12. Avery
Chapter twelve
Avery
The steady click of the wall clock is beginning to sound like a countdown timer.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I blink hard, trying to clear the gritty, gross sensation from my eyes.
The downstairs studio of Beauty and the Boutique is silent, save for that fucking clock and the low, heavy hum of the steam iron resting on its silicon pad.
It is twenty minutes past midnight. Outside the glass windows, Main Street is dark.
The majority of small-town Foggy Basin having gone to sleep hours ago.
But I’m wide awake, running on a dangerous combination of iced coffee, panic, and adrenaline.
Scott Woods arrives in exactly nine days.
"Avery, darling, you need to take a break," Ezra says, appearing in front of me.
I look up from the cutting table. Ezra is leaning against the pillar on the opposite side of the studio, holding a ceramic mug.
Unlike me, he doesn't look like a manic hot mess.
His stylish romper is still wrinkle free, and his hair is perfectly styled.
How the hell can he be so calm this close to the deadline?
"Don’t have time for a break," I say, my voice rough. I run a hand through my messy dark hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "Look at this bias-cut hem. Just look at it. The silk is rippling."
I point a finger down at the amber gown pinned to the central cutting island.
It’s the centerpiece of our ‘Honey you created an entire concept. "
He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly.
"I have been running this boutique for a long time," Ezra continues.
"And before you got here, I was stuck. I was designing standard, beautiful city couture because it was safe. It was what I knew. What I used to love. But when you brought your vision into this studio and pitched the wax-resist technique and pushed us to capture the soul of Foggy Basin—you breathed life back into my work. I’m incredibly grateful to be working with you.
You are my equal partner in this, and whatever Scott writes, it cannot change the fact that this collection is the finest work either of us has ever produced. "
A tear finally slips down my cheek, thick and hot. I wipe it away quickly with the back of my hand, my throat tight with emotion. "Thank you, Ezra. That... that means a lot. Truly."
"Good," Ezra smiles, patting my shoulder before stepping back toward the stairs. "Now, I’m going home before Olly storms in here and tosses me over his shoulder. I suggest you do the same. Everything will still be here tomorrow morning."
"I just want to try one more test strip," I say, offering him a tired, appreciative smile. "I'll head to bed soon."
"Don't make me call Gideon and have him carry you upstairs," Ezra warns playfully before walking out.
The studio plunges back into silence. Usually, I have my music playing while I design, but lately, I’ve needed the silence to focus.
I let out a long breath, staring down at the silk.
My creative brain is hitting a wall. I plug the electric wax pot back in, waiting for a fresh block of refined sunflower wax to melt down, but my eyes are blinking slowly from fatigue.
I try to hold a scrap piece of silk taut against the island, but without a second pair of hands to maintain the tension, the fabric shifts, causing the hot wax to smear unevenly.
“Fuck,” I say out loud as I drop the brush onto the tray and place my head into my hands. The pressure feels like a physical weight crushing my ribs. I’m so fucking tired.
The soft, heavy click of the studio’s back door opening makes me jump.
I snap my head around, my defensive instincts kicking in. The fear vanishes the exact second I spot the handsome man in front of me.
Gideon.
He’s wearing a dark button-up shirt, his wavy black hair slightly messy. In one of his hands he’s carrying a large, insulated thermos. In the other, he is holding a small wooden crate containing three freshly molded refined blocks of golden beeswax.
He stops several feet away and studies me—probably noting my tired face and manic look. A frown immediately draws his thick eyebrows together with concern. "You're still down here.”
"Gid," I breathe, stepping away from the table. "What are you doing here? It's past midnight."
"I saw the lights from the road," Gideon says, setting the heavy wooden crate on the floor and walking over to the island.
He places the thermos on the table, unscrewing the top to reveal the steaming, fragrant scent of honey and ginger.
"It’s hot salabat with honey. Ma made this before she went to sleep.
We figured you would be stubborn tonight. I brought more wax, too."
He steps into my space, his tall frame towering over me. He reaches out, and his large palms cup my jaw gently. His warm skin is radiating a heat that instantly makes me want to lean into him and desperately take the comfort he’s offering.
"You look tired," he murmurs softly. His thick thumb wipes away the dry tracks of my tears. "You need to rest, babe."
God, I love it when he calls me babe.
"I can't," I choke out, my fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his heavy jacket.
"The wax is cooling too fast. It's rippling because I can't hold the silk taut and apply the wax at the exact same time.
If the temperature isn't perfectly regulated, the whole drape is ruined.
Scott is going to see it. He's going to tell everyone I failed. "
“Fuck Scott,” He murmurs under his breath, causing me to giggle.
Gideon doesn't say another word. He just looks at me, his brown eyes unwavering with something I can’t name.
Gideon lets out a heavy sigh, and steps back.
He rolls his dark sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the thick, powerful muscles of his forearms. Honestly, it’s a sight I can get used to for the rest of my life.
"Show me what to do," he commands quietly.
"What?" I blink, confused.
"Show me what to do," Gideon repeats, stepping up to the opposite side of the cutting island, directly across from me.
He places his hands flat against the table, looking down at the pretty silk.
"I have steady hands. I can help. I hold frames of bees every day without moving. Tell me how to help you."
A sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth floods my chest. He isn’t making me stop. He isn’t calling me crazy or trying to convince me to take a breather. That terrifying weight of the deadline suddenly feels manageable. Because of him. Because he is standing here, willing to help.
"Okay," I whisper. "You need to grip the fabric right at this seam here. Pull it toward you, but don't stretch it so hard that it distorts. Just keep the grain line perfectly straight while I draw the wax along the border."
"Like this?" Gideon asks, his large fingers lightly pulling the edges of the silk. He applies pressure, and I’m momentarily distracted by his muscles tightening. The fabric instantly locks into place, smooth and taut.
"Yes. Perfect," I breathe, amazed by his precision. "Exactly like that. Don't move, love."
"I won't," he promises, his eyes locking onto mine.
My lips part with shock, and I know we’re sharing a moment, but I can’t let this opportunity go to waste. I dip the brush into the fresh, hot batch of golden beeswax. Because Gideon is holding the fabric stable, I don't have to fumble or rush.
I trace the brush along the hemline. The wax glides across the amber silk like liquid gold, absorbing instantly into the fibers without a single clump or ripple. The border immediately stiffens into a flawless, sculptural edge that catches the light beautifully.
"Oh my god," I gasp. A wide, probably manic smile breaks across my face. "Gid, look! It's fucking perfect. The line is clean. You amazing, handsome man."
"Keep going," Gideon chuckles. He shifts his grip down the material, his movements synchronized with mine. "I've got you."
For the next hour, we work together in silence. Gideon handles the heavy, delicate fabric with the care he uses in his apiary, his hands working in perfect tandem with my shears and brushstrokes.
The stress of Scott Woods and his upcoming visit completely evaporate. Right here and now, there’s only Gideon, me, and the rhythm of our work.
The intense focus on his handsome face, the way his muscular arms shift as he holds the fabric, and the quiet, protective strength radiating off his body has my heart filling until it feels… heavy with love. He’s protecting my dream, he’s caring for me. Supporting me.
When the final panel of the amber silk gown is finally finished and the wax is setting into a architectural frame, I drop the brush into the water tray and let out a relieved laugh.
"Holy shit. We did it," I whisper. "It's perfect, Gid. Thank you!"
Gideon lets go of the fabric and rushes around the massive wooden table until he’s standing directly in front of me. His dark eyes are burning with heat. The look fucking undoes me and takes my breath away.
"Avery," he groans, as if reading my mind.
Before I can reply, his large hands grip my waist and lift me effortlessly, setting me down right onto the smooth wood of the cutting table. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my hands flying to his shoulders as he crowds between my knees, his body pressing against mine.
"Gid," I gasp, my cock growing hard in my pants.
"You are so fucking beautiful, Avery," Gideon confesses against my lips, his thick fingers tangling into my hair. "Watching how brilliant of a designer you are… I can't take it anymore. I need to kiss you."
"Yes. Kiss me, please," I beg.
When his lips meet mine, I whimper, falling apart under his touch.
Our tongues meet in this desperate, possessive hunger.
I pull him closer, panting heavily as his massive hands grip my hips.
The delicious combination of his weight and bulk completely consumes me as we begin to grind against each other.
Stepping back, he glances down at my cock tenting my pants. He smirks, the cocky bastard. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t shy behind closed doors.
“Looks like we might need to take care of that.” His lips trail a path down to a spot on my neck that makes me whimper. All while his fingers work my pants open. I’m trembling by the time he pulls my hard cock out.
“Wha—what about you?” I ask, even though it sounds more like I’m begging.
Pulling back he tugs his own cock free and holds up the world’s tiniest bottle of lube. I bark out a laugh. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Came prepared,” he replies, voice rough. He snaps the cap open and uses most of its contents to coat our lengths before lining us up together. The slick glide of his fingers and the silky skin of his cock is almost too much. There’s no way I’m going to last.
“Oh fuck. Are we really doing this? Right here in the studio?” I glance around, making sure all the designs, sketches and materials are out of the way. All this hard work… I’d die if we got jizz on anything important.
“We can move this upstairs if you would prefer. But that means locking up first.” His fingers stroke over my tip, making it really fucking hard to think. I know there’s probably a good reason I should stop things, but for the life of me, I can’t think of any.
My eyes widen. “No. No, please don’t stop.” I beg, thrusting my hips forward so our dicks rub together in a desperate attempt to keep him here.
“That’s what I thought.” He chuckles.
Fucking tease. “Please, Gideon. Keep going. More.”
“Hold still, babe,” he commands. “Just feel. I want you coming apart against me.” His large, rough fingers wrap around the both of us.
The image in front of me is so obscene, I can’t look away.
We’re both so hard and thick, he isn’t able to make his fingers meet.
It’s a sight I want to remember forever; his deep, golden-tanned skin pressed seamlessly against my pale cock, every inch of contact sending fire thrumming through my veins.
Gripping his shoulders, I crash my lips back to his as he jerks us off. It only takes several strokes before I’m arching my back, my whole body taught. Thick ropes of cum spill into his hand, causing Gideon to groan. He uses my mess to continue stroking until he comes right after me.
We stay like that for a long moment. Both of us are panting, while I murmur sensual, dirty words against his ear. If I had it my way, we would be ready for round two by the time we lock up and settle upstairs.
He pulls back just an inch, his hot breath brushing my wet lips, both of us breathing heavily in the quiet room. He looks up into my brown eyes, his face serious, his dark gaze completely filled with devotion.
"You’re going to blow his mind, Avery," Gideon says, his voice steady and sure. "This collection is a damn masterpiece. And if that asshole tries to say otherwise, he'll have to answer to me."
I bark out a laugh, my heart overflowing. I lean forward and press my lips against his jaw. "You totally would kick his ass, wouldn’t you?"
"Damn straight.”