and stripping down as bare as they ever will for someone.
I grab my camera and knock on my studio door before opening it.
“Hi—” The word evaporates because the man standing inside my studio is the last person I expect to see on the other side of this door.
Him.
Not a client.
Not a stranger.
Not a woman wrapped in nerves and lace.
Cash.
He’s leaning against the brick wall in jeans that hug him just right and a dark jacket.
For one suspended second, my brain refuses to catch up with my eyes.
Like it’s buffering.
Like reality just glitched.
Two months collapse into nothing.
“Hey, Shay.” His voice hits me low and warm, rough around the edges, like gravel and smoke and home
My pulse stutters so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You—” I clear my throat. “You’re... here.”
“I am.” His eyes flick over my face.
Slow.
Like he’s checking to see if I’m real, and I feel the same way.
“What are you doing here? How? How did you know?”
“Tess.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Of course. Tess.”
“Not on purpose. It slipped out while we were discussing sponsorships for her line.”
That sounds suspiciously like Tess.
He pushes off the wall and takes a step closer to me. He’s so far away. The space that usually feels small suddenly stretches miles wide.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I set my camera on a side table. My fingers are no longer steady.
“I wanted to tell you to you face to face, but you’ve been so busy.”
He nods, knowing, and takes another step.
“The second she said you were here, I had to come. I needed to see you.” Another step with an inhale. “You look really good.”
“So do you.”
“I look tired.”
He does. There are faint shadows under his eyes. His hair’s a little longer, and he smells like flour, oil, and the kitchen.
And he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I missed you,” he says.
No jokes.
No cushioning.
Just the truth, straight to my chest.
“Every day. No matter what I was hurried in, you were there. In the back of my head.”
“I missed you too,” I whisper. “So much.”
He steps closer. One step. Then another. Slow.
“So you didn’t tell me because you’re not interested in pursuing this?”
“What? No.” I clear my throat. “No. I almost told you a hundred times.”
“A hundred times?” Another step.
“I had this whole speech planned,” I say.
“Mm.” His forehead rests against mine. “And?”
“It’s gone.” My hands fist in his jacket.
“Good,” he breathes, and oh, how I’ve missed this man.
Then his hand slides to my waist, and his mouth finds mine. It’s warm enough to melt every tight place inside my chest.
I sink into him, and every late-night call, text, and second apart folds back together.
He tastes the same, feels the same, and his real scents hit me: smoky cedar, pepper, and him.
All of him.
When we finally pull back, we’re both smiling.
“So,” he says, brushing his thumb under my eye. His hand cups my face, thumb brushes my cheek. “I could only book an hour.”
“Lucky me.”
“Although I was hoping to take you to dinner.”
I arch a brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I know a place,” he says. “Brand new. Opening next week. The chef’s kind of obsessed with you.”
I pretend to consider it. “Sounds risky.”
He grins. “Worth it.”
“Okay,” I say. “But fair warning.”
“What?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
“Perfect.” His forehead nudges mine again, softer this time. “Neither am I.”