Chapter 15
“Good morning, my newly married bestie!” Heidi’s voice fills my loft. She’s carrying two giant iced coffees in her hands, and I’ve never been more excited to see her.
“Oh, thank God.” I stand from where I was leaning over my workbench. My back aches from the flight home and sleeping on the very edge of another hotel bed. “You brought caffeine.”
She plops my coffee down on the edge of the table, far enough away from my pattern that the condensation won’t bleed into the bodice I’m translating to paper. I’m hoping to have at least one new design pieced together by the end of the day. Structurally, anyway. The devil is in the details. Making this bodice sparkle with a spray of beads to mimic how Kit’s fingers felt on my bare skin is a challenge for another day.
Heidi pulls up a stool and tucks some of her blond hair away from her face. “How was your trip?”
I reach for the iced coffee. After a cool sip slides its way down my throat, I answer, “Tropical. Pools, dinner on the beach, zip lining, salsa dancing. That kind of thing.”
Heidi narrows her eyes. “Zip lining? You did something … fun?”
“I know how to have fun.” I flip her off with my free hand. The memory of Kit catching me and throwing his head back in laughter is still fresh. My skin turns to gooseflesh, and I scrunch my toes in my shoes. Warmth rises in my chest, like I’m back in the tropical sun and not surrounded by bolts of fabric that only remind me of my business misstep and the pittance in my expense account.
Heidi scoffs. “And Kit? Does the rest of him look like his face?”
I snort. “What does that mean?”
“Come on, Andie. That man is gorgeous. Tell me the rest of him lived up to the hype.”
“Why would I know what the rest of him looks like?” I pick up my scissors again. I have to finish cutting the edge of this piece before I can move on. And I definitely don’t want to think about Kit shirtless. Catching me as we both fell into the pool, skin sliding on skin.
“Because you were on your honeymoon.” Heidi’s voice is frustrated, like when she’s arguing with the caterers about where to put the chafing dishes.
I stay quiet as I focus on the pattern piece. It needs to be perfect; I can’t afford to waste any fabric if I want to keep the lights on. I mutter a curse under my breath, directed at Kit, who isn’t even here to hear it.
There’s only twelve weeks left to perfect an entire line of dresses that will determine the fate of my business. Which would maybe be enough if I didn’t also have to film a reality show at the same time. Cassidy slipped me a production schedule for the week, and while I can still work, I have to spend plenty of time with Kit on camera, too.
I’m never going to sleep again.
“You do know what couples do on their honeymoon, don’t you?” Heidi teases, taking a sip of her coffee.
I roll my eyes. “Those couples usually meet before they’re at the altar.”
“You’re telling me you have that man with a dream of a body, and you haven’t made good on it yet?” Heidi picks up a scrap of muslin on my workbench and runs it through her fingers.
I shrug, biting my lip as I concentrate on keeping the line I’m cutting straight. “It didn’t feel right.”
Heidi frowns. I avoid most of the intensity by simply not looking at her, focusing all my attention on the pattern in front of me.
“Is he nice to you?” A serious tone weighs down her voice.
“He’s very respectful.” Too respectful, honestly. Treating me like I’ll break if he makes one wrong move. Kit has kept his emotions on a tight leash since the wedding day, and I miss the raw side of him I used to know. Maybe he’s completely tamed it.
When I look up, her brow is furrowed in concern. Once I finish my cut, I lean on the table and sigh. “Listen. There’s something you should know about Kit.”
Heidi’s eyes go wide. “He doesn’t have, like, a second family in a different state, does he?”
“No.” I take a sip of coffee.
“Does he have a sex dungeon?”
I snort. “Heidi, really?”
“Because that never works like it does in books.” She shrugs.
“No.” I shake my head. “Well … I haven’t seen his place yet, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t have a sex dungeon.”
“It’s always the ones you’d never expect.”
“Trust me.” I scrub my hands down my face. “Kit and I have dated before.”
“What?” Heidi smacks her hands on my workbench, leaning forward with the appropriate amount of shock.
It’s my turn to shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
“What did the producers say when they found out?”
“They think it’ll make for good TV.”
“Oh.” She sits up and primly smooths her skirt. “Well. Are you sure about the sex dungeon?”
I give her a look. “I’m sure.”
“Damn.” She wrinkles her nose. “That could have been fun.”
I toss another strip of scrap muslin at her.
“I guess …” Heidi hesitates, tying the strip of muslin into a knot and pulling it tight. “Can you see yourself falling in love with him?” Her intonation lifts at the end, and her eyes are locked on me, ready to catch any slip in my fa?ade.
I scoff to cover the way my heart lunges against my rib cage. Kit was so easy to love, the first time. He was open and honest and passionate and ambitious and attentive and—
I thought I saw a glimpse of that man during our salsa lesson, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe none of it was true in the first place. I don’t know anymore.
“No.” My fingers fuss with a pin that’s rolling around on the table. “I don’t think I’ll be falling in love with him.”
“Good,” she says with finality, bringing her palms to the table with a smack. “Then your divorce money is safe.”
I swallow. I’m not sure how I momentarily forgot why I was willing to marry a stranger in the first place. This is why my heart isn’t in charge of things around here.
“But Andie.” Heidi’s eyes twinkle with something mischievous. “You don’t have to be in love with him to treat yourself to a little dose of fun, if you catch my drift.”
My thin wedding band suddenly feels as heavy as an anvil, and I rest my shaking hand on the table. Could I enjoy sex with Kit without letting him into the softer parts of me, the ones he’d left broken and bruised the last time? We were always good together in bed. But then, maybe sex with him had always been good because I didn’t feel like I had to hide from him.
I give my head one firm shake. “That’s what vibrators are for.” I make a mental note to stealthily pack one to bring to the shared apartment we were moving into later today. Just because I wouldn’t be having sex with Kit didn’t mean I couldn’t think about having sex with him. And if he kept wandering around in towels like he did in hotel rooms, well. A girl can only hold out for so long before she needs to take care of a few things.
Heidi snorts. “You can show him how to use one.”
“How to use one what?” Kit’s voice startles me. I flinch so hard I knock my scissors to the floor with a clatter that only punctuates the silence that follows.
He’s in slacks and a button-down, a leather messenger bag slung across his chest. Every bit the business casual catalog model. I forgot he was going to meet me here for filming. When I see the camera crew behind him, a part of me winds tighter.
I blush a little when I realize he’s holding a couple of iced coffees too.
Choosing to ignore that I haven’t answered his question, he gives me a half grin. “You didn’t sleep much last night, so I thought you could use this.” He raises one iced coffee in a mock toast. “But it seems you’re fine without me.”
Heidi looks him up and down, a playful grin on her face. Cassidy takes the moment to clip a mic to me. When Kit sets the coffees on the workbench next to her, she says, “Hi, I’m Heidi.”
“The wedding planner.” He shakes her hand. “I remember.”
I fasten one of my pincushions around my wrist and drag the painstakingly cut butcher paper bodice pieces over to the nearest dress form. As I stab the first pin into the form along one of my tape lines, I tell Kit casually, “Heidi’s my best friend.”
“And business buddy,” Heidi adds cheerily.
I nod, informing Kit, “We share clients sometimes.”
“Ah, so the show is rigged.”
I turn to look at him so quickly I tear the pattern I was so careful with earlier. A chunk falls to the ground at my feet. He already knows I’m on the show for the money, and if the producers think we somehow rigged the match, I can kiss that money goodbye.
When I tentatively meet his gaze, there’s a sparkle of humor in his eyes. I let out a puff of laughter. He’s kidding. Of course he is. If the game was rigged, I definitely wouldn’t have paired myself with the only man I’ve ever loved and lost.
I swallow, picking the pattern piece off the ground. To reduce the chance of any more pattern casualties, I grab the dress form by the hips and scoot it closer to my workbench.
Kit jumps into action. He’s around the back of the dress form, his fingers brushing mine as he grips the waist. I shiver.
“Let me help you,” he grumbles over the dress form’s shoulder.
“I don’t need your help, Kit.”
I can’t handle the tender look in his eyes, so I grunt as I tug on the dress form again. “It’s amazing how I’ve done this without you for years.”
“For fuck’s sake, Andie.” Kit moves around the form and bumps me aside with his hip. “Do you ever stop?”
Heidi snorts from her spot on the bench. “No. She doesn’t.”
“Kit,” I complain when he dodges my attempt to get to the form.
He swears under his breath, but his voice is frustratingly calm. “Where do you want it?”
I can’t formulate an answer. My brain pops and fizzles out. I’m frustrated with him, but he is perfectly content with my mood.
I contemplate trying to move another heavy object, just to see what he’ll do.
“Do you want to fight about this now or later?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.
Heidi’s purse scrapes over the surface of the workbench as she stands. “And that’s my cue to go. Play nice, you two.”
Before I can beg her to stay and act as a buffer, her Louboutins click right out the door.
Kit lets out a grunt, and I turn my attention back to him. His lips are turned down in a frown, his brows lowered over his eyes. He’s quietly pissed. Great.
The muscles in his throat work. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath in through his nose. When he lets it out, his body relaxes just a little. He opens his eyes and rubs his jaw. “Do you need a ride to your place, or do you have a car here?”
My brows pull together. As I stare at him, baffled by his question, his fingers sink into the dress form, forming little shadowed dents in the sunlight. I feel them digging into my own flesh like it was just yesterday that I had him undone as he drove into—
Damn Heidi and her sex dungeon talk.
My lips part to say something I shouldn’t, then he relaxes his hands and runs one through his hair again. The moment is gone. I shake my head. “My place is here.”
“What?” He looks around, like he’s not sure how he got here.
I roll my eyes and take stock of the place too. Aside from a small kitchenette on the far end of the apartment, it’s mostly dress mannequins and bolts of fabric shimmering in the light. A tall hanging rack at the far end of the room is heavy with bagged-up gowns. There’s a dark blue velvet couch near some of the dress forms, and some stools around my workbench, also draped with fabric. But there’s no TV or area rugs or houseplants or any other signs that someone actually lives here.
It works for me. I make fancy dresses, but I don’t have expensive tastes.
One dress form has muslin pieces pinned halfway around it, some draping all the way to the floor. Kit’s mouth tugs into a half grin when his eyes fall on my drafting table. It’s scattered with torn-out magazine pages, sketches of dresses, and fabric swatches. Right. He’s an architect, so he probably has a drafting table with a ruler and a protractor lined up like little soldiers ready for their battle with physics.
He wanders over to the wall of windows overlooking the Atlanta skyline. Instead of taking in the view, he’s looking at the window frames, even tapping a knuckle against the narrow strips of brick in between them. I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that he doesn’t seem to trust the integrity of the building. I do know that he looks like a god in the golden hour sunlight as it wraps around his face and body. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my thoughts from getting carried away.
His question startles me. “Where do you sleep?”
I scoff, happy he’s brought us back to reality. “Mostly I don’t. But when I’m lucky enough, my bedroom’s up there.”
I gesture to a set of warehouse-style stainless steel steps leading up to a loft above the tiny kitchen.
“Is this also where you meet clients?” He shoves his sleeves up his forearms. I bite the inside of my cheek harder.
My hands need something to do other than tingle with the need to touch him, so I reach for the coffee he brought me. “It’s easier to sleep where I work. I don’t waste time on a commute.”
He frowns. I divert my gaze, because I don’t care what he thinks of my sleeping situation. Do I?
His shoes land in thuds on the hardwood as he strolls to a bolt of fabric leaning against the green couch across the room. I follow like some kind of tether ties us and we can’t stray too far from each other.
I fight the urge to ask him to practice our salsa dancing, if only to break through whatever awkward wall is suddenly between us. Instead, I tell him, “Burano lace. From Italy.”
He looks over his shoulder, the lace between his fingers, and I cross my arms over my chest.
Focus on the lace, Andie, not the godlike man in front of you.
I can feel his eyes wandering over me and get the impression he can see every last piece of my thoughts. Hopefully he can’t see the financial dread snaking its way around my throat every waking moment.
“Five hundred dollars per yard.” I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips at my own foolishness. “I shouldn’t have spent the money, but I couldn’t stop myself from loving it.”
Kit drops the lace like it burned him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and clenches his jaw. Pissed again. But why?
Kit clears his throat and moves the topic away from the expensive fabric. “How many dresses do you make in a year?”
“About ten. If I’m lucky,” I admit, though it feels like it should be more. I scratch the base of my sloppy topknot, afraid to meet his gaze. Ten dresses a year doesn’t sound like much when he creates whole-ass campuses of buildings.
He lets out a low whistle, eyeing the rack of gowns in progress. “That’s a lot of work, Andie.”
My eyes fly to his. Is he teasing me? “You design entire resorts, Kit.”
He shakes his head, his hair catching the sunlight just so. “I create the blueprints and do the math. Check in during certain stages. You do everything from the blueprint to the interior design, all on your own, with each unique design taking months to complete. Your project management skills must be out of this world.”
My lips part in shock. He actually … respects my work? On something as frivolous as a dress that will only be worn once? In thirty seconds, he’s shown more understanding about the complexity of my job than brides I work with for months. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
Kit meanders to a dress form draped in muslin. Taking in the design from the hem to the bodice, he asks, “How much do you charge for a dress?”
I don’t want to answer that question. He’ll think it’s way too much, and that I’m silly for asking for it. Any respect he just found for me will dissipate into thin air. I chew on my lip and move to toss my empty coffee cup into the stainless steel trash can by the fridge before answering, “Enough.”
“Just like my thighs are average, eh?” He shoots me a half grin over his shoulder as he turns back to the wall of windows.
“Oh my God, you will never let that go, will you?” I roll my eyes but can’t fight a smile, glad our rapport isn’t completely gone.
“Never, sweet potato.” His smile grows brighter. “Never.”