Chapter 4
Anyway, we’d be able to hit all the flea markets that Sunday if it turned out nothing in the stores was within our reach.
That late in the morning, the L train was empty enough that we were free to spread out on the hard plastic seats. In theory. In reality, we ended up huddled together when Dash pulled out his tablet and started showing me some of the graphics he’d been working on.
We’d gone back and forth texting on the color palette the night before, and we’d settled on bubblegum pink, cornflower blue, and the loveliest shade of lavender.
Dash had translated that into this floral motif curled around a coat of arms that managed to look simultaneously regal—dukely? —and modern.
“Eye-catching and aesthetic, right?” Dash asked, passing me the iPad so I could scroll through all the versions.
“Like your face,” I replied, earning myself a smile and one of those patented hair flips that made parts of my anatomy follow suit.
I mean, the L train was making my stomach flip, too, if in a slightly different way.
We made it to the Bedford Ave stop without any more acrobatics, and from there it was a brisk walk to the first store on my list. I kept catching sight of our reflections in storefronts—me in pink and red, curls spiraling every which way, and a much taller Dash in a graphic T-shirt and black shorts that made him look like the model that he was.
And I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
It wasn’t like his face made anyone stop in their tracks or anything, but pretty much everyone we passed gave him a once-over.
He must have been used to it, because he barely seemed to notice the glances being thrown his way, even though they weren’t at all subtle.
Somehow, we got to Thrifty without anyone throwing themselves at Dash’s feet and either proclaiming their undying love or begging to have his babies. If you ask me, though, it was a close call.
As the door chimed behind us, I made a beeline for the clothes and accessories section at the back.
He already had the breeches, and we’d commissioned shirts, a coat, and a cravat from someone we’d found on Etsy, but he still needed tall leather boots.
And if we found a riding crop, I definitely wasn’t going to complain.
Or ask that he use it on me.
Disappointingly, I didn’t find any equestrian implements among the designer dresses and vintage band T-shirts.
What I did rustle up from the crowded racks was a cape—a slim camel hair one, more runway-ready than Regency.
Still, I couldn’t resist slipping it around my shoulders and going over to pose in the mirror.
Dash followed with a pair of large, round Jackie O sunglasses and a cream-colored beret.
He took one look at himself and made a face, plopping the beret on top of my curls. “Looks better on you.”
I squinted at myself. “This outfit makes me look like one of those girls who has enough of her shit together to have a morning routine that doesn’t involve listening to boyfriend audios.”
Dash glanced down at me. “Boyfriend audios?”
“Like micro audiobooks where a very talented voice actor goes through different scenarios as if he’s talking directly to the listener.
Kind of like what we’re going to do, actually.
I may or may not have fallen asleep to one of those channels every day for, uh, an undisclosed length of time after my last breakup.
Hugging a pillow. While he went to bed with someone else. ”
Dash winced. “Ouch.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I told him, shrugging. “I could still be with Bruno.”
“Bruno?”
“The man we don’t talk about.” I flashed Dash a smile.
He snorted and put his sunglasses back onto the tray they’d come from. “I can see how a fictional boyfriend would be preferable to most of the men in this city. A fictional boyfriend never drops his wet towels on the bathroom floor.”
“Or leaves the seat up.”
“Or hogs the covers,” Dash said.
All of a sudden, my mind clicked over into an idea. “Dude, we should record videos.”
Dash blinked, glancing away from the mirror he was checking himself out in. “I thought that was the plan?”
“No, like, non-spicy ones for regular social media.” Excitement made me fling my arms out.
“Like boyfriend audios, only as the Duke of Harding. All the ones I used to listen to are sound only, but since you’ve got the looks and the costume and everything and I happen to believe that wastefulness is a sin… ”
“Your boyfriend the duke,” he said slowly. “Who reads you poetry and cuddles you to sleep.”
“And comforts you after a nightmare,” I chimed in.
“And gets a little naughty in the carriage on your way to a ball.”
“And strokes your hair in bed on Sunday mornings, listing all the reasons why he wants to make you his duchess.”
Unconsciously, we’d drifted together until we were standing toe to toe, me with my face turned up to look into Dash’s as he said, “And convinces you to sneak into the stables for a midnight kiss.”
Of all the things, that was what made a little shiver run through me.
“A man after my own heart,” I declared, thumping my chest—partly in illustration, and partly to get rid of the uncomfortable tingling sensation radiating from it. “You know, it kind of reminds me of these second-person POV fics that used to be a big thing on Tumblr back in the day.”
“Don’t tell me—X Reader fics?” His patented hair flip didn’t quite hide the glint of laughter in his eyes at my surprised expression. “I had a lot of free time in high school, okay? And a lot of feelings about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”
“Oh yeah? Care to share any of those with me?”
“Maybe let’s wait until we know each other better before I bare my entire soul to you,” he said, laughing.
“And my OTPs. All you have to know is that I have spent the past twelve or so years exploring the dark, shadowy corners of online fandom, so there’s really not much you can throw at me that’ll surprise me. ”
“I noticed that.”
“And yet, you look surprised.”
I spread my hands. “It’s just that I wouldn’t have taken you for the sensitive, artsy type who reads Sherlock/Watson fanfic on Tumblr. You strike me as the kind of person who was popular in high school—and middle school.” I looked him up and down. “Maybe even elementary school.”
There was a flicker in his eyes, as if he was startled that I’d read him so easily. But come on. The grin and the hair flip alone were a dead giveaway.
“Well, I was, I guess,” he said slowly. “But it wasn’t always great.
All of that came with a lot of pressure, and I had enough of that at home.
I was modeling at the time, so there was that, too.
There was something really appealing about disappearing into anonymity for a few hours every day and fandom was that for me. ”
“As someone who has lived in blissful anonymity for most of her life, I agree.” Still wearing the cape and beret, I turned to go through the menswear rack. “So how come you ended up literally baring everything for a living?”
Dash flung an arm over the rack, his head hanging down just enough that I was staring full into his eyes when he said, “I don’t mind being looked at. I just want to be seen sometimes.”
Ohh. Oh, no. The crushing earnestness in his eyes. It was too much. Way too much for me to cope with.
Who the hell walks around just saying stuff like that?
If this had been happening in my screenplay, he would have gotten the reply he deserved—a soulful gaze into his eyes, followed by an intense “I see you” and an epic kiss.
And, like, even outside of a romcom, a decent friend would have replied with something equally as thoughtful.
This being me, what he got was… a flail.
“I can’t imagine a more terrifying thing than being seen, unless it’s ultra low-rise jeans,” I said. “Wait, is that stool shaped like a strawberry? I need it.”
My cherry earrings swung as I whirled around and marched toward the housewares and furniture section. Dash trailed after me, looking faintly amused when I bypassed the stool and snatched a vase off a shelf instead, cradling it in my arms like it was my long-lost son.
“This will be perfect for our set,” I said.
“Uh, Mariel? Not to be rude or anything, but that is the ugliest fucking vase I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “But the shape is great. I figure we can paint over the—oh lord, are those ba—”
Dash stepped in so close, my curls must have been brushing his jaw. “Grapes,” he said after a moment’s inspection. “I think.”
“That’s a relief.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him yet.
“I don’t think any of the chairs here are right for the Duke’s parlor,” Dash said, sticking his hands in his pockets. If he was annoyed or upset at my brushing off his attempt to get all real and vulnerable, he wasn’t showing it. “Maybe we should pay for the vase and head for the next place?”
“It’s a plan.” I started for the cash register—and stopped suddenly when I felt myself being tugged backward. I twisted around. “Wha—”
“You might want to leave the cape and beret, unless you’re planning on doing a little cosplaying yourself.”
“As what, an ice cream cone with a scoop of vanilla? I’ve never worn beige in my life.”
Shrugging off the cape, I folded it over my arm and put it back where it came from. By the time I caught up with Dash at the cash register, he was already paying for the vase.
I stuffed it into my tote and we strolled back out into the grimy street. I was going to need some sugar if I was going to make it through today. “Speaking of ice cream—want to go have a cone at the waterfront?”
“A cone? It’s not even eleven in the morning.”
“So? Haven’t you ever heard of a breakfast banana split? Made with three scoops of coffee-flavored ice cream?”
Dash looked scandalized. “What?”
“And whipped cream, and a little cereal sprinkled on top for crunch,” I added, laughing at Dash’s shudder. “Oh, don’t be so conventional. Breakfast is a societal construct.”