Chapter 11
DESIRAE
I’m treating this charity event just like a New York fashion show, which means we’re having a full on dress rehearsal.
Backstage is chaos—the good kind—with dresses on portable racks, make-shift partitions for quick changes, the run of show tacked up on the wall with last minute additions penciled in.
My friend Isabella is a trouper, helping out with makeup and hairstyles; Emma’s taking charge like a drill sergeant, making sure everyone is lined up and ready, despite being in the show herself; and Joselyn is out front barking orders into a walkie-talkie.
My phone steadily pings as Joselyn sends me photos of what’s happening out front.
When I get a chance to take a quick breather, I scroll through them.
Everyone looks great, and the decorations all over the event barn are amazing.
Apparently, Jos is baiting me, as there are far more pictures of Stone than anyone else.
I can’t help but smile at the candid photos, Stone with his mother and some of the other models, including an adorable one of him stooping down low to converse with little Hailey.
The patience and gentleness emanating from the images contradicts his ruthless reputation and causes my heart to flutter traitorously.
I literally put a hand to my chest to calm the rapid beats.
Stop it! I will not lose my head over this man!
Once the rehearsal is over and I’ve put everything away and stored the dresses properly, I step out from behind the stage area.
Almost everyone has left the barn, but I spot Joselyn, her husband Brennen, and Stone, along with a gentleman I don’t recognize.
As I approach the group, I’m immediately drawn to Stone.
The closer I get, I can feel the warmth radiating from him, attracting me with its intensity.
He turns his attention from the group. “How’d everything go backstage?”
“As smoothly as it could, I suppose. How about out here?”
Joselyn grins. “Great! Everyone knows what to do. And if they forget, we’ll improvise!”
“Have we sold all of the tickets?”
“Yep, we are sold out! We’ve got people coming from as far as Palm Beach and Hibiscus Harbor. And we received some very generous corporate donations, thanks to Stone, Candace, and Ryan.”
“That’s fantastic!” I extend a hand toward the gentleman I don’t know. “Hello. I’m Desirae Russell.”
He clasps my hand firmly. “Please forgive my buddy for failing to introduce us.” He elbows Stone in the side. “I’m Kyle Carver, COO of Stone Development, and best friend of this asshole.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Joselyn adds, “Kyle is also Kristina’s dad.”
“Thank you so much for lending us Kristina. She’s a lovely girl.”
Jos turns to Stone. “Could you do me a favor? I need to take care of something, and Desirae rode over here with me. Would you mind taking her back to her car?”
I shoot daggers at Jos, silently calling her out for her not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. “That’s not necessary. I can call an uber real quick.”
He grins at Jos, as if they had it planned all along. “I don’t mind at all. Are you ready to go?”
Stone is a perfect gentleman as he escorts me to his car, opening the passenger door of his convertible and helping me inside.
I slide into the buttery soft leather seat, taking in the opulent interior of the metallic black BMW M8 Competition, the perfect combination of luxury and sports car.
Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he says, “It’s a beautiful night. Would you mind if I put the top down?”
“Not at all.”
As we leave the winery, I look up at the sky full of stars, so bright that I have no trouble making out the features of Stone’s handsome face in the moonlight, his strong jaw with just a touch of late evening scruff looking sexy.
My fingers itch with temptation, as I resist the urge to run them across his chin to feel the roughness that exudes masculinity.
I inhale deeply, the scent of the ocean salt air mingling with the grapes on the vines as we cruise down the lane toward the main road.
Even though the top is down and we’re outdoors, there’s a feeling of intimacy here in the car with Stone. I lean back into the soft seat and close my eyes, letting my mind wander.
He breaks the silence. “How about we take the overlook road back to your store?”
“Sure, that’ll be nice.”
As we drive along the coastline, the crash of the surf can be heard above the precision hum of the BMW’s engine.
It dawns on me that I don’t know much about Stone personally, other than the basic bio data I was able to glean from the internet, and whatever tidbits I got from Regina before I realized Stone was her son.
“Have you always lived in West Palm?”
“Yes. My mom raised me there with the help of my grandfather. What about you? Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Atlanta with my parents. My grandmother was a big part of my life, too. She taught me to sew, and she left me the money to start my own business.”
“My grandpa taught me about the value of investing in real estate and whetted my appetite for business. Seems we both had grandparents who steered us into a career path. So what brought you to Pelican Point?”
“Growing up in a big city, I wanted to establish myself in a place where I could put down some roots and get to know my neighbors and clients. When I found Pelican Point, it just felt right. And when I saw the Reilly building, I knew it was the perfect location for my shop. I’m a lover of all things vintage, including architecture.
What I’d really like to do is find an old coastal house or one of the beach bungalows to buy.
I’ve been so focused on my business that I haven’t had a chance to make a home that suits me.
My condo is nice and all, but it’s just not me. ”
Stone glances over and nods before returning his eyes to the road.
“I know what you mean. I actually miss the small town vibe that Palm Beach had when I was a boy. Believe it or not, it used to look much like Pelican Point before all of the businesses moved their headquarters south and the wealthy made it their playground.”
A few minutes later, Stone pulls up to the curb in front of my building, parking right next to my Volvo in the spaces that are angled toward the curb.
He turns to me, eyes smoldering, and I’m mesmerized.
It feels as if we’re the only two people in the world.
Without a word he leans in, and with no conscious effort, I feel a pull, as my upper body moves closer to him of its own accord.
In an instant, the blare of a horn in the distance ruins the moment.
My voice sounds uncharacteristically breathless to my own ears. “Thank you. For being there tonight and for the ride back.”
“My pleasure. I’m enjoying working with you.”
I smile, unable to help myself from confessing. “I’m enjoying working with you, too. Even though you’re supposed to be the enemy.”
He grins back. “What will it take to convince you that I mean no harm?”
“Don’t tear down my building.” Even though I’m still smiling, I’m dead serious. And more than a little disappointed when he doesn’t respond definitively. I place my hand on the door handle, the light moment lost like a feather floating away on a soft breeze. “I should go.”
Before I can open the door, he opens his. “Wait. Let me get the door for you.”
He jogs around and opens the passenger door, extending a hand to help me out. “Do you need to go inside for anything? I don’t want to leave you here alone at night.”
I realize he’s still holding my hand firmly in his.
It’s comforting, not controlling, the warmth enveloping me like a hug.
I’m not ready to break the connection, despite his non-response to my comment about the building.
Maybe I just need to work harder at convincing him of the value of tradition.
“Can I show you something inside?” It’s something I might have revealed that day I shared my vintage collection with him, had we not been interrupted by George.
“Sure.”
I unlock the front door with the original old-fashioned brass key. Once inside, I disable the alarm system, a modern necessity for this old structure. “I want to show you one of my favorite things about this building since you said you like vintage things, too. Follow me.”
I lead Stone toward the rear of the shop, back to the storage area, and then to the corner where there’s an internal door.
I release the hasp on the outside and open it, finding the light switch to illuminate the narrow set of wooden stairs.
I turn to see if Stone is still behind me and motion for him to follow me up.
“Should I be worried?” He asks, but I can tell he’s joking.
“What? Don’t you trust me?”
He chuckles in response.
When we reach the top, I flip another light switch which lights up the rear of the second floor.
Stone looks around, taking in the scene.
An old wooden bar sits along one wall, covered in dust. The art deco-style mirrors behind it are tarnished with age, and an old-fashioned cash register sits on the counter.
Tables and chairs are scattered about; a small raised area sits in another corner holding some metal sheet music stands, and there’s an old piano off to the side.
The rear windows are blacked out with paint so that you can’t see in or out.
Stone lets out a low whistle. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Well, if you’re guessing it’s a former speakeasy, you’d be right. You’re standing in the midst of history, courtesy of prohibition.”
“Amazing.” He steps over to the bar, running his hand along the cherry wood top. “I can just imagine one of my ancestors standing here and ordering a whiskey.” He points to the small raised stage in the corner. “And a four-piece jazz band playing over there.”
He walks back over to me and extends his hand. “May I have this dance, Ms. Russell?”
I was not expecting that! I place my hand in his, as he takes me in his arms and sways side-to-side, pulling me close.
I rest my head on his chest, inhaling the scent that is uniquely masculine, uniquely him.
The low melodic rumble emanating from him tickles my ear as he begins humming a tune.
A tune that I recognize from Nana’s old jazz record albums.
I lift my head from his chest, just enough to look up into his dark blue eyes, shining like brilliant sapphires.
“I know this song. It’s Billie Holiday. ‘As Time Goes By’.”
He doesn’t respond, simply lowers his mouth to mine. A sigh escapes me, as I’m transported to a place where it’s just the two of us.
But time isn’t going by.
It’s standing still.
This morning I wake up in a sweat, my sheets drenched, as my dreams alternated all night long between passionate kisses with Stone, and a fear that, like George, he’ll eventually find me too much to handle.
It doesn’t help matters that since George’s unexpected visit a few days ago, he’s been texting me constantly, begging me to meet him for lunch.
I finally give in, if nothing else to get him to stop, and to reaffirm that any affection for him is long gone.
Since there’s nothing in Pelican Point that meets George’s elitist standard of fine dining, and the Silver Willow in nearby Hibiscus Harbor was destroyed by a fire, I agree to meet him in West Palm.
And honestly, I don’t mind the drive if it means keeping George away from Pelican Point.
As soon as I sit down inside the outrageously expensive and trendy restaurant, George attempts to turn on the charm with a fake smile and ostentatious display of ordering the most expensive wine on the menu.
As long as it’s on his dime, I plan to savor every sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon that rivals the blends imported from France. However, with every word he says, the quality wine turns increasingly sour.
“Desirae, darling, I made a mistake letting you go. Why don’t we start fresh, move up north? You can open up a dress shop anywhere. We belong in New York City, or better yet, LA, where I can expand my financial portfolio.”
As usual, it’s all about George. Where he wants to be, where he can advance his career.
Never mind that I have one of my own. I suppose his little arm candy grew tired of him, or maybe he wasn’t able to keep her in the lifestyle she felt she deserved.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sniffing around me.
He thinks I’m a sure thing because we were engaged before and he’s too lazy to work on establishing a new relationship.
Regardless of the reason for his return, I have no interest in moving backward.
The sun streaming through the windows of the restaurant reflects on the crystal chandeliers overhead and the clear glass candle holder on the table, reminding me of the overly bright sparkle of the gaudy engagement ring I threw back at him years ago.
My life is so different now, and I’m perfectly satisfied.
Happy. Dependent on no one. I have no desire to spend any additional time with George, or in this place that does nothing for me.
Give me a fresh farm-to-table restaurant or a southern-style meal in an old coastal cottage.
I definitely need to walk out of here before George does something sneaky like trying to stick me with the bill once he realizes I’m no longer interested in him.
I rustle up the fakest smile I can muster and look him directly in the eye.
“George, you actually did me a favor when you cheated on me. You gave me the greatest gift ever. I got me back. I’ve learned to love myself. And I’ll never go back to the person I was when I was with you.”
With all the confidence in the world, I rise from my chair, square my shoulders, and walk out.
Once outside, I put on my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses to shield my eyes from the bright Florida sun.
I grin as I hear a whistle from down the block that I instinctively know is meant for me.
As I strut to my car with the conviction of a woman who’s comfortable in her own skin, I silently repeat the body-positive and self-assurance affirmations I learned in The Fat Girl’s Guide to Loving Your Body by K.L.
Montgomery, a fierce and fabulous author and librarian, who I designed a dress for several years ago:
Don’t focus on how you look—focus on how you feel.
Worth lies in your heart, mind, and soul.
And perhaps the most important:
There is no such thing as a perfect person, body, or relationship.