41. Alexis #2
I settle into the queue, zoning out as my eyes drift over the chalkboard menu written in colorful, looping script. I’m not really reading it. I already know what I want. The caprese salad is my go-to. My mind wanders, and I let it. For the first time in days, the distraction isn’t unpleasant.
Then a lightly accented voice cuts through my reverie.
“Excuse me, Alexis? Alexis Beaumont?”
The sound of my full name startles me. I straighten, snapping out of my daze, and turn to find the source.
Standing behind me is a tall man with sun-kissed skin and side-swept black hair that’s just tousled enough to look effortlessly cool.
A faint shadow of stubble dusts his strong jaw, and when our eyes meet, he flashes a warm, easy smile that lights up his face.
“I thought so. I recognized you from your FlashUp content.”
My heart skips a beat, caught between flattery and awkwardness. I knew the Fashion For All series was doing well online, but I’ve never actually been recognized in public before now. I have no script for this situation.
“Oh,” I stammer, flustered. I shift my weight and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Um. Thanks, I guess?”
He laughs. “Not used to the spotlight?”
“No,” I say apologetically. “This is actually the first time this has happened to me.”
“Don’t worry, I mean it as a compliment. I followed you religiously for a while. Your work is really amazing.”
I offer him a more genuine smile. “Thanks. That means a lot. You a fashion buff?”
“Project Runway used to be a guilty pleasure,” he says. “Then I got less guilty about it once I realized that straight guys can appreciate fashion too.”
“Well, you’re certainly well-dressed,” I say.
It’s true. He wears a perfectly fitted navy linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, paired with stone-washed jeans.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I cringe.
Oh, fuck, that was such an awkward thing to say. What the hell is wrong with me?
Luckily, he just laughs. “Coming from you, I’ve got to appreciate that.”
“Have you been able to come by the warehouse yet?”
“Not yet,” he says. “I just got back into town a couple days ago. I’m definitely planning to swing by, though. I mean, I’m not a designer, but—”
“You’re not a designer yet, “ I point out.
“Right.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t forget who I’m talking to.”
There’s something disarming about his casual, friendly demeanor. For a moment, I almost manage to forget the heaviness that’s been weighing me down all week.
“What’s your name?” I ask, curious.
“Drew,” he says. He holds out a hand, and I shake it. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say with a grin. “I’d tell you my name, but…”
“Yeah. No need.” He winks at me, which makes heat rise in my cheeks.
“God, that’s going to take some getting used to,” I say meekly. “People don’t usually recognize me.”
“Oh, that’s bound to change. The Fashion For All stuff had close to a million regular viewers. People could tell it was the real deal.”
“Thanks,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I hope that’s true. Fashion For All is the first thing I’ve done that really feels real. You know?”
Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “You were working for Vérité before, right?”
“That’s… one way to put it,” I say with a grimace.
His smirk is knowing. “No wonder this feels different. No offense to Vérité, but all I think of is size double zero, sharp cheekbones, and no smiles allowed.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “It wasn’t exactly my scene,” I admit.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve found your scene,” he says with a smile. I can tell he’s hitting on me, but the attention is sort of nice. Between the flirtatious stranger, the morning’s work, and the smell of coffee grounds in the air, it’s probably the best day I’ve had this week.
And then, like a glass shattering against tile, it all comes crashing down.
“Hey. Romeo. This is a food stand, not a fucking meat market.”
It’s Gabriel. He’s standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in that infuriatingly stern way he has when he’s annoyed.
My stomach twists, the lightness I’d felt just moments ago vanishing like steam from a hot cup of coffee. What is he doing here?
Drew glances between Gabriel and me. He seems to notice the look of recognition in my eyes. “Friend of yours?”
Gabriel huffs. There’s an edge to his voice as he says, “Take your pitch somewhere else. She’s not interested.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. Heat flares in my cheeks again, but this time it’s from anger, not shyness.
Drew straightens, clearly caught off guard but trying to maintain his composure. “I wasn’t pitching anything. We were just talking.”
Gabriel’s steely gray eyes narrow. “Right. And I’m just telling you to get lost.”
“Gabriel,” I hiss, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension. It snaps his attention to me like a magnet. My stomach churns with a toxic mix of humiliation and fury.
“Are you okay?” Drew asks in a carrying whisper. “Is this guy, like…”
“It’s fine,” I grit out. It’s not fine, but I don’t want this random well-meaning stranger to think Gabriel is dangerous. He’s infuriating, but he’s not a threat to me. Of that much, at least, I’m certain.
Drew hesitates, clearly not convinced, but he lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll let you two… talk.” He steps around me.