Chapter 12 #2
She paused at the bottom of the steps, blinking a little in the sunlight. She was wearing the same sword earrings from last night, and her winged eyeliner was as perfect as it had been then. “Mariel, right?”
Her knowing gaze transferred to Dash.
I introduced him, adding, “Dash, this is Aria, our friendly neighborhood psychic.”
Dash was shaking her hand when the door opened again and out came Shy from the bookstore, holding Kitty Marlowe against their chest in what looked like a baby sling made out of a silk scarf patterned with ice cream cones.
Aria’s face tilted up in a way that reminded me of a sunflower following the light. “This is my spouse, Shy.”
“Oh, we’re old friends,” I said, smiling at Shy as I gave Kitty Marlowe a cautious pat with the tip of my index finger.
Dash and Shy exchanged greetings, explaining to Aria that they knew each other from the store and laughing over how much of a small town New York City could be sometimes.
“I call it Manhattan magic,” Shy said. “Sometimes you can spend a day running from one borough to another and never see a soul you know—and sometimes all it takes to run into everyone you’ve ever met is a two-block walk.”
“I know what you mean.” Dash reached for my fingers and gave them a squeeze. “It’s like the city knows what you need at any given moment.”
This whole moment felt serendipitous to me. We did all live in the same neighborhood, so maybe it wasn’t that weird, but how often had the four of us passed each other in the street or hung out in the same coffee shops without knowing how our lives were intertwined?
“What are you guys up to today?” I asked, partially to put off the moment when Dash and I had to be alone together again.
Shy made a face. “It’s time to refresh the store windows again—”
“So I’m dragging Shy to brunch and forcing them to sit down and come up with new ideas,” Aria put in, looking a little grim. “Even if it kills us both.”
“Am I the only one who thinks designing store windows sounds like a good time?” Dash asked with a tilt to his eyebrows that reminded me of when he was desperate for another cup of coffee but had already had three.
I took one look at the naked longing in Dash’s face and blurted out, “Dash went to art school. He could help you out.”
Mortification burned through me when my brain caught up with my mouth a half second too late, and I glanced over at Dash to apologize for volunteering his services. But he was actually nodding, a hopeful twist to the corners of his mouth.
“I would like to, yeah,” he told Shy. “I could put together a few sketches tonight if you wanted me to.”
Shy brightened up like a little kid who had just been informed that someone else would be doing their math homework. “I want you to!”
Aria pushed a strand of bright blue hair behind her ear. “No exaggeration, you guys might have just saved our marriage. Why don’t you let us buy you dinner tomorrow night? If you don’t have any plans already.”
“We’d love to,” I blurted out again, and Dash confirmed his agreement with a nod and a smile.
As he and Aria exchanged numbers and agreed to go over the details over text, I felt Dash’s fingers brush questioningly against mine again. I didn’t want to brush him off again, so I hooked my pinkie around his and gave it a friendly tug.
The four of us chatted for another few minutes, then Shy said, “Are both of you coming to burlesque night?”
My heart gave a little squeeze of apprehension at having to make plans ahead of time, and I disentangled my fingers from Dash’s. But Dash just nodded, as if it wasn’t that big a deal. Maybe it wasn’t for someone like him.
“I told Chase I’d be there.” He turned to me. “I guess we hadn’t talked about it, but I was definitely hoping you’d come with me.”
“Sure,” I said brightly, avoiding his gaze and Aria’s. “Sounds like fun! Bring it on!” My manic word shower slowed down enough for my thoughts to catch up. “Actually… you know, my cousin Yaz is coming for a visit that week. I’m sure she’ll want to come along, too.”
“The more, the merrier,” Shy said.
They and Aria were going in the opposite direction as Dash and me, so we said our goodbyes and continued on our way. For some reason, I couldn’t quite shake the thought of Yaz off my mind, and when I glanced at my phone I realized why.
“That’s weird,” I said with a frown. “Yaz hasn’t texted me since yesterday and she always checks in as soon as she’s up for the day. Do you mind if I give her a quick call?”
Dash shook his head. “You need privacy?”
“No, that’s fine. It’ll be quick.” I pulled up my recent calls and tapped on her name, waiting only a few seconds before Yaz picked up. “Hey, girl. Haven’t heard from you today.”
“Mariel, can I call you back?” Yaz said, sounding harried.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just… It’s chaotic at work today. Talk soon.”
She hung up before I had a chance to say anything. I frowned down at my phone for long enough that Dash had to ask me what was wrong.
“I’m not sure,” I said slowly.
I mean, she was exasperated that I had refused to follow her advice and instead swerved into another pivot. But that didn’t really seem like enough to make her skip out on our daily calls.
I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d decided she’d had more than enough of keeping me on the right track. After twenty-six years, even the most dedicated person was bound to get tired of babysitting someone their own age. Or maybe I was just overthinking it and she was just busy?
We reached Dash’s building, and as we headed up the stairs, I told myself to get a grip.
Yaz was probably fine, just overworked. And probably pissed to be spending yet another weekend morning at the office.
She spent so much time on the phone with me during the workweek, sometimes I forgot she was a first-year associate with a whole fiancée to come home to.
It was a good thing that she was taking time to deal with her own stuff.
And anyway, I was going to see her in just over a week. Whatever she was going through—if she was even going through something—we’d be able to talk it out in person pretty soon.
Dash was so quiet the rest of the way back to his apartment that I was half-afraid that he had only agreed to help Shy with their windows out of politeness. As soon as the door closed behind us, though, he stepped right up to me and gathered me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Uh, what’s going on?” I asked, my voice muffled by his chest.
“Nothing much, except that I’ve been working up the courage to say something to Shy for weeks. The store may be great, but the windows are a mess and I wasn’t really sure how to tell Shy without offending them.” Dash pulled back just enough for his laugh to curl pleasantly around me. “Thanks.”
“This is the first time someone’s thanked me for being an impulsive busybody,” I remarked.
“Then you should keep hanging out with me, because I happen to really like impulsive busybodies.”
“You’re really not mad?”
“Mad? I’m excited is what I am. I like making things for people to look at.
Do you know how many ideas I have for the windows of a romance bookstore?
” He cast a longing glance toward his dining table.
The remains of last night’s interrupted dinner had been cleared away, and his tablet and stylus lay where his plate had been, as if he’d tried to distract himself before going after me.
“I’d start sketching right now, if we didn’t have content to shoot. ”
I straightened up the makeshift set while Dash changed into his Duke of Harding costume.
He had to take his boxers off to slip into the snug breeches, and I couldn’t help casting an admiring glance at the smooth, pale muscles of his thighs, drinking in the light like his body had been made to stand in it.
Dash caught me ogling him and flexed.
“Show off,” I said, tossing him his shirt.
He flashed me a grin as he caught it. Pulling it over his shoulders on his way to the mirror, he stopped doing up the buttons to look at his reflection. “Shirt on or off?”
I cocked my head. “Depends on what you’re filming first.”
“I was thinking maybe the scene we were working on yesterday morning. I finished memorizing it while you were in the shower.”
In it, the Duke and his secretly wanton wallflower meet up for a tryst and he gives her—along with the viewer—instructions on how to touch their body.
It was one of the most explicit things I’d ever written, and it had helped that he’d been in the Google Doc with me as I wrote it, chiming in with suggestions.
I considered the question for a moment. “Shirt on,” I said. “How do you feel about taking off the waistcoat and cravat as you say the lines?”
He gave a slow nod. “A little nineteenth-century striptease? I’m intrigued.”
He quickly set up the lighting and adjusted the camera on its tripod, while I moved the vase off the table since we’d forgotten to stop for fresh flowers. Then he sat down, and I went to stand behind the camera as I watched him morph into the Duke.
“There you are,” he said, hitting exactly the right mix of warmth and lust as he gazed into the lens.
He was sitting back in the pink armchair with his hands resting loosely on its upholstered arms, looking extremely regal and about as fuckable.
“I was worried you would change your mind about meeting me—that it would be too scandalous for someone as respectable as you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head down to give the camera a coy, seductive look. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of all the things I want to do to you. Do you want me to tell you?”
Waiting a beat as if for somebody’s answer, he twisted his lips into a little smirk. “I knew you would. You aren’t as prim as you’d have everyone believe.”
He began loosening his cravat, all the while speaking in a smooth, husky voice that felt like sipping from a glass of really expensive whiskey.