That was probably the reason why, despite her extreme privacy, she had given me a hint that his family was indeed in full-on crisis mode again. I stopped short of asking for his number—I figured when he was ready he might reach out to me. Every time the bell above the shop door jingled open, I prayed he’d step through it, but it never happened.
I was lost working at Fibers without him. There hadn’t been much left to do except attend to last-minute touches to prep for opening day, but in each corner I looked, he was there. From the filament strands wound around the pipes, the curtains that hung in the windows, to the shelves and the runway he’d built by hand, his presence was everywhere. I was lonely for him as I’d never been for any other guy.
Mom would’ve had a field day with that one. As it was, she’d been frustrated with me for being distant these past few weeks. I told her I was busy with the project and classes and felt bummed that I couldn’t confide in her about Blake—so I had my roommates to thank for trying to lift my spirits these past few days.
My mother had arrived to the sale early and was mingling with the other shop owners and Chamber of Commerce Committee members outside. She was poised and perfect and I’d always admired her natural charisma when it came to interacting with others. I usually had to work harder at it.
I’d admit it had felt good to see her utter astonishment about what I’d created, when she first stepped inside the store. And when she told me it looked incredible, my chest ballooned with pride.
She seemed hesitant around me today, though, as if we were navigating new territory together. One that didn’t include her knowing or commandeering every single facet of my life.
The fashion show was taking place at noon, when the street would be the most crowded from lunchtime traffic. Jaclyn was thrilled with my runway idea and I was able to secure some models from the School of Design. Jaclyn had called in all of her seasonal part-time help to work the sale, so there were more than enough hands to assist both inside and outside the shop.
Before I knew it, the morning had flown by and the models were showing up and heading to the back room to get instructions from the other classmates I’d roped into helping out with the show.
I’d been busy securing the edges of the runway with netting, but then I moved behind the desk to grab my notebook, which contained a running list of the day’s activities. I reached for my thin Sharpie to cross off the tasks I’d accomplished, and I noticed it lying uncapped on the counter.
I mentally scolded the person who had been so careless until I saw a yellow sticky note—fresh from my pack—sitting atop my pad. Words were scrawled across in red marker, and when I read them my chest constricted, my breaths faltering.
I’ve missed you.
I gazed toward the sidewalk, looking for the one person I’d hoped had written that note. But the street was only riddled with customers picking through the sales racks.
I lifted the notebook and paged through my event notes with shaky fingers. As I flipped the sheet over, I found another sticky note.
I’m sorry I’ve been gone. Things have been a mess at home. But I thought of you every minute of every day.
My bottom lip trembled in relief. I nearly burst into tears at his revelation.
But where in the hell was he now?
I felt something bulky on the next page and found yet another note.
I keep hoping you miss me just as much and that somehow—despite your very detailed life plans—we can make this work. Please say YES.
I closed my eyes as my chest practically burst open with emotion. I wanted so badly to make it work, and I’d only realized it at just that very moment. That what I’d been feeling so desperately these past few days was the yearning to be with him.
All the time.
Maybe Blake was outside waiting for the show to begin. I needed to find him immediately afterward. I hugged the notebook to my chest and heard Jaclyn’s voice ring out.
“Are we on schedule?” she said from the rear of the store. “The models and dressers need more direction back here.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, swallowing thickly. “It’s almost showtime.”
When I passed by her, I could’ve sworn I saw a glint in her eye.
The back room was bordering on chaos and I seized one moment to take a fortifying breath before stepping into the middle of the floor.
Despite my initial panic, I was feeling calmer in the center of this storm—thanks in part to Blake, for opening my eyes and daring me to see what was hidden inside myself.
“There you are,” Julie, one of my volunteer assistants, said. “I just wanted to double-check the order with you. Seems there’s been another change.” A model had bailed on us yesterday, but I was able to delete his number from the lineup.
“What kind of change?” The model in front of me was struggling with her shoe, so I bent down to help her adjust the strap. “I didn’t approve of anything.”
That was when I heard his voice. Low and throaty and raw. “Chloe.”
My head snapped up painfully as my heart battered in my chest.
Blake was as gorgeous as ever in his relaxed jeans with freshly washed hair.
His blue eyes bored into mine. “Can you tell me what I’ll be wearing?”
I straightened on shaky knees and brushed off my skirt. “What do you mean?”
“Aunt Jaclyn called,” he said. “She said you were down a male model and could use some help today.”
I scanned through the crowd in the back of the room and found Jaclyn, gathering some prize baskets for the sale. When her eyes met mine, she winked.
My gaze darted to the number ten rack that we had pushed to the side last night. The clothing I had pulled to dress that model still hung there and I pumped out a breath. I could definitely make this work.
As soon as the initial shock of seeing Blake wore off, I went into action mode. “Fit him in at the end of the lineup,” I threw over my shoulder to Julie. “Amanda can dress number three, but I’m dressing number ten.”
I led Blake to the tenth rack and pulled it from against the back wall.
“I was going to skip this number, but since you’re here . . . ,” I said, grinning like an idiot now. “What are you waiting for? Strip.”
He didn’t even bat an eyelash as he tugged his shirt over his head and then pushed his pants down so that he now faced me in his gray boxer briefs. Yep, he’d certainly done this modeling thing before. Hot damn.
I caught my breath as he slid on the pair of designer jeans I held out for him, which, of course, fit like a glove.
When he had them zipped up, I finally looked him in the eye, but I couldn’t help gaping at his lean chest and stomach.
His gaze stayed fixed on mine as he pulled on the tailored shirt and fastened all but the top three remaining buttons.
“Chloe.” He stepped into my personal space and I tried to act professional, but I struggled to manage any bit of self-control.
My fingers were trembling; that was how badly I wanted to touch him. “I . . . I’ve missed you, too.”
His thumb brushed over my cheek and I closed my eyes to revel in the feel of his skin coming in contact with mine. “So, does that mean yes?”
Now both hands held my face as he forced me to look at him. “Because not talking to you or seeing you really sucked,” he said. “And I wasn’t exactly sure where we stood . . . after all this was said and done.”
I swallowed roughly. “Is everything okay at home?”