9. Avery
Chapter nine
Avery
“Like this?” I ask, my eyes focused on the pretty material in front of me.
The rhythmic snap of shears cutting through heavy silk is the only sound inside the studio of Beauty and the Boutique.
A warm afternoon breeze drifts through the open back window, bringing with it the faint, earthy scent of the valley, but my focus is entirely locked onto the cutting table.
"More to the left, Avery," Ezra says, leaning over the side of the massive wooden island.
His tape measure is draped over his shoulders like a silver scarf, his dark eyes narrowed in deep concentration.
"The cut on this piece needs to drape flawlessly from the hip.
If the line is even a millimeter off, the wax treatment will make the hem wrinkle instead of structure. "
"I see it," I murmur, adjusting my grip on the fabric. I hold my breath, sliding the heavy shears through the rich, golden material. The silk parts like water, falling away into a perfect, clean curve. I let out a slow breath, my shoulders dropping slightly.
I bite my lip. "How’s that?"
Ezra leans down, his fingers lightly smoothing over the cut edge. A brilliant smile breaks across his face, and he taps the table with his knuckles. "Perfection, babe. Your hand is getting steadier. The stress is officially leaving your muscles."
"That might have something to do with a massage I got from a certain beefarmer," I tease softly, a heavy flush of heat rushing straight to my cheeks as my mind instantly flashes back to the other night. I can still feel the phantom weight of Gideon’s hands pressing into my lower back, the sticky, sweet scent of honey-lavender oil filling my small apartment while Arcade Lake blasted from the speaker to drown out my loud, breathless moans.
Ezra lets out a dramatic, knowing chuckle, plucking a stray pin from his velvet pin-cushion.
"Oh, please. Kai already filled me in on the fact that our resident giant spent the entire day off up in your apartment. I’m your boss, Avery, but I’m also your friend.
You look glowing. Whatever the hell that man is doing to you is clearly good for your health. "
"We just watched movies," I say quickly.
"Mmmhmm. Of course you did," Ezra says, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he begins pinning the silk panel to a linen dress form. "And I’m sure the movies were incredibly… educational. But let’s keep that beautiful brain focused for just a few more hours.
Scott Woods sent an email this morning confirming his flight details.
We have exactly two and a half weeks before he steps through that front door. "
I suck in a harsh breath. The mention of Scott’s name instantly brings back a familiar, cold spike of anxiety.
I look over at the mood board pinned to the wall.
Swatches of heavy silk, sketches of sharp, tailored blazers, and small jars of Gideon's refined beeswax are arranged in a tight, meticulous grid.
The collection is beautiful, but it is a massive gamble.
"Do you think he'll get it?" I ask softly, tracing the edge of a silk swatch. "The wax-resist hemlines and the wax designs? It's a completely different texture than anything he's used to seeing on any runway."
Ezra stops pinning. He walks around the table, his expression turning serious and oddly reassuring.
He places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.
"Scott is a cynical, ladder-climbing critic, Avery.
He wants to see us fail because it validates his own miserable life.
He has given many of my friends horrible reviews.
But he isn't blind. When he sees the way this wax gives fluid silk a structural silhouette—something that can literally only be created using the raw materials like this—he won't be able to say a word. We’re going to freaking blow him away. "
I nod, taking comfort in his confidence. "Yeah. You’re totally right. We are."
For the next four hours, Ezra and I work together seamlessly.
The studio becomes a blur of activity. I manage the large sewing machine, the steady click-click-click of the needle echoing through the studio as I assemble the seams of the first three garments.
Ezra follows right behind me, using a specialized heating tool to prep the fabric for the wax applications.
God, I can’t believe this is my life; working for my idol in a cozy small town, while dating my one-night stand.
My bestie was right. I’m living in a damn romance.
We don't talk much, lost in our work. This is my element. This is the work I loved before becoming a fashion reporter for Dee Rama Magazine. I don’t want to write about fashion, I want to create it. And here, with Ezra, every stitch feels like art.
By the time the clock on the wall ticks past six, my back is aching and my fingers are stained with a faint trace of fabric dye. The sun has softened into a deep, purple and amber sunset.
"That’s a wrap for today," Ezra announces as he stretches. His arms lift over his head, and his yellow crop top rises higher, showing off a toned stomach. "My eyes are practically crossing.” He laughs. “Go wash up, Avery. You've earned a quiet evening off.”
"Thanks. You too, Ezra," I say, switching off the light on my sewing machine.
I head back up to my apartment, stripping off my work shirt and throwing it into the laundry hamper.
I wash my hands and face in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My well-trimmed scruff has officially turned into a beard, and my dark hair is slightly messy, but there is a genuine, relaxed brightness in my eyes that I haven't seen in years.
After I shower and shave, I head to my bedroom to change, wondering what my sexy bee farmer is up to. Just as I’m pulling a clean shirt over my shoulders, a heavy, solid knock sounds at my front door.
My heart skips a beat. Kai is still out with Hayes, which means it can only be one person.
I hurry into the living room and pull the door open.
Gideon is standing on the landing, and the sight of him takes my breath away.
He’s wearing a dark navy blue shirt that stretches across his muscular chest and broad shoulders.
His dark jeans are brand new, and his wavy black hair is neatly combed back, still damp from a recent shower.
He smells so fucking good. It’s a clean, intoxicating mix of cedarwood, expensive cologne, and the faint, permanent sweetness of fresh honey.
He looks down at me, his eyes studying my face with this raw possessive vibe that looks like he either wants to devour me, or swoop me up into his arms and protect me forever. I’m good with both.
"Hey, you." His deep voice sends shiver straight down my spine.
"Hey," I breathe, leaning against the doorframe with a helpless smile breaking across my face. I glance up into his brown eyes, appreciating our size difference. "Look at you. You look... wow, Gideon. You look hot." So fucking hot.
Gideon rubs the back of his neck, flustered by the compliment. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath. "I clean up okay. I know I usually look like I just crawled out of a hive."
"I always love how you look, no matter where you’re crawling out from under," I tease, stepping closer to him. My voice drops into a playful whisper. "But this is definitely a very, very good look for you. What are you doing here?"
Gideon reaches into his front pocket, his fingers twitching slightly before he pulls out a small, beautifully folded piece of heavy parchment paper. He hands it to me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, steady focus.
"I told you the other day that I wanted to help you. That means I also want to take care of you," he says. "And I told you I wanted to do this right. Well… this is our first official date."
I unfold the paper.
In neat handwriting, there’s a note: The Celestial Cask. 7:00 PM. Everything will be ready for you and Avery to pick up.
My heart flips. "The meadery? Gid, this is amazing. I’ve been dying to try their meads ever since you mentioned they sourced your honey."
"Yup. My family and I supply the honey for their seasonal reserves and some of their specialties," Gideon explains, a small, proud smile finally breaking through his serious expression.
"The owner is a friend of mine. He set up a private table for us in the orchards.
If... if you're not too tired from working all day? "
"I’m never too tired for you," I say instantly, grabbing my wallet and keys from the counter. I step out onto the landing and lock my door, turning to face him. "Lead the way, Honey Bear."
The drive out to the meadery is beautiful.
The valley is bathed in glowing embers of the sunset, the sky a stunning mix of pink and orange.
Gideon drives his truck with a calm, effortless confidence, one of his large hands resting casually on the steering wheel.
Cool evening air rushes through the open windows, and I can’t help but steal sneaky glances at him.
The Celestial Cask isn’t too far from Honey Meets Pandesal. The main building is beautiful, and off in the distance I can see Gideon’s field of sunflowers.
He parks the truck and hops out. Walking around to my side, he opens the door before I can even reach for the handle. “Such a gentleman.” I smirk.
Gideon offers me his hand, his calloused palm sliding against mine as he helps me step down onto the gravel path.
He doesn't let go of my hand once I'm down.
His thick fingers entwine with mine, his grip firm and possessive, sending a wave of warmth to my core.
I give his hand an appreciative squeeze.
We walk past the main tasting room, bypassing the small crowds of locals laughing near the bar. A handsome man named Callum spots Gideon, offering a warm nod, before leading us toward the back. Paxton, the owner greets us and helps us pack a few boxes in the truck.