Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
ISABELLE
“Emily from Washington ordered ten items!” I say, reading my latest order off my phone. The last time I had an order this big was a few months ago. “I can’t believe it.”
“Woo-hoo!” Jen exclaims, clapping her hands. “That’s my best friend.”
We’re sitting on our living room floor, surrounded by stacks of clothes, compostable mailers, and tissue paper, packing orders for my business.
“It’s thanks to Jackson’s marketing ideas,” I say. “Like, gosh, is there anything the guy can’t do?”
I’ve already seen an increase in the number of followers on my socials and my fashion show ticket sales. I’m hopeful with how things are going that I can keep up the momentum.
“He still hasn’t reached out to you yet?”
A sigh slides from my mouth as I glance down at the floor. The memories of us in Chicago flash in my head. “Nope.”
After returning home, I told Jen everything that had happened in Chicago—well, not every detail about what had happened inside Jackson’s hotel room, but you get what I mean.
Jen folds a black dress. “Maybe he’s worried he came across as too strong, which is why he’s leaving it to you to make the first move.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, reaching for some tissue paper.
It’s been five days since we returned to New York, and I haven’t heard from Jackson. I considered reaching out first a couple of times but ultimately chickened out.
He obviously has his own life, but a new fear has been unlocked within me—that he regrets everything he said to me about being there to catch me when I’m ready to take a leap of faith or that he’s having second thoughts.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t think like this, but my overthinking brain can’t help but automatically jump to the worst possible conclusion. I think it’s a protective mechanism; I just don’t know when to believe that scared voice in my head and when not to.
My phone dings with a new text, and my heart does a little jump in anticipation before sinking when I see who the message is from.
Mom
Hi, Isabelle. Are you and your boyfriend free to come over next Friday for dinner? Ivy and Ben will be there as well.
A part of me almost hoped Mom had forgotten about wanting to meet my “boyfriend,” but of course, the chances of that were slim.
“I know Oliver’s a dickhead, but you can’t let him stop you from being open to the good things in your life,” Jen adds.
“I know.” I sigh, putting my phone down. I’ll deal with Mom’s text later. “I didn’t even care when Oliver showed up with his fiancée at the reunion, but when he brought up our breakup in Chicago, it was like something snapped inside me, and I was reminded of how heartbroken I had been.”
Jen stops what she’s doing to glance up at me. “And that’s all understandable, considering what that asshole said and did to you,” she firmly says. “Your feelings are all valid, Belle, but let me also ask you this: How do you really feel about Jackson?”
“I mean … I wanted him so badly when I was inside his hotel room,” I confess. “And I’ve never felt that way with anyone else before, not even Oliver.”
Openly admitting it, saying those words out loud, only makes me realize how certain I am about my feelings for Jackson.
I’ve fallen for him.
I’m not sure exactly when those feelings began to form, though I suspect they’d been buried there for some time and our kiss at the hotel was the catalyst for them to finally bubble to the surface.
However, it’s one thing to have feelings for someone and another to act on those feelings.
There’s a gleam in Jen’s blue eyes as she slides the dress inside a mailer. “So, you do admit you have feelings for him.”
“Yeah.” It feels surprisingly easy to say that. I swallow. “I do.”
Jen clasps her hands together. “I knew it! Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You and Aaron would say you saw this coming. Speaking of which, how are things between you two?”
She bites her lip. “We’re just friends at the moment.”
“At the moment,” I tease. “Meaning things could change.”
Jen’s cheeks turn crimson. “We’ll see.” She reaches for a blue dress. “Anyway, enough talk about boys. After all, my amazing best friend is going to be interviewed by Sparkes Magazine tomorrow.”
Excitement flutters through me at the reminder. “I still can’t believe it’s happening.”
She beams. “I’m so excited for you, and I can’t wait to read it when it’s out.”
“I can’t wait for you to see it, too,” I say, reaching for a floral top. “And speaking of reading, you have to check out this new romance book I picked up yesterday …”
The next afternoon, I’m sitting on a plush pink armchair in one of the studio rooms at Sparkes Magazine’s New York office in Midtown Manhattan, ready for my interview.
Rays of sunlight shine through the room, and framed photographs of fashion models in different decades are placed on the walls.
Sitting opposite me is my interviewer, Michelle, a woman in her forties with a bob hairdo.
Michelle adjusts her papers. “How are you feeling, Isabelle?”
I fiddle with my fingers. “It’s my first time doing an interview like this, so I’m a little nervous. But everyone here’s been so welcoming, which has definitely helped calm my nerves.”
Meeting Liz and being featured in Sparkes Magazine still feel like some kind of crazy fever dream.
However, I’m telling myself that I deserve the opportunity, that Liz saw something in my business, and I shouldn’t doubt myself.
Of course, I’m hoping my interview will be a good marketing boost for my fashion show, but beyond that, if I can inspire just one reader out there to chase after their dreams, then I’ll be so incredibly happy.
I’m grateful for the opportunity. And grateful for Jackson for making it all possible.
I wonder what he’s doing right now. He’s probably busy at work.
“Don’t worry; it’ll be over before you know it,” Michelle says. “You’ll be amazing.” She takes out a pen. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself?”
“I’m twenty-four years old, and I run my online fashion business, called Designed by Isabelle,” I say, folding my hands in my lap.
“It’s a women’s clothing label aimed at creating timeless, sustainable, and chic pieces for your wardrobe.
Aside from running my business, I also work as a barista at my favorite coffee shop in New York. ”
An encouraging smile permeates Michelle’s face. “How did you first discover your passion for fashion?”
“Well, one reason for that was because I was reading Sparkes Magazine,” I say with a chuckle.
Michelle winks. “Now that’s what we love to hear!”
I laugh. “But also, as a kid, I loved sketching, and I constantly found myself doodling outfit ideas in my notebook, but I never thought I’d be able to pursue fashion design as a career. I always thought I’d have to follow my family’s footsteps …”
For the next thirty minutes, Michelle and I talk about my experience going to fashion school, how I launched my business, the highlights and lowlights, and finally the planning process for my fashion show.
When I’m done, I’m grinning, pride swelling in my chest.
Michelle beams. “That was wonderful. Well done!”
“Thank you for making the process so seamless, Michelle,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Great timing.” Michelle winks at me. “We also have a small surprise for you.” Turning to the door, she calls out, “Come in!”
I frown. Small surprise?
The door opens, revealing a familiar face.
It’s Jackson.
Wearing the sweatshirt I made for him.
And holding a box of chocolates.
My heart leaps at the sight of him, and my lips part slightly open. Even though it’s only been six days since I last saw him, it feels like six days too long.
I’ve missed him.
Jackson strolls inside the room, his eyes locking with mine. “Congrats on your interview, Isabelle.” He hands the chocolates to me with a smile. “These are for you.”
“Hey,” I breathe, taking the box. “Thank you.”
“For context, Isabelle, a little birdie told me your boyfriend was the one who told Sparkes Magazine about you, so we invited him this morning as a surprise for you,” Michelle explains. “It was very last minute, but he managed to rearrange his work schedule and drop by.”
A sheepish look crosses Jackson’s face. “We’re not actually … dating.” There’s a strain in his voice at his last word that hits me square in the chest. “But I wanted to support my favorite fashion designer’s first-ever magazine interview.”
Favorite fashion designer.
It’s not the first time he’s called me this, but another butterfly escapes from its cage nonetheless.
Michelle nods at him. “Well, glad you could make it.”
“Does that mean I get to read the interview before everyone else?” he asks.
Michelle laughs. “Nice try, but no. You’ll still have to wait like everyone else.”
Jackson turns to me, a tender look on his face. “Well, the best things are worth the wait.”
My heart misses a beat at his words.
We wrap up in the interview room, and after saying my goodbyes and thank-yous to Michelle and others at the Sparkes Magazine team, Jackson and I leave the office.
“Are you heading home?” Jackson asks as we step inside the elevator.
“Yep. Just walking to the subway station.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“You sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to go back to work or anything?”
Jackson grins. “Technically, yes, but this is better. I’ll just stay back later to finish off my work.”
The elevator doors open, revealing a large group of people, who are chatting among themselves.
Jackson gestures for me to step inside first, and I do so, turning to face the elevator doors.
When he joins, facing me, I accidentally press against his front, the warmth of his body flush against mine.
My breaths turn shallow, but I don’t dare glance up and make eye contact with him.
Luckily, it’s a fairly quick elevator ride. Walking in silence, we exit the building and step onto the sidewalk, joining the hustle and bustle of Sixth Avenue. The humid air sticks to my skin as we dodge passersby, and the warm and savory aroma from a hot dog cart nearby drifts in the air.
“Thanks again for coming today,” I say.
“Of course. I wanted to see you, even if it was just for a few minutes.”
His words are simple, yet they mean everything.
I can’t believe I was worried he was having second thoughts about what he’d said to me in the hotel lobby in Chicago—about us. That I let my nervous thoughts overpower me again.
“When I didn’t hear from you after we returned to New York, I thought …” I shake my head, regretting saying that out loud. He’s probably going to think it’s silly.
Jackson’s brows knit together. “What is it?”
“It’s dumb,” I say. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about what you said to me in Chicago.”
A beat passes before Jackson responds. “I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to come across as too strong, but I definitely haven’t changed my mind about what I said or how I feel about you.”
I sigh. It really shows you shouldn’t automatically jump to conclusions like that. “That’s why I said it was dumb.”
“It’s not dumb at all. If there’s anything ever on your mind, I’m always here to talk.”
I sneak a glance at him as we walk through a sidewalk shed. His expression’s blank, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking, which bothers me.
“And thanks again for the marketing strategies you sent me,” I say. “They’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad they were.”
“Would you like to come to my fashion show?” I blurt out.
I want him there. Sitting in the audience. Celebrating the hopefully successful event with me.
Jackson’s eyes widen, and then the surprise on his face is replaced by something else. Joy, I realize, from the way his brown eyes are sparkling. “Are you kidding? I would’ve sold a kidney to get a front-row seat if I had to.”
A laugh trickles from my mouth. “No need to sacrifice any organs. Plenty of seats in the front row.”
He flashes me a grin, and we continue walking in silence for the next minute or so.
I take a deep breath, gripping the strap of my purse tighter. Just say it.
“One other thing. I got a text from my mom last night. She was asking whether you and I are free to come over next Friday night.”
“Let’s do it.” There’s no hint of hesitation in Jackson’s voice.
God, he’s so amazing.
“This will be the last time we go through a fake-dating scheme, I swear,” I say. “No more high school reunions or me lying to my family again.”
Another smile curves on Jackson’s lips, his dimples prominent. “Absolutely. No more fake dating after this.”