When We Met

chapter one

Chloe

I flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED and breathed a sigh of relief.

A bunch of college freshman had just stormed in last minute, trying on everything in creation, and then walked right out having purchased nothing. And now I was left to clean up their mess. I began by straightening the rows of cotton shirts on the front table and then I’d head back to tackle the dressing rooms.

A tap on the glass door startled me. I turned to see Blake-freaking-Davis standing outside, and my shoulders immediately stiffened. Perfectly square jaw, flawless body, and gorgeous caramel eyes. I dipped my head, focusing my attention on the shirt I was folding so he wouldn’t catch my exaggerated eye roll.

He usually walked around with a cocky grin and no-cares-in-the-world attitude—except when he was sharing the same air space as me. Tonight his teeth were clenched and he appeared to be biting the inside of his cheek to keep his pained expression neutral.

The feeling is mutual, baby.

I grabbed the keys off the counter and sized up his flannel shirt, frayed cutoffs, and black work boots as I swung open the door. He must’ve just gotten off his shift.

“Jaclyn’s not here,” I said briskly. Jaclyn was Blake’s aunt and the owner of the shop.

“I figured,” he said, twirling his keys in his hand. “I’m a few minutes early.”

“Early for what?” I bit out. “It’s closing time.”

“She asked me to meet her here about some project.” Blake did odd jobs for Jaclyn from time to time, so that information didn’t surprise me. But usually it was on the weekend when he was free from his construction job.

“Oh . . .” I stepped back to allow him entrance. “You can wait for her.”

“No, you know what?” he said, edging away from the door. “Since I have extra time I’ll swing by Common Grounds to grab a coffee. Be right back.”

I knew Common Grounds well, since I made it my daily mission to consume as much of their iced hazelnut coffee as possible.

I was just about to push the door shut when he twisted back to look at me. “Do you, uh . . . want something?”

My jaw dropped open. First, because this was the most he’d spoken to me in like ever. Usually we just ignored each other. And second, because he was actually being considerate. “No, I’m good.”

Once he was gone, I worked faster on the vintage tees table so that I could leave more quickly. The less time I had to spend with Blake, the better.

Smoothing out a Beatles T-shirt, I folded back both sleeves before creasing the sides in the exact way my grandmother had taught me years ago. I was raised in her home after my mother had become pregnant with me and left her fashion career behind.

I’d practically memorized all of my mother’s portfolios, and the looks she’d created for the models in those shoots had been timeless. When the craze was low-riding pants, she’d put them in men’s high-waist trousers—and pulled it off. I planned on following in her footsteps. It was what was expected of me.

Luckily we shared the same passion for style. If we didn’t, I’d feel way more pressure from her than I already did to pick up where she’d left off.

I loved working at Threads and was thrilled that my professor approved it as internship credit. I needed the cash; plus it helped me keep my finger on the pulse of the industry. And Threads offered a little of everything I loved—new styles mixed with trends that stood the test of time.

Those freshmen who’d blown through here earlier didn’t appreciate vintage for what it was—they thought it was just a fad. But sporting a sixties Chanel skirt and handbag was like creating fresh art in my book. Thankfully my mother and I wore the same size. She had retained her closet full of originals from back in her heyday as a wardrobe stylist in New York.

I’d never met my father, but given the hushed conversations over the past several years between the strong and independent women in my life, I thought that he was a deadbeat. My mother didn’t feel men were a necessity, and I couldn’t agree more. They were fun to make out with and hook up with. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even experienced that hookup part in more than a year, but I could live with that. I was way too busy anyway.

Plus my mother would’ve gotten on my case about having a boyfriend before I finished my degree. She liked to stick her nose in every facet of my life in order to keep me on the right path. Which was sometimes her path. But I only had to suffer through it for another year of school before I moved to New York City to stretch my own wings.

I couldn’t stand to leave the front tables disheveled. So I finished that task before I sorted through cash register receipts one last time. Soon I’d be walking back to the campus housing I shared with my three roommates to study for a merchandising test. One of the girls would have a boyfriend over—they usually did—even though the same time last year, we all had been unattached. Now I was like the third wheel, depending on who was home. But I was cool with that. Between classes and work I didn’t have time for extracurricular activities.

I heard a key turn in the lock and Jaclyn breezed through the door. “Hi, hon. Did Blake show up yet?”

“He’s around the corner getting coffee,” I said, heading toward the fitting room. “I didn’t realize you were coming back tonight.”

“Last-minute idea,” she said.

I began picking up discarded pieces of clothing off the floor and placing them on hangers.

“Chloe, I e-mailed Professor Jenkins with an idea for your final project today,” Jaclyn said, handing me the last two hangers off the rack. “She was completely on board.”

“What is it?” I gulped.

Jaclyn was the coolest boss, but she was also very demanding.

I hung the dresses on a nearby display and then we both headed toward the counter.

From beneath the register, I pulled out the fresh pack of Post-its with a stilettos watermark that I’d just purchased, so I could be ready for her. I was a meticulous list maker; it was the only way I knew how to keep organized.

“You know how we have that Made in the Arbor street sale coming up next month?” she said.

The event happened every spring and drew in huge crowds not only from this part of town but also from the surrounding counties. I rummaged around for my new packet of red ballpoint pens. I could tell this was going to be important.

“Of course. I just printed off more fliers.” Which reminded me. I pulled out another list and crossed off print fliers with a black Sharpie. So satisfying.

“I have an idea I’ve been considering for a long time,” Jaclyn said, tapping her finger to her chin. “I own a space around the corner on Liberty Street.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “I haven’t done anything with it yet and I’ve decided this event is the perfect opportunity.”

Pen poised on my new sticky pad, I said, “I’m listening.”

“I want to create a pop-up shop.”

My lips parted and my heart rate accelerated. Music to my anal-retentive ears.

Before I could form coherent words, Jaclyn continued. “I want you to build the set for the sale and open the shop as if it were your own that day.”

I felt a cross between excitement and utter fear of failure. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” she said, looking me in the eye. “I trust you, Chloe. You’re independent, hardworking, and in a short year you’ll be knee deep in your own career somewhere. I have complete faith in you.”

“I appreciate that.” My head felt all spinny from the compliments. My mother would love hearing about this bit of news as well. Maybe it’d keep her lip zipped for a while. She was constantly asking if I’d gotten in touch with her old contacts from the business.

“So . . . what did you mean by building the set?” I asked Jaclyn. “Like go buy shelves and set them up?”

“Not exactly,” she said, looking over the receipts I’d bundled together. “That’s why I invited Blake here.”

My stomach clenched. It was so infuriating that I could never think straight whenever I heard that name. I tried not to sound too panicked. “Because . . . Blake . . . ?”

“Opening a new space costs money and I’m still deciding if Liberty Street would be a good location for a store. So I’ve asked Blake to help you out.” She paused to look at me. I kept my expression neutral. “He used to be a theater and design major here at the university. Now he works construction during the day. He’ll be able to get wood at cost from the lumberyard and then he’ll consult with you on how to build it. Sound reasonable to you?”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing back my disdain. “Of course.”

I didn’t mention that I’d heard the rumors about Blake—that he couldn’t hack his classes, so he dropped out of college. The girls in the Art and Design Building had certainly talked about it enough, with the way they had been constantly drooling over him when he was around.

After Blake fell off the radar, a part of me wanted to ask Jaclyn what had happened to him, why he quit school, but I knew it wasn’t my place. She’d be hard-pressed to tell me anything about her nephew, I was sure.

“I expect you to be very involved in the building side of the project, as well as the design. You’re very creative and I know the space will look amazing,” she said, and then her eyes scaled down to my black pumps. “But you’ll probably also have to stain and sand wood.”

“Got it.” I followed her gaze as she took in my outfit. I had on my favorite pair of Manolos that I scored for a sweet price off eBay.

“Do you own a pair of sneakers, Miss Fashionista?” Jaclyn appreciated my fashion sense and wore some expensive pieces of her own.

I shook my head as she reached behind the counter and pulled out a box. “Size eight, right?”

She opened the carton that contained a brand-new pair of pink Converse Chucks, like the ones we had arranged in our front window display. Pink was definitely my favorite color, but I still wasn’t keen on the idea of wearing them—they were sneakers after all, and I didn’t do sneakers.

She handed the box over. “These are on me. You’ll need them.”

I fingered the laces, suddenly feeling out of character. “Thanks.”

Working in close quarters with somebody who irritated the hell out of me and wearing casual clothes? Brilliant.

“You’ll be graded on creativity, organization, and overall visual presentation.”

I nodded, jotting those points down. I wondered just how in the heck I was going to pull this off with someone like Blake, who didn’t seem to put much stake in a career or grades. He had the potential to ruin this project for me.

“You two will probably work well together,” Jaclyn said, obviously never noticing how much we tried ignoring one another. “Maybe even become friends. He could probably use one right about now.”

My eyebrows shot up and when I looked at her she was lost in deep thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, honey,” she said, sighing. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She walked toward the back room, leaving me reeling.

“And don’t worry, I’ll speak to your mother about all of this, too.” Jaclyn and my mother had attended the university together, though I wouldn’t call them friends. “Since she’s on the Chamber of Commerce Committee.”

chapter two

Blake

I rolled my neck side to side, waiting for my turn in line at Common Grounds. My muscles were definitely feeling it today from pounding nails into a frame. Physically, construction was one of the hardest jobs I’d ever had and probably one of the most underappreciated. Hell, we were building people’s homes. Their foundations. Their dreams.

Aunt Jaclyn asked me to give her a hand at the store every now and then and I always did, mostly because of Mom. Aunt Jaclyn knew I needed the money and that I’d never take a handout from her or anyone else. I’d taken the year off school so I could work, to help with the mounting rehab bills. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat in order to keep Mom sober.

Besides, Aunt Jaclyn had always been good to me, and this project seemed pretty important to her. I’d have to fit time in after work in the evenings, but that didn’t bother me—it would give me something else to focus on.

I stepped up to the counter. “Iced hazelnut, please.”

The barista was someone I’d hooked up with briefly last year and she smiled coyly at me now.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Good, thanks.”

I hadn’t gotten laid in a few weeks, but honestly, I had more important things on my mind. When I reached for my coffee, her fingers slipped over mine and her eyes told me she’d be up for more of the same if I were willing. But I pulled away before giving her the wrong impression. Caring for my mom was enough female interaction for right now.

I walked back to my aunt’s shop, hoping her pretentious employee, Chloe Brighton, had already left for the night. She was cute with that wavy blond hair—a little on the short side for me—and her huge blue eyes. But she didn’t dress like a regular chick her age, in jeans and T-shirts. She was always in a skirt or a dress with stilettos, like she should have been born in a different era or something. The heels always made her shapely legs stand out and that was hot, I’d give her that. But her attitude still ruined it for me.

The only time I’d seen Chloe look totally relaxed and comfortable in her own skin was this one day a few months back when she walked past the construction site of the new housing complex on First Street. Her cheeks were rosy and her mouth was lifted in a half grin—as if there was something happy she’d been thinking about just then. I’d never even seen her expression that peaceful and open, even at the design building at the university.

She had on this tight straight skirt that went to her knees and I could see the outline of her perfectly round ass. Her blouse was fitted and the buttons at the top undone enough that I could just make out the outline of her tits. Hot damn. She looked like some 1940s pinup model.

But the guys quickly got out of hand with their shouts and whistles. She glowered at them and when they began yelling shit about being uptight and needing a good fuck, I came to her defense. Instead of seeming grateful, she glared at me like I was some kind of trailer trash.

Screw her, man.

Since then I’d done a good job of ignoring her anytime she was at my aunt’s shop. Not that it’d been difficult—she’d gone on snubbing me as well.

I spotted Chloe through the front window and groaned. She still hadn’t left for the evening.

As I pulled open the door, Chloe regarded me like I was the nasty dirt beneath her fingernails. She looked at my drink and then her eyes darted to a similar empty cup and straw on the counter. “Is that . . . an iced hazelnut?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“That’s exactly what I order. I take it with cream and sugar.”

“Same,” I said. We stared at each other like two creatures from different planets who’d found middle ground. As minimal as it was.

“Blake, honey,” Aunt Jaclyn said, emerging from the back room. “Thanks so much for helping out on this project.”

“Not a problem.” I wondered why Chloe continued standing there. Didn’t she have somewhere else to be? Like maybe out with her snooty fashion friends?

“So, we have the street sale coming up and Chloe needs a final project for her internship,” she said. My head snapped up to gape at Chloe. She was biting her lip, looking all panicky. No way. “I figured you guys could team up. You’d be helping both of us out.”

Neither of us spoke as we each tried looking elsewhere. Me—at the wall; her at those damned sticky pads she was always carrying around.

“Let’s walk down and check out the space,” Aunt Jaclyn said, grabbing her keys from the counter. “Then I’ll leave you two alone to discuss your plan of action.”

My shoulders slumped as I followed Aunt Jaclyn to the door. Then I reluctantly turned to hold it open for Chloe. Eyes cast down, her shoulder brushed against my chest as she passed by and I could smell her strawberry shampoo or lip gloss or something.

On the first step of the stoop, her heel caught on a nail and she stumbled. Before she went sailing, my instincts kicked in, and I hooked my arm around her waist to keep her standing. As soon as our eyes met, she bristled against me. I should have just let her fall on her damned face.

“I . . . um,” she said. God, this chick did not know how to show gratitude. This was the second time I’d helped her and she couldn’t even say thank you.

My biceps was right below her ample chest and I let go of her like she’d been on fire. “Maybe you should wear more practical shoes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You wouldn’t know fashion if it smacked you over the head.”

I shrugged. “At least I can keep myself upright.”

She kept going as her cheeks tinged pink. I’d shut her up. Good.

She turned suddenly and headed back toward the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Wait, Jaclyn, I forgot my notepad.”

My aunt stopped one storefront down to wait for us and I smirked as I held the door open for Chloe again. Her and those ridiculous sticky pads. You’d have to be blind to miss the lists she always left everywhere around the store.

She glared at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks darkened further and I had to admit that I liked pushing her buttons.

“You making fun of me?” Her eyes narrowed. “At least I know how to take notes.”

Ouch, what a bitch.

“I don’t need notes,” I spat out. “I can remember everything in my head.”

She strode over the threshold into the store. “That explains a lot.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence. Aunt Jaclyn opened the new space and we stepped inside. It was a bit of a mess with boxes, old fixtures, and paint swatches strewn about. We’d need to clear it out before we could build or decorate much of anything.

“All yours.” Aunt Jaclyn dangled the keys in front of Chloe. “I’m heading out. You’re welcome to any props I have in the back room of either shop.”

After she left, the room grew so quiet you could hear the voices coming from the deli next door. We stood speechless side by side, staring at the clutter in front of us.

“So, what are your ideas?” I said, trying to move us along so I didn’t have to spend one more minute with a person I didn’t care for.

“Considering I just got the info five minutes before you walked back through the door,” she said, opening her notes to a fresh page, “I’m still formulating it in my head.”

“You want my two cents?” I asked, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

“No,” she said too quickly. And then she turned to me, grinding her teeth. “I mean, sure.”

“Obviously we need to clear this mess first. I can bring a workhorse, tools, a circular saw, and the lumber,” I said, moving through the space around a couple of boxes. “You just need to tell me what your vision is so I can get to work.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” she said, clutching that pad of paper like it was her lifeline. Probably was, seeing how uptight she was.

“So, what does your schedule look like the next few days?” I asked.

“Classes,” she said, her fingers already sketching something on the page. “And homework. Obviously.”

Another dig. I’d choose the higher road and ignore that little comment. “So, when’s the next time you can meet?”

“Tomorrow night, same time?” she asked as she shifted her eyes grudgingly toward mine. And then bit down on that damned lip.

“I can’t tomorrow. I have . . . a thing.” No fucking way was I going to share that I had a family session with my mom. “The night after next works for me.”

She gave a swift nod and said, “See you then.”

I turned on my heel and strode out the door.

chapter three

Chloe

My six-inch Manolos clacked all the way down the cobblestone street to the new space. For a couple of hours last night, I had sketched and planned the shop in my notebook. I was tense about showing Blake my idea because even though he frustrated the hell out of me, he also made my stomach do this weird flippy nervous thing. He was easy to dislike from a distance, but up close I felt vulnerable and probably acted like a silly little girl.

And I was so not going for it. He had the potential to ruin my grade on this assignment and I didn’t know who the hell he thought he was.

I brought the pink Chuck Taylors in my bag and planned to put them on as soon as I stepped inside. They clashed horribly with my outfit today. I supposed I could have worn something else, but I looked darn good in this Prada skirt and blouse that I had gotten on sale at Nordi’s. Maybe there’d been some small part of me that wanted to look my best for Blake as well. Maybe I wanted him to see me as a capable and confident woman.

When I rounded the corner, I saw Blake leaning against his truck. He must have gone home to change after work, because tonight he wore dark-wash jeans and a light blue T-shirt. His hair looked slightly damp, like maybe he’d just showered, and his fingers gripped two cups of iced coffees from Common Grounds.

As I approached, his eyes skimmed down my body and landed on my heels. His jaw ticked in irritation, but I didn’t plan on allowing him to intimidate me.

When I reached him he met my gaze, straightened himself from the car bumper and thrust a container at me. “I got you a hazelnut coffee.”

I looked down at my cup and saw he had added cream and maybe some sugar. He’d remembered how I took it. “Cool,” I said, trying to shake away the effect the sentiment had on me.

He stared hard at me, as if willing me to say something else, before finally nodding and heading toward the door. What the hell had that been about? I dug out the key to let us inside.

Silently I opened my sack, slipped off my heels, and then laced up the sneakers. When I looked up, he was watching me with a damned twitch at the corner of his lip.

“Shut it,” I said, and then yanked my notepad out of my bag.

“At least you decided to be sensible,” he said as I got to my feet. Sensible. There was no use for that word in the world of fashion.

My eyebrow shot up. “I’ve never heard a guy complain about a woman wearing heels.”

His gaze slowly slid up my legs. Great, I’d just given him a reason to check me out.

My heart beat erratically upon his inspection.

“True,” he said, finally meeting my eyes. “They do make women’s legs look amazing. But they also look like they might hurt.”

“The things you do for fashion,” I mumbled, and then jerked open my notebook, hoping to change the topic.

“I’ve been working on my idea the last couple of nights.”

I turned to the page where I’d made all of my notes. I scanned down the list to remind myself what I’d written because suddenly my throat had gone dry. “I was thinking of an Old Hollywood theme.”

He nodded and looked around the space as if picturing it. “Okay.”

“I want to use old film reels and hang them in a few different spots. I figured I could pull out the yards of tape from each spool and string them all around the space. From those pipes, for instance,” I said, motioning to the exposed brick wall and the industrial ducts hanging low. “Then I’ll pin some things for sale on the strands, like our vintage jewelry.”

His fingers rubbed along his jaw and I found myself holding my breath waiting for a response. Any response. He’d been a theater major after all, so he knew about staging. Or maybe he sucked at it or hated it. Maybe that’d been the reason why he dropped out.

“Are you a fan of old movies?” he asked.

“Well, duh,” I said, trying to level my voice so I didn’t sound like an excited child. “Casablanca, Sabrina, Roman Holiday. I want the effect to be like an old black-and-white film and the props will reflect that.”

“Sounds all right, I guess . . . pretty cool idea, not that I’ve ever seen those classic movies,” he said, and I pumped out a breath. Well, that wasn’t a breaking news story. “But I’ve definitely been a part of stage productions that had sets from different eras.”

I turned the notebook sideways to my sketch of the space. “This is what I was thinking as far as shelving goes.”

He moved behind me to glance over my shoulder and I could smell his clean soap scent and a hint of cologne or aftershave. He leaned forward and I felt his breath on my neck. It’d been some time since I’d even allowed a guy to get this close. Especially a completely frustrating, albeit good-looking one. “That’s a pretty good sketch.”

“I am in the School of Design.”

“Believe me, I didn’t forget,” he huffed. “You seem to remind me every chance you get.”

I gasped and looked up at him, only to see annoyance reflected in his eyes. “I do not.”

“Okay, you don’t.” He tugged the notebook from my fingers and I wanted to grab it back and tell him to go screw himself, but I kept myself in check.

What in the hell had he meant by that comment anyway?

He motioned with his hand. “So you’re thinking an A-frame shelving unit against this wall here and then a circular display in the center?”

I nodded and twisted a lock of hair in my fingers.

“Sounds fine,” he said. “There’s only one thing wrong with your logistics.”

“What’s that?”

“It would be impossible for the kind of unit you designed to hold any kind of weight.” He pointed to my drawing. “It would implode once you placed anything heavier on it—even a stack of clothes.”

“I guess that’s where you come in,” I said, throwing up my hands. “You’re supposed to help steer me in the right direction.”

“You mean you trust my judgment?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not just some deadbeat that pounds nails into wood?”

My pulse picked up. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he scoffed. “I can see it in your expression.”

I clenched my fists. “No, you can’t!”

“Just drop it,” he said, handing back my notes.

“No, I don’t want to drop it. Tell me what in the hell you mean.”

He glared at me for a long, painstaking moment before finally speaking again. “Do you remember that day a couple months ago when you walked by the construction site where I was working?” I nodded. “The guys were getting rowdy. That’s what they do—they work hard all day and blow off steam by acting stupid.”

I folded my arms, unsure of where he was going with this. “Nice way to make excuses for them.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Just telling it like it is,” he said, gritting his teeth. Obviously I frustrated him the same way he frustrated me.

“I could tell what you were thinking by the damned look on your face,” he said, pacing around the space.

“They were being pigs,” I said, trying to defend myself. No way was I in the wrong. “When guys act like that, they don’t deserve my respect.”

“Point taken,” he said. It looked like he was going to say something else, but then he restrained himself.

“Whatever. Let’s just get moving and clean this space up,” he said in a clipped voice.

It sounded like he wanted to get a million miles away from me, and I still didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I remembered that day he’d just brought up vividly. I’d been walking home from Happy Hour at Gruby’s, where my roommate Courtney worked. I hadn’t been out in a long time. Fact is, I rarely went out. But my other roommates, Indy and Misha, convinced me to meet them there and I had a really good time. When their boyfriends showed up, I took off to walk home, feeling pretty lighthearted.

When I turned the corner and passed this construction site, I began hearing catcalls. I scowled and ignored those hard-hatted idiots until they began shouting stuff that really struck home. Things that reminded me of rumors my only boyfriend in high school spread about me—after he took my virginity and dumped me.

“She’s got a stick up that fine ass.”

“Bet she’s never been laid properly.”

“I could show her a thing or two.”

And then a voice rang out. “Guys, knock it off.”

I turned toward the sound. It was Blake Davis and I was stunned into silence. He was sporting stubble, dirty fingernails, and clunky work boots. He looked so different from his casual clean T-shirt and jeans attire from his days at the university.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do that girl in five seconds flat,” the guy sitting next to him had blurted out.

Blake’s gaze met mine, his eyes hard and unyielding. “Never in a million years. Not my type.”

My breath had caught. His words made me feel lower than the mud on his shoe. I forced my chin up high and continued walking home. My hands shook the entire way.

Since then, I’d always wondered why his words had affected me so much.

Add that to his confrontation tonight, and I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to come to enough of a mutual understanding to work together on this project.

We spent the next hour in silence as we moved boxes to the back room. Well, technically, I slid them toward the back and he lifted and carried them. He was surprisingly strong, and as he raised each box, I couldn’t help appreciating his taut and muscular forearms. Working construction obviously had its benefits.

I decided we needed a bucket and supplies to give the place a thorough scrub-down. I wrote down a list of items and headed out the door to the small market down the street that stayed open past nine. Blake followed, mumbling about getting some bottles of water.

As Blake and I moved through the aisle that displayed detergents, he pointed to the floor cleaner in my hand that had a bright pink label and said, “Did you plan to match your cleaner to your outfit?”

I gaped at the pink Converse sneakers I’d completely forgotten I was wearing. With a skirt. Like some used-up fashionista on someone’s worst-dressed list.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he mumbled close to my ear. “I was only joking. Lighten up.”

I spun on him. “Pretty sure you could use some lightening up of your own.”

Just then I heard someone call my name. I looked up and saw my mother’s committee friend heading down the aisle toward me. Her heels were high, her lips bright red, and her outfit immaculately put together. I glanced at Blake as my skin broke out in a panicked sweat. Sure enough, she’d tell my mother she’d seen me out late with some guy, looking disheveled, and then I’d be subjected to the Spanish Inquisition.

Blake seemed to pick up on my rising alarm and in a huff he said, “Don’t worry, princess, you can pretend not to know me and I’ll do the same. Meet you at the cash register.”

Before I could even react, he was gone, and my mother’s friend was in my face asking me questions. I could barely concentrate because I’d been too busy thinking about Blake’s words. Was I really that uptight? Why did I care so much about how I looked or what people thought about me? At what point had my life become so orchestrated?

As soon as my mother’s friend was gone, I snatched a different floor cleaner from the shelf and met Blake at the front of the store, where he stood with a bucket and mop. I placed the sponges and soap on the counter and turned to look at him.

He stepped in front of me, before I could say anything else. “I’ve got it. You can hand my receipt in to Jaclyn so I can expense it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but his eyes tore into mine and I clamped my lips shut. “Don’t even say it, princess. I make way more money than you do. Unless you’re living off your daddy’s trust fund or something.”

I drew my hands into fists as he greeted the cashier. I stood behind him, breathing heavily and staring at the back of his head. His hair was perfectly wavy and for the first time I noticed a piercing on the top of his ear. It was a silver hoop and I had the urge to yank on it and tell him he was wrong. So very wrong about me.

We walked back in silence, me fuming beside him and refusing eye contact. As soon as I stepped back into the shop, I got busy cleaning the floors. An hour later we were both on our hands and knees scrubbing the baseboards and I was silently cursing the fact that I was getting my Prada outfit dirty. I probably did look like a princess, constantly rolling up and adjusting my skirt. It was my own dang fault for refusing to change into different clothes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Blake scowling. All at once his arms shot to the back of his neck, and he began tugging his shirt over his head. His flat and tight stomach was on full display before the second shirt that was hidden beneath fell back over his abs.

I pretended not to look too long and instead took a deep breath, focusing on my task. Suddenly that same shirt was in front of my face. “Here, put it under your knees.”

“What? No, I don’t need—”

“Yeah, you do,” he said. “I can tell you really care about your clothes. They probably cost a lot more than my damned T-shirt.”

Was this his way of apologizing or making fun of me?

“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered.

He thrust it closer to me. “Please, take it.”

I stared at his shirt a few moments more before grasping it, smoothing it out on the floor, and then placing my knees on top of it.

“It’s my mistake for not bringing a change of clothes,” I mumbled.

He turned away and continued working on the far wall in silence.

I wanted to redeem myself, or at least say something to break the ice. I looked back at him. “I noticed your piercing . . . um, earlier. I like it.”

I held back a cringe. I was usually more of a fan of clean-cut guys.

He barked out a bitter laugh. “Really?”

“Where, um . . .” I struggled to come up with a question to keep the conversation going. “When did you have it done?”

He heaved a deep sigh. “A couple years ago . . . on a dare.”

My eyebrows shot up. “A dare?”

“Yes, a dare. Bet you’ve never even done anything on a dare, princess,” he muttered. “Bet it’s too spontaneous for you.”

“What the hell, Blake? Of course I have,” I spat out. Now I was seething.

He squinted at me. “Yeah?”

I shrugged and met his eyes in a challenge. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Fair enough.” Then a devious glint registered in his eyes. “So . . . truth or dare?”

chapter four

Blake

I didn’t know why I was being so obnoxious to Chloe; she just seemed to bring it out of me. I knew I had her now, though. No way would she play this game with me. She was too damned uptight.

“What?” she sputtered. “Here . . . now?”

“Yes, now.” I laughed. She was slightly endearing when she was so flustered—when she let her prim and proper mask slip. “You’ve got somewhere else to be?”

“I . . . barely even know you.”

I could see her pulse pounding at her neck. She was getting even more nervous. Was it because she was trapped here with someone like me or because I was calling her out of her comfort zone? I let the minutes tick. We were about to find out.

“Fine.” She took a fortifying breath and then said, “Truth.”

I turned away, trying to hide the pulse in my jaw. I knew it. She’d chosen the safer response.

“Here’s hoping for honesty,” I said, meeting her eyes.

She nodded and twirled a lock of her hair, looking unsure of herself again.

Something about her made me want to dig deep, to find out what she was really made of. There had to be a different person—a decent, compassionate person—under all of that restraint. I’d already seen glimpses of her. But maybe I was only headed for disappointment. “Since you didn’t think I made a fair assessment earlier, tell me what you were really thinking the day you walked past the construction site.”

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Like I said, I . . . I was pissed and disgusted. When you came to my defense out of nowhere, it stumped me.”

She thought she was done, but I planned on getting more out of her if I could. I just had this natural curiosity, despite being completely frustrated by her. Because when she was caught off guard—like she’d just been by my question—she became more real and I wanted more of that.

“And?”

“A . . . and . . . well, first, I wondered what you were doing there.”

I looked down, avoiding her gaze. No way could I talk about dropping out with this girl. Unless she gave me more—showed me more.

“And second, what you said about me—the ‘not in a million years, not my type’ part . . . well, it . . . it sucked to hear you say that.”

I met her eyes while her chest heaved. I had affected her back then? Because truth be told, I was completely captivated by her vulnerability right now.

“Okay,” I said softly. I needed to make sure that I played this situation carefully, because I didn’t want to scare her away. I cleared my throat. “I get it. Makes sense.”

I got busy on the other wall, effectively dropping the subject, and letting her off the hook. Letting us both off the hook. For now.

We were silent for a few more minutes before I heard her tentative voice. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

She probably expected me to say dare because she figured we were so different. I studied her eyes and then moved down to her lips. They were red and shiny like her tongue had just skimmed across them. She was a pretty girl. And right now, all soft and uncertain, she was even more gorgeous.

I shook that foreign thought from my head. “Truth.”

Chloe’s lips parted and she stared at me for a long moment until she finally recovered. I immediately regretted my decision. Especially if she was going to ask me why I dropped out of school. If she did, I probably wouldn’t answer.

“Why did you . . . say that about me . . . that day?”

She looked past me to the wall, wringing her hands. It made me want to soothe her, put my fingers over hers to still them. Never in a hundred years would I have guessed that my reaction that day would still be bothering her, months later.

“I hear catcalls all day long. So when it happened again, I looked up to see who their next target was.”

“Target,” she said, scrunching her face into a grimace.

“And then I saw you. And I got it—you’re a great-looking girl, Chloe. Plus that outfit you had on that day really . . .” I needed to stop talking before I dug myself a grave. She’d probably think I was having dirty thoughts about her. And I wasn’t. At least not more than a couple of times.

“What?” Her face was relaxed and open like she truly wanted—or maybe needed—to know what I thought of her. For reasons I might never begin to understand.

“It just . . . it showed off your curves, okay? The guys were going nuts. Like big fucking apes or something.” I laughed and shook my head thinking about what a bunch of dumb-asses they could be. And most of them were older than me. “Even still, they were being idiots, and girls shouldn’t have to put up with shit, which is why I came to your defense.”

She stared at her sneakers, a rose hue stretching across her neck and up to her ears. Then she reached out her hand and patted mine, just once. “Well . . . I guess I owe you a thanks for that.”

Something in my chest gave way, like a release of my pent-up frustration over this girl.

“And . . . I wasn’t really being honest when I said that about you . . . ,” I said. “I was just pissed at the way you responded, like you had lumped all of us together.”

She nodded and our gazes clashed for one long moment. Like we’d finally found some authentic middle ground, other than sharing similar taste in coffee. “Truce?”

She shot out her hand and I took it in my own without hesitation. Her fingers were warm and delicate, a contradiction to the impenetrable shell she’d presented this entire time. I figured this was our way of starting over and I was cool with that.

Tonight I stood in line at the Common Grounds and was about to order two iced hazelnut coffees when Chloe walked through the door in her work attire and spotted me. Her cheeks glowed pink like she’d had the same idea about getting us drinks for our night ahead.

We had worked on the space three more times these past two weeks. She progressively became more relaxed, allowing her dry sense of humor to shine—and even swapped out her outfits, so I didn’t have to give any more of my T-shirts to the cause.

She’d change into jeans—designer, of course—with those pink Converse sneakers as soon as she got to the space, using the small bathroom in the back. It was hard not to notice her perfectly round ass in that tight denim, and I looked every chance I could get. I was a guy, after all, and I knew how to appreciate a woman’s body.

But no way did I want her to know that I thought she was hot. Not that it mattered anyway. We were way too different and she wasn’t the kind of girl that would be down for a casual hookup. She was very driven and expected a lot of herself, and maybe her mother did as well, given the phone calls she was constantly fielding from her.

When Chloe heard her name ring out from a table near the coffee shop door, her eyes darted around nervously and then back toward me, as if she’d wished she hadn’t spotted me in the first place. A couple of impeccably dressed ladies sat drinking cappuccinos and as she trudged over to them, her head bent as if in frustration.

As I placed our drink order, I noticed how she gave one of the women a quick kiss on the cheek. She had Chloe’s same coloring and eyes, so I could only assume it was her mother. Given their hushed conversations by phone, I gathered her mother liked to hear the details of her daily life. I might kill for that kind of attention.

I looked down at my dingy cutoffs and heat prickled my neck, as my instincts told me that Chloe wouldn’t be comfortable with me stopping by her table. I hadn’t had time to change out of my construction boots today, but at least I’d brought a fresh T-shirt to pull over my head as soon as I got into my truck. So I walked past Chloe and out the door without another glance in her direction.

When I returned to the space, I left Chloe’s coffee on a large box near the shelf she had stained dark brown, and then got busy sawing more wood on the other side of the room.

Chloe and her mother seemed very close and I tried to imagine what that kind of intense attention would feel like from my own mother. Especially since I was more like the expectant parent in my family, always reminding Mom of her AA meetings and therapy sessions, checking hiding spots in the cupboards and smelling her breath for any hint of alcohol.

I gave Chloe the silent treatment when she walked through the entrance, but couldn’t help noticing how quickly she clicked the lock in place and drew the shade down even farther.

“Avoiding someone?” I asked through clenched teeth.

Her back against the door, she shut her eyes momentarily as if getting her thoughts in order.

“I . . . lied to my mom,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, as if she was being followed. “Told her I was going home to study instead of coming here so she didn’t ask to tag along and see the space.”

I made harsh markings with my pencil as I measured another piece of plywood. “Why?”

She shook her head, melancholy lacing her eyes. “I . . . just want this to be my project for now. I’ll surprise her with it when we finish.”

I didn’t understand this girl at all. I was still seething from how unwelcome I felt in the coffee shop and I wanted to find out right this instant what her deal had been.

I stood up, releasing the measuring tape from my fingers, and stalked toward her. “Truth or dare?”

I had figured we were getting somewhere these past few days. I was beginning to enjoy working alongside her on this project. I thought we were forming a friendship, and instead she’d left me confused all over again.

The question was, why did I care so much?

As I drew nearer, her breath hitched. I stared her down as the puzzled look on her face changed to worry. She bit her lip, aware that I was annoyed about something.

“Truth,” she whispered, and then blew out a shaky breath. Not having changed from her designer work clothes yet, she’d left her top three buttons open, exposing her silky skin. I could see the outline of her lacy white bra through the sheer material.

Some part of my brain went haywire and I imagined her panting against that door while I reached out to unclasp those buttons with my grimy fingers. I’d get that shiny white material all filthy and then I’d rip it down the center, exposing her to me.

Damn, where had that thought come from? It was like my anger toward her had became murky and twisted and had developed into a complete turn-on. It spurred me to step even closer to her. Like I had something I needed to prove. Except I didn’t exactly know what.

“What was the shit you just pulled in the coffee shop?” I said. “Afraid to be seen with someone like me?”

“It’s not that.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s . . . look, maybe you haven’t noticed, but my life is already scripted. My mom made huge sacrifices for me and she reminds me nearly every day. She wants me to finish what she started—making a name in the industry—and the plan doesn’t include any boys.”

“Christ, it’s not like we’re dating or anything,” I said, ruffling my fingers through my hair. “We’re working together on a project.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s in my business on a daily basis. It wasn’t always like this, not until I was deciding on colleges, and lately it’s been worse than ever. . . .”

It was true that it sounded that way when I’d overheard their conversations. Her mother seemed to expect a play-by-play. Still it was a stark contrast to the mess I had going on in my own family, so it was hard for me to wrap my head around.

“Jesus fuck, you’re an adult, Chloe,” I said. “You don’t even live at home, which is more than I can say, and you have your own life on campus.”

“Do you know how much ass-kissing I had to do for her to allow me to live off campus and not commute from home?” She met my gaze and her eyes blazed with resentment. “I work to help pay for my books and rent, but she and my grandmother pay the bulk of my tuition. We get a discount because she’s on the board of the design school, and yeah, she throws that in my face as well.”

She pushed off the door and brushed past me. “I just have one more year to be the good little daughter and then I’m leaving, moving to New York City, and I’ll be far away from her.”

But even she looked uncertain about her own statement. Like she was trying to be tougher and more confident than she really was. Something settled in the center of my chest. Something that felt like empathy, but I pushed it way down.

“I understand wanting to get away and live your own life, believe me,” I mumbled.

She rounded on me. “Yeah? So what the heck is your story?”

“I’m not sure I want to tell someone like you, someone who walks around like she’s got a stick up her ass. I mean, I get that you have mommy issues, but believe me, princess, it’s light-years away from what I’m going through,” I practically growled.

As she stood there, her eyes glassy and hurt, I had the desire to pull her against me and show her exactly how worked up she was making me.

I rubbed my fingers over my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need your judgment on top of everyone else’s.”

She slowly shook her head in defeat, her lips seemingly unable to form any words.

I walked toward the stacked wood. “Why the hell do you care anyway?”

“Believe it or not, I’d like to get to know you,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. “I don’t . . . I haven’t . . . been around a guy in a while and you kind of . . . unnerve me.”

I looked back at her and gulped down my surprise. “How?”

“I can’t really explain it. It’s just ever since . . . you know.” She wrung her hands again like she was wound so darn tight. And the look in her eyes—like a wounded animal. My chest tightened in response.

What I wouldn’t give right now to have a do-over of that one day she was referring to now. And this time, our eyes would meet and we’d find acceptance and understanding in each other’s gaze, instead of so much damned misinterpretation.

chapter five

Chloe

I took a brave step forward. Blake lifted his gaze to mine and I got lost in his soft caramel eyes—the same eyes I’d gotten used to seeing over these past few days and, if I admitted it, looked forward to seeing as well. “Let me start again. Truth or dare?”

Earlier he’d had this momentary look of vulnerability in his eyes—like I’d hurt his feelings in the coffee shop—and I’d never seen that from him before. I’d only ever been on the receiving end of sarcasm and frustration and brief glimpses of gentleness these last couple of weeks together.

“Truth,” he mumbled, and looked down at the specs he’d drawn on the wood. Lately he only ever said truth, possibly because my dares had been pretty lame. By now, he’d probably grasped how courageous I really was, which was not a whole lot. My dare last week for him was to sing the tune he’d been humming out loud. He’d only rolled his eyes before belting it out.

I hesitated, looking at him a long minute before asking my question. “Why did you . . . leave school?”

He got this resigned look in his eyes like he knew it had been coming. I prayed he didn’t think I’d overstepped bounds. Because what he thought was beginning to matter even more to me.

“I had to drop out . . .” He heaved a long sigh. As if he’d finally decided to let it all hang loose. “And move back home to take care of some . . . responsibilities.”

That hadn’t been the answer I was expecting.

“I know a little about responsibilities,” I said, keeping my voice smooth and low. “What kind?”

He lined up the wood under the saw, ignoring my question. I waited him out. When he simply drew the safety goggles over his eyes and began cutting, I decided to try a different approach.

As soon as he placed the piece of wood to the side and gathered another in his fingers, I said, “Do you . . . have any brothers or sisters?”

His hand paused on top of the lumber in order to look at me. “One brother who’s in high school.”

“Does it have to do with him?” I asked, tentatively. “Do your mom and dad need some kind of help?”

“I only have a mom, and yes, she needed help,” he said, looking back down at his task.

“I only have a mom, too,” I muttered. “Never met my father.”

“Well, I guess we have something else in common.” He got this faraway look in his eyes before the corners crinkled in irritation. “I’ve only met my dad once. He’s a musician and travels all the time. I used to have a pipe dream that I’d join his show after graduation—as a roadie—but screw that. Besides, I need to stay close to my family.”

“Wow. I often wonder who my father is,” I said, thinking about how closemouthed my mother had been about him. I’d always fantasized that he was some famous celebrity she’d dressed for a shoot one day. More than likely, he was some photographer or model she’d worked with regularly.

Sadness and surprise filtered through his eyes. “You don’t know? Gosh, that would be tough to live with.”

I nodded. “I haven’t pressed her about it in a while. But hearing you talk about it makes me think that I should try again.”

“I think you have that right, Chloe,” he said. “To know where you came from. And to decide whether to be your own person.”

“Yeah.” I fingered the edge of my shirt. “The truth is, sometimes I don’t even know how to act when I am able to step from beneath my mother’s shadow.”

I had no idea where that revelation had just come from. He tilted his head to the side while his gaze softened and I suddenly wanted to take the focus away from me.

“That’s incredibly cool that you’re helping your family,” I said lamely.

He looked into my eyes as if searching for something—maybe pity—but I showed him none. All I felt at this point was admiration. Had I taken the time to get to know him earlier, I would’ve realized that he was kind of special.

“My truth is that I had to drop my classes to help with my mom’s mounting medical bills. Insurance only paid for thirty days of rehab and she needed to continue outpatient treatment.”

He paused and I tried to keep my lips in a neat straight line. He didn’t need me reacting to his news right now. He needed support and I would try to offer it.

“I would have finished my theater degree this year, but now it’s delayed.” He shrugged. “I moved back home to make sure my brother was keeping up his high school grades while Mom secured an AA sponsor and attended daily meetings.”

“Gosh, Blake, I’m sorry that I . . . that you . . .”

He held up his hand, effectively cutting me off. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything.”

He trudged to the back room without uttering another word. I wasn’t sure if it was in an effort to get away from me or to discontinue the conversation. I couldn’t help feeling bummed that he had gone through that with his family. How brave he had been to take all of that on.

When he reemerged with a broom and dustpan to clean the sawdust off the floor, he didn’t look my way again.

He flipped to a station on his iPod, and the low sound of classic rock filled up the space. I headed in back to change into my casual clothes and then got busy staining wood.

After another thirty minutes of working in silence, his voice startled me. “What do you think?”

He’d already put together one of the A-frame shelves and it was leaning against the far wall.

I walked over to it and slid my fingers along one of the lower shelves. “It looks great.”

“Cool,” he said. “Then I’ll start working on the middle piece until your stain dries.”

When I looked back a few minutes later, Blake was sitting on the same box that’d been supporting his lumber, trying to fit angled pieces together. My hands were stained and messy and I bent down to change brushes, in order to garner a smoother finish.

“Truth or dare?” His voice rang out above the din of “Back in Black” by AC/DC.

I lowered my hands so I could catch a better glimpse of his eyes. He looked calm and perfectly relaxed, a contrast to an hour before.

“Truth,” I said rather easily now. He knew it would be my answer anyway. But one day soon I planned to surprise him. When I got up enough nerve.

“Do you ever go up to the Cedar Mountain Theater to see those old movies that you’re so fond of?” he asked in a soft voice.

I was surprised that he even knew of the place. Not many of my friends were familiar with it. The theater was tucked away in an old corner of the town. It’d been there for years and had somehow survived, even though it only showcased the classics. Every now and again, it featured art deco films and probably drew a larger crowd.

“I used to go all the time,” I said. “By myself, of course. Not many people I know like those movies.”

He hummed a little of the tune piping through his device. “What do you like about them?”

No one had ever asked me that question. But I knew my answer straightaway. “I like how they’re set up. The lighting, the mood, the music. It’s all staged perfectly.”

I took a step toward him without even realizing it. “Plus there’s just something about those old-time romances. The special looks, the anticipation of a simple touch. I think it’s way more of a turn-on than the sex scenes in modern films.”

He quirked a seductive eyebrow at me like it was a question or a proposition—or just that he was being adorably playful—and I liked that side of him. I felt a rash of heat break out over my cheeks and neck.

I cleared my throat. “Your construction buddies could learn a thing or two from those movies.”

His laughter echoed around the space—pure and open and real. And I loved hearing the sound of it. It made me want to summon that noise from him as often as possible. Especially in light of his somber news.

“Do you like musicals or plays?” he asked, curbing his entertainment.

“Not really a fan of live theater.” I shrugged. “I like my stuff staged, remember?”

“There’s plenty staged in live theater. Obviously,” he said, motioning with his hands and reminding me in his own away that he used to build sets.

“Sure, but I don’t know,” I said, standing back and trying to decide if the lumber I was working on needed an additional coat of stain. “Live theater kind of makes me nervous.”

“How?” His eyebrows scrunched together as he reached for the hammer and nails.

“Too many things can go wrong,” I said, my voice suddenly dry. Somebody shut me up before I gave away just how unbelievably anal-retentive I truly was. Too late. “The actors can forget their lines. The backdrop can . . . fall apart.”

I even sounded neurotic to my own ears.

He grinned knowingly. As if he had me figured out. And I probably already told him too much. From this point on, I’d just have to have faith that he wouldn’t make fun of me.

But he had told me some personal things as well. So maybe it was about mutual trust.

After he hammered a nail into the wood, he said, “But theater is where all the magic happens.”

I replaced the lid on the can of stain and reached for a rag to wipe my hands. “What kind of magic?”

“When things are spontaneous—that sensation of something happening that’s so unexpected you feel it dead center in your chest—your heart is pumping hard, your stomach starts buzzing.”

He made it sound so enticing. Still I wasn’t buying it. But the way his lips moved over the words gave me this warm and strange twinge in my chest. He looked so alive and animated. I almost wanted to experience that, too. Almost.

“Sounds dreadful,” I said, and he laughed hard in that unreserved way that made me feel light-headed.

“You should try it sometime,” he said, reining in his amusement. “Being spontaneous, that is.”

“Maybe,” I said, circling the wood to catch the light for flaws.

He stared hard at me, finger brushing his chin, puzzling away at something. “Wouldn’t you consider your outfits spur-of-the-moment?”

“No way,” I said. “I plan what I’m going to wear the night before.”

“Of course you do,” he said with a twitch to his lip.

God, how pathetic was I? So basically I’d just made myself sound like some tragic spinster girl who sat at home watching old movies and deciding with great effort what clothing to lay out for myself for the next day.

I was about to tell him I was done for the night so I could go home and lick my wounds.

But then he got this solemn look in his eyes. “You’re kind of like a canvas that needs to be studied.” In order to prove this point, his eyes scaled painstakingly slowly from the top of my head all the way down to my toes, catching every last nerve ending on fire.

“Your lips and eyes and how you style your hair—even down to those sexy heels you wear.”

My lips trembled as he stepped closer.

“You’re like a work of art.”

Normally I’d think he was making fun of me, but his gaze seared straight through me as he moved nearer still. I could feel my breaths flying out in fluttery whispers and I tried to tamp them down.

His fingers reached for a stray piece of hair that had come loose from my vintage barrette and he gently moved it behind my ear. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Truth or dare?”

And I didn’t know what it had been—my mood, our closeness, how we seemed to bridge the gap between us by sharing personal information, or the beginnings of my undeniable attraction to him—but I stared him dead in the eye and said, “Dare.”

He looked momentarily dumfounded before relief washed over him, relaxing his features. As if I’d said the one thing he’d been dying to hear.

And then as though maybe I would change my mind, he gripped my arms and said, “I dare you to go see a theater performance with me.”

“Um . . . sure,” I said, relieved it was something that needed to be planned, tickets to be purchased. My head was not screwed on straight in that moment. “When?”

“Right now.”

chapter six

Chloe

It’d been a long time since I let a guy lead me anywhere. But there we stood in front of a tiny lopsided playhouse that looked like it might collapse in a heap at any moment.

“I think you’ll love it,” Blake said, clutching my elbow and steering me to the ticket window.

I looked around the dreary and deserted streets and wondered just who in their right minds would want to come to this theater. “What is this place?”

“It’s a different kind of live theater,” he said almost in awe. “It’s amazing. You’ll see.”

He led me through doorway into a very dark room, and next thing I knew, I was being jostled by this crowd of people milling around and looking toward the ceiling. No seats to be had, it was standing room only, and I felt very out of my element. Nervous about what I was about to experience. “Can’t you at least give me a heads-up?”

“There’s no way to describe it.” His eyes were glowing with excitement. “You just have to experience it.”

But as soon as the first trapeze artist came floating down from the ceiling quoting Shakespeare, I was utterly mesmerized. For the next hour these thespians-artists continued to impress me with their capabilities of swinging, tumbling, and hanging upside down all while reciting their lines. My heartbeat was erratic, my cheeks were flushed. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and truth be told, I loved every minute of it.

Blake moved us into the far corner against a wall. He stood behind me, as if in protective mode. I felt safe with him, but also completely turned on. I could feel the heat of his body and I welcomed every nudge or bump—whether by accident or on purpose, I didn’t know.

Regardless, I wanted more of it. As he explained what was happening above us, his hot breath fanned against my neck and then in my ear, and I longed for his lips to drift across my skin.

It’d been ages since I’d had this kind of feeling about a boy. Every time his fingertips came in contact with my body, my skin broke out in a fresh trail of goose bumps.

At the end of the performance, he gave me a heads-up that the artists were about to spray water into the audience and then his hands formed a shield to protect my head. But in a daring move that came from some other girl trapped inside me, I slipped from beneath his shelter. Not because I wanted to get away from him, but because I had this undeniable urge to be free, bold, alive.

I held out my arms and turned my face to the ceiling as water splashed down upon me. It was shocking and liberating and it helped douse the flame burning me alive from the inside. When I looked over my shoulder, Blake was grinning, his eyes wide with astonishment.

We spilled out of the theater in a sea of people, laughing and joking and wet. Well, at least I was wet. Blake only had a few beads of water in his hair. For the first time in forever, I realized I hadn’t even looked over my shoulder to see if I recognized anybody from campus or from my mother’s circle of connections. Regardless, nobody I hung out with would go to such a place off the beaten path.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Blake asked, almost tentatively.

I grinned. “It was pretty great.”

Suddenly I wanted to know more about him. Much more. “Do you miss it?”

His steps faltered. “What?”

“The stage,” I said, feeling bold again. “I could see it in your eyes—the way they lit up.”

“I do miss it, but I don’t stress about it,” he said in a low voice. “Because I know I’ll be back . . . someday.”

I liked his optimism. He didn’t hang on too tightly to one emotion or idea, it seemed. Given his family situation, he probably needed to be ready for the unexpected. I could use a similar lesson. My life felt too scripted—too suffocating—and though there had been a time that I’d reveled in that security, lately I felt too molded in place. Too pinned to plans. Too damned much under my mother’s thumb.

The only thing I could look forward to was breaking away next year. Even the idea of that scared the hell out of me. Would I really go through with it?

Maybe next year, there would be room for a boy like Blake, when I’d be venturing out on my own in a new city and trying to make a life for myself. I had Blake to thank for showing me what I might have to look forward to—but I knew I needed to wait until the time was right. Because now? The time didn’t seem right, for either of us.

A kind of melancholy set up camp, heavy in my chest, but I ignored it.

“Is set design the kind of career you’ve always seen for yourself?” I asked.

“I think so,” he said, turning the corner to where his car was parked. “Maybe on a Broadway set or in a smaller production around here.”

I couldn’t imagine Blake leaving his family to seek out Broadway any time soon. Maybe we’d keep in touch after our project was over with. I’d like that.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in our own head. I looked at my phone and saw two missed calls from my mother and was transported back to reality too soon.

“Thanks for a great night,” I said after he drove me to my car, which was still parked in front of Threads. “Next time it’s my choice—you get to come see a classic movie with me.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I couldn’t believe I’d voiced that hope out loud. Without practicing how it would sound first.

“Deal,” he said without any hesitation.

And a couple of nights later that was exactly what we did. We saw the ten o’clock show at the Cedar Mountain Theater and ate buttery popcorn while I explained how much I loved all the vintage clothing in those productions. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow at me.

Every time his thigh brushed against mine, I felt the urge to turn and practice one of those old-fashioned kisses that I was so fond of in these movies.

In fact, during the kissing scene, I held my breath as my imagination took over. In my side view I noticed how Blake’s gazed skimmed over my face and then landed on our hands, which were so close together I could feel the electricity between our skin.

But it was so ridiculous to have those fantasies when our lives were so different—so scripted by our families, in completely different ways.

I’d even seen one of my mother’s society ladies near the concession stand before the movie. I immediately pulled out the notebook I carried everywhere, just in case, and fabricated the idea of a class project. I told her the assignment involved the study of costumes and that we were meeting more of our classmates near the entrance, the exact place where Blake had set up residence.

He pretended to study the door in order to spot our friends arriving and didn’t even question me about it afterward. It was as if we’d come to an understanding that our time together wasn’t real; it was just the tucked-away moments we shared while working on this project and there was no use wasting time discussing it any further.

chapter seven

Blake

By the following week our space already looked fairly put together. All of the lumber had been stained and the shelving units created. The only two tasks that remained were the staging and decorating. I’d finished building days ago and I didn’t need to help with anything else, but all I wanted to do was steal more moments with Chloe in the pop-up shop.

Even though our time together had an expiration date, this project felt as much mine as hers and I wanted to see it through. Plus it kept my mind off what was bothering me at home.

My mother was beginning to act strange—like she was hiding stuff from me. I’d been through this too many times to count and knew all the signs of someone heading down that dark road again. All I could do was make sure my brother’s life wasn’t disrupted. Thankfully he had a full schedule of school and sports activities to keep him busy. But he wasn’t stupid—he knew the score as well as I did.

I was pretty sure Chloe figured out that I didn’t need to hang around anymore, either, but she never said a word. Every day that I showed up, she looked grateful. And happy to see me. And that kept me coming.

“Can you hoist the tape over the top of this pipe? I can’t reach,” Chloe said.

“Bet you’re missing those heels,” I said, grabbing the roll of filament from her grasp.

“Bet you are, too,” she countered, arching a playful eyebrow.

We’d been doing this a lot more lately—flirting with each other. It made me nearly desperate for the opportunity to touch her.

What that meant exactly, I wasn’t sure. We were great in our confined space together. I was fairly certain that she didn’t let anyone else know what we were up to, besides my aunt Jaclyn—and especially not her overbearing mother. Nor that we had hung out a couple of times. That bothered me at first—really bothered me. But now I got it. She had been kept on a short leash and pretty sheltered.

After hanging a few of the silver movie reels on opposite walls, I said, “Truth or dare?”

She seemed so at ease tonight, it actually surprised me when she said, “Truth.”

Darn. I had hoped I could convince her to go somewhere with me on a dare. I’d have to try a different approach.

“Hmm . . . if I asked you to come see my friend’s live band at Club Utopia . . . would you say yes?”

She immediately began twirling her hair around her fingers and I almost regretted trying to persuade her into going out with me at all.

It felt like an entire minute had passed by before she finally agreed. “Yes.”

I appreciated that she was remaining open to ideas and I really liked seeing that fire in her eyes—that small flicker that was awakened when she took a chance and tried something that was outside her comfort zone.

As we made our way to the door, she swept her hands down her clothes as if to smooth them out and said, “Is this okay—what I’m wearing?”

She had on a vintage Coca-Cola T-shirt from my aunt’s shop, tight jeans, and her pink Converse sneakers. I reined in my dirty thoughts about how amazing her breasts looked beneath that thin cotton material and how the denim stretched over her womanly hips.

“Actually it’s perfect for where we’re going.”

I could practically hear her gulp and that made me grin.

When we got inside the club, she nervously looked around the lively joint. The opening band was hard rock, the speakers were blaring, and the floor was packed with fans trying to get as close to the stage as possible.

“Can I . . . get you something to drink?” I said, against her hair. She shivered, as if I’d surprised her by being so near.

She placed her mouth next to my ear and I nearly crawled out of my skin. Her lips were warm and as she spoke they buzzed against my flesh. “I don’t really drink. I don’t like—”

“Feeling out of control?” I said, finishing her sentence.

She nodded, biting her lip, as if I’d think she was a freak of nature, when in actuality I admired that type of self-discipline. How could I not? “No biggie. At all.”

I’d actually been nervous about becoming an alcoholic myself, but after reading all the literature and going through this with Mom too many times to count, I knew that I could stop after one or two beers. That was the difference. Now I just needed to keep a close eye on my brother.

“Can I just take a couple of sips of whatever you’re having?”

“Sure.” We moved over to the bar, where I ordered my beer. She took two grateful swallows for some form of liquid courage and handed it back. She seemed to have no problem placing her lips where mine had just been, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth—especially her full bottom lip—as I sipped from the bottle after her.

My friend Nick, the drummer for the headline band, sought me out in the back of the bar and clapped me on the back. “Thanks for coming, man.”

When I introduced Chloe, she politely said hello, but I got the impression that she wanted to disappear from his scrutiny.

After he left to begin his set, I said, “You feel out of your element here, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Kinda. Sorry.”

Before I could respond, the music started and the place erupted over the first song. People began yelling and swaying and Chloe looked around in awe. I stood behind her against the back wall, and just like at the live theater production, I felt this insane need to protect her, to create our own little personal zone.

But by the third song, she seemed to get into the music and was swaying back and forth as they covered a popular tune. She mouthed a few of the words, which was so damned sexy. My arm kept brushing hers as I took sips of my beer, and I felt almost desperate to tangle our fingers together.

What would she think if I did? She was such a “play by the rules” kind of girl that I was pretty sure she might freak. Still our time together was coming to an end and I felt the burgeoning desire to get closer to her, to see what this chemistry was all about. You could probably walk on the tightrope of tension between us.

After I finished my first beer, I felt a little bolder. I wasn’t feeling a buzz quite yet, but my confidence and yearning to test our attraction hit its peak.

When I carefully placed my fingers on her shoulders, I studied her reaction. Her body seemed to tremble beneath my touch, and that only egged me on.

“Truth or dare?” I asked, and her eyes met mine, holding the connection strong as cement.

A rash of color sprinkled across her cheeks and she looked so damned irresistible. A momentary guise of uncertainty crossed her features before she took a deep breath. “Dare.”

My lips sought her ear before she could change her mind. “Your pick. Do something spontaneous.”

Her gaze swept around the bar unsteadily before something seemed to click and settle in her eyes. I could see her ticking through the idea in her brain. She nodded and then stepped forward out of my grasp.

She made her way to the middle of the writhing bodies, closer to the stage. Her back was to me and I noticed the tightly coiled tension in her shoulders. She stood there for several long minutes, watching the band and the people around her. Then to my utter astonishment, she lifted her arms in the air and began swinging her hips in time to the music.

Her ass looked sweet and if I had been standing directly behind her like I’d been moments before, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my fingers from sliding around her waist and moving in close. So damned close. The front of my jeans tightened in response.

Some dude with long hair dancing next to her turned in her direction to check her out. His eyes slid from her breasts down to her crotch and I balled my fists in response. Damn, was I really feeling jealous over this girl? The same girl who had driven me up a fucking wall for so many weeks?

Now the guy stepped in front of her, shifted his hand to her hip, and matched her efforts. She bristled in response, and just as I was about to head over and push him the hell away, she brought her hand to his shoulder. In her profile, I saw her nod and grin.

After a minute more, she turned away from him and searched for my eyes across the room. She held my gaze steadily as she swayed her hips seductively in my direction.

Hell, this girl was hot. Especially when she was letting go and owning her sexuality.

She danced the entire song with this guy close behind her—a little too close—but her eyes remained glued to mine. I couldn’t look away even if I tried. When the number was over and she began moving toward me, I felt something spring loose in my chest. The kind of feeling I hadn’t had for a girl in months. Maybe years.

I wanted her. But I wasn’t sure if she wanted me in the same way. Not outside of our time together on this project. And I needed to be okay with that.

She giggled and threw herself into my arms, pulling me in for a tight hug. “That was fun.”

“Yeah?” I said against her neck. Fuck, she smelled good—like strawberry shampoo. “You looked like you were having fun. I’m surprised that dude didn’t ask for your number.”

She pulled back to look at me. “Why would he?”

“Because you’re hot, Chloe.” I drew her closer to whisper in her ear, “You might not even realize how damned hot you are. Especially when you’re not thinking too hard—when you’re lost in the moment.”

Her lips parted and her eyes met mine. She seemed at a loss for words, so I decided to change the subject. I wanted to give her an out. Maybe I’d said too much.

I motioned for the bar. “Want me to get you a soda or a water?”

She stared at me for another long moment before she said, “No, thanks.”

We listened to the next song quietly standing beside each other, lost in our own thoughts. Until she turned to me and said, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I said, almost breathless. Given her mood, maybe she’d give me something good this time.

“Your turn,” she said. “Do something spontaneous.”

My fingers trembled from wanting to touch her so badly and all I could think about was doing just that.

“You sure that’s what you want?” I said, turning and backing her against the wall.

“Yes,” she breathed out.

“Something spontaneous or something I’ve been thinking about doing for days?” I said, my lips coming closer to hers. “Maybe weeks?”

Her breath caught. “It . . . it’s your call.”

My head swung forward, our foreheads practically touching.

Fluttery breaths were escaping her lips. I place my arms on either side of her head and she bit down on her lip. My heart thrashed in my chest and all I could think about was how desperate I was to kiss her, and how nervous I was to blow this opportunity.

So I attempted to read her signals and they were definitely mixed. Her eyes flitted between panic and lust.

When I pinned my hip against hers, I could’ve sworn I heard a low moan in the back of her throat.

“Please,” she rasped out. “Please . . . don’t . . . Blake.”

My stomach was in my throat. Fuck, either I’d scared her or I’d been reading her wrong. I leaned back to give her space, but her fingers suddenly skimmed across my waist, clenching my shirt and drawing me nearer.

“Don’t what?” I asked in confusion. She was so fucking messing with my head.

“Don’t . . .” She was panting now. “Don’t stop.”

The air rushed from my lungs and I flattened my body against hers.

Gathering her face in my fingers, I brushed my lips hesitantly across hers. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Please.”

Her voice was so sexy, so pleading, it was all I could do not to lift her in my arms and take her to some quiet back room. Or out to my truck. Somewhere I could have her all to myself.

I pressed my lips firmer against hers, more insistent.

When she opened her mouth and flicked the tip of her tongue out to meet mine, I couldn’t help groaning. Her lips were like velvet and I grasped her neck securely, my thumbs skimming across her throat as I dipped my tongue fully inside her mouth. Her fingers moved up and wound tightly in my hair as her tongue lapped insatiably against mine.

“Fuck, Chloe.” My hips ground against hers—once, twice. “See what you do to me?” I was certain she could feel my arousal now.

Our tongues were tangling in a frantic pace and she was moaning into my mouth.

“God, Blake.” She opened her eyes in a panic and a lust-induced haze. “What are we doing?”

She asked this as she continued kissing me, teasing my bottom lip with her tongue. She was so contradictory. Always thinking, even while in a state of passion. Probably making lists in her head. Maybe already trying to redefine the rules.

“Close your eyes and stop thinking, goddamn it,” I said in a gruff voice. “Just feel. Don’t worry about later or tomorrow. This is me and you. Just here and now.”

She responded by grinding into me. Holy hell.

My hand slid up to cup her breast, my thumb slipping across her nipple, while I nibbled on her lips—until I remembered where we were.

I drew away and looked around the bar. Though we were tucked away in a corner against the back wall, it wasn’t like we were invisible. And sooner or later, Chloe would realize that as well and more than likely feel mortified.

I leaned back in and kissed her lips tenderly, combing my fingers through her hair.

“That was some dare,” she mumbled.

I knew this was temporary. Only for this moment. Still I wanted to make sure she knew how amazing she was. “You are so fucking gorgeous. And sexy as hell. Don’t ever forget that.”

I kissed her deeply, one final time, wishing it could last all night.

chapter eight

Chloe

For the next two days I kept touching my lips repeatedly, remembering what it’d been like kissing Blake against that wall in the club. Hot damn. Had I ever been kissed that way before? Like he’d wanted to consume me? Classic movie kisses be damned!

“What’s the deal?” my roommate Courtney asked, pouring herself a big old glass of vino. Courtney loved her wine. She looked at the clock above my head, probably wondering why her boyfriend, Dalton, was running late.

My other two roommates, Misha and Indy, were getting ready to go out for the night—Misha to some new Italian restaurant with Darryn, and Indy next door to her boyfriend Kier’s place, where they cocooned themselves in a lot. Kier was quiet but perfect for Indy. So maybe opposites really do attract.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not meeting their eyes.

“You’re walking around all dreamy,” Indy said, laughing. “Must be a boy. At least I hope it’s finally a boy.”

I tried to deny it, but then I broke down and told them. About Blake and the kiss. “But it was just a dare. It’s not like we’d ever date for real or anything.”

Misha raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because we have different . . . plans for our lives.” Plus he’d made it clear that his family was a huge responsibility and that he’d taken time off from classes to focus on them. Hadn’t he? My emotions and thoughts were so jumbled up at the moment.

“And he can’t figure into your plans?” Courtney said, just as there was a knock at the door. She moved toward the front entrance to let Dalton inside. “He won’t make it onto one of your sticky notes?”

I laughed because damn, Courtney was so right. I went upstairs to change into my jeans and a T-shirt. I was meeting Blake at the space tonight and I had a plan—one that was out of my comfort zone—and I never would have thought of it had it not been for Blake and his invitations to see live shows. I just hoped he’d agree with it and not see it as some last-ditch effort to keep him around an extra couple of days.

Even though it actually might’ve been.

After I arrived, I glanced around the space and was thrilled with how well it had all come together. It looked magical, really—with the Old Hollywood posters we’d hung, along with the film reels and fedora hats in different locations.

I pasted the note I’d scribbled for Blake near the doorknob before heading across the street to buy us our iced hazelnuts.

Be right back—getting our coffees. I have an idea! See you in a few minutes.

When I returned, he was standing against the far wall, one ankle crossed over the other, looking amused. And jeez, how much hotter could he get, wearing a tight pair of dark jeans with that fitted red T-shirt? He looked fresh out of the shower, which meant he’d have the clean soap scent that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Not only that, but I was having extreme difficulty tearing my eyes away from his lips. I needed to cut that crap out and act like the other night was just what it had been—something fun and daring.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, trying to rein in my smutty thoughts.

“The fact that I was finally subjected to one of your sticky notes.”

“You should feel special.” I winked.

I thought it was going to be more awkward between us after what had happened at the club. Instead it felt natural, outside of the electricity buzzing in the air between us. The same current that vaulted me toward him.

“So, what’s up?” he asked as I handed him his coffee.

“I had a last-minute idea,” I said, and then nibbled on the inside of my lip, already doubting myself.

“Do you need to consult your notes?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“Ha, very funny.” I actually had considered grabbing for my notebook on the box across the room.

“What is it?” When he straightened to step closer to me, I held my breath.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he was close enough to kiss. I forced that thought from my mind. “What do you think of the idea of building a short runway?”

His forehead furrowed. “For real?”

“Let me show you my sketch,” I said, heading across the space. He followed on my heels.

I lifted the notebook and flipped to the right page. He was standing directly behind me and I could smell his fresh laundry scent. I tamped down the urge to turn and kiss him senseless. I wondered if he was having the same trouble, because he made some kind of noise in the back of his throat before covering it up with a cough.

“We can build it in the back and then move it outside during the sale,” I said, spinning to look at him.

“As long as you’re okay with a very basic design, shouldn’t take more than a couple of nights.”

His gaze darted between my lips and my eyes as a warming sensation slid from the center of my chest to the depths of my stomach.

“Yes,” I said, sounding too breathy. “That’ll work.”

He kept his eyes fixed on my face, his expression cloaked.

“I figured we could model the clothes,” I continued with some effort, trying to pull away from his heavy gaze. “Maybe it would lead to more sales.”

He straightened himself, rubbing his fingers along the stubble on his chin, as if thinking it through. “You have access to models?”

“Sure, from the design college. They use models all the time and most of them are students,” I said. “A few of them might jump at the chance for this opportunity.”

His eyes lit up in approval. “Good thinking.”

“I bet you’d do well on the runway, too.” From what I’d felt the other night, he was rock solid and smooth. I tried not to allow my eyes to rove too much over his body. “Your height, your stature.”

“Keep dreaming,” he said, shaking his head. “Though I have modeled before. It’s decent money.”

“No way,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “You are full of surprises.”

“See what happens when you take the time to get to know someone?” His gaze lingered on mine, amusement dancing in his eyes.

My cheeks burned at the allegation. “Touché.”

He grinned. “Your idea actually surprises the hell out of me.”

I took a quick sip of my coffee. “Why?”

“You’ve been part of runway shows before, right?” he asked. “The mad chaos that takes place behind the scenes, trying to get the models into the next set of clothes and back in front of the audience?”

My palms felt clammy as I remembered the two shows I’d been a part of in the School of Design. I was a dresser, which meant I stood by my model’s assigned rack and waited to help her between changes. I was extremely organized and had laid out my model’s next outfit at just the exact time so she could slip right in. But he was right—it was sheer pandemonium back there, people yelling out sizes and number order and rushing the models to get their butts back in line.

I didn’t know how my mother had done it on a regular basis. It was the one part of the business I was sure I’d absolutely avoid. While my mother had been extremely driven, I was extremely methodical.

I was cool with shopping and pulling clothes for regular shoots or shows, but throwing together this kind of production, where thinking on the fly and timing were everything, was something that made my heart jackhammer too wildly in my chest.

But if I quieted down and listened—and admitted some things to myself—I would find my own truth. That beneath all of that panicky anticipation, it absolutely did feel magical, to embrace the unexpected.

Just like Blake had described theater. Just like he’d shown me by taking me to a couple of performances. Sure, one was a rock-and-roll gig, but it was still live—and completely exhilarating.

And deep down, I wanted to experience that again—that unpredictable, unbridled sensation—all on my own.

“This show would definitely be run on a much smaller scale,” I said. “Only one outfit change.”

“Ah,” he said, looking at me appraisingly. “Still, I’m proud of you for even attempting to take it on.”

I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me see if I can round up some stray pieces of lumber.” He walked away, leaving me to catch my breath.

When he reemerged, he said, “I don’t have enough here to make do. I can come back tomorrow night after a trip to the lumberyard. Sound reasonable?”

“Absolutely. And thank you,” I said. His eyes seem to light up when I showed gratitude, which made me feel even more terrible about the kind of person he thought I’d been before.

“Although . . .” I bowed my head, suddenly unsure of myself and this ridiculous new idea. I didn’t want to look him in the eye. “You’ve probably got other responsibilities you need to finally get back to. Like with your family.”

“Not exactly,” he said hesitantly. “Besides, it’s been nice . . . keeping my mind occupied. I like being here.”

I looked up and met his gaze and saw desire blazing in his indigo eyes. And it had been placed there by me, which was so hot. If I only had that one thing to take away at the end of this experience—that I’d turned this amazingly sexy guy on—that would be cool by me.

“Tonight I can help hang those curtains in the front windows, if you want.”

“That would be great.” I smoothed out the silky material that I’d just begun pressing. Thankfully Jaclyn had an extra steam machine in the back. It saved us time and a trip to the other store. “If you can start screwing in the brackets, I can hand you these when you’re ready.”

He carried a stepladder to the front of the store, where all of the windows were covered with thick butcher paper, and got to work. After drilling holes in the wall, and screwing in the brackets, I passed him the rods that were draped with freshly hung curtains.

Now all that was left was fixing them to my liking.

Stepping down the ladder, he said, “I’ll trade places with you.”

He held the ladder steady for me while I climbed halfway up the rungs. I gathered the material in my hands, trying to tie the one end while he watched from below.

“Shoot, this side is stuck,” I said, trying to jiggle it loose from the strut.

“Here, let me help.” He took a couple of steps up the ladder and placed his arms on either side of me to help pull the curtain off the nail. His chest was right up against my back, his lips near my ear, and I couldn’t help it; I let out a throaty sigh.

“Chloe,” he said in a rough voice.

I lowered my head in defeat and I could feel his jagged breaths against my hairline.

“I know the other night was . . . fun,” he said. “But getting you out of my head during the day hasn’t been so easy.”

My skin pebbled from his revelation.

“Truth is—you turn me on so much. It’s hard not to think about . . . touching you again. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Blake.” His lips skimmed across my neckline and I shivered from the contact. “I’ve . . . never been kissed like that before. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Ah hell.” His voice was thick and husky, as if he were struggling with his last measure of control. The area between my legs prickled like it had short-circuited. “Chloe, what are we—”

His sentence was effectively cut off by his phone ringing. He stepped down the ladder in a jerky motion. “It’s my brother. I need to take this.”

After he answered, he listened attentively and then said through clenched teeth, “What about Mom picking you up?”

He listened some more. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way. Tell your coach I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

We made eye contact, his eyes dark and stormy, before he turned and sprinted out the door. I just nodded; there was no need for further explanation. I knew he had other pressing responsibilities, no matter how much he tried ignoring them when he was here with me.

My heart ached for what he was going through. But my body continued responding to what he’d admitted to me on the ladder.

It took the next hour for my skin to stop prickling. And even longer for me to fall asleep that night.

chapter nine

Chloe

“Truth or dare?” Blake asked casually as he sawed wood for the new runway structure. As if the response to that one question hadn’t already placed us in compromising positions.

I took what had become the easier route tonight. “Truth.”

Besides, it looked like there was something he had been working through in his mind. Maybe we finally needed to talk this crazy attraction thing through.

“What you said last night, about never being kissed like that before . . . what did you mean?” he asked. “When was . . . the last time you had a boyfriend?”

“In high school. He raked my name through the mud right after he wore me down to have sex with him.” I sighed. “I was a virgin and we did everything else for months. And then when I finally gave in, he dumped me and spread a bunch of rumors about me being an uptight prude.”

“Damn,” he said. “What a bastard.”

And then his eyes widened as realization seemed to sink in about what he’d said to me weeks earlier about having a stick up my ass. “Oh man, Chloe.”

“It’s okay. Because it’s mostly been true,” I said, admitting to my own faults.

“No. I’m sorry I had the wrong impression,” he said. “And I’m glad we got to know each other and became . . . friends.”

“Me, too,” I said, relief spreading through my chest.

“I know after our time here is done . . . we won’t see very much of each other.” He paused and swallowed. My heart strained painfully. I was desperate to ask him why not, but then I remembered my rule about focusing on college and my career. I was the one who pretended not to be associated with him whenever I saw the women from my mother’s circle, after all.

Besides, if he affected my brain this much only from a kiss, what kind of mess would I be if we tried dating? Not that he was saying he wanted to.

“But if you ever need anything . . . ,” he said, his voice trailing off. “I mean, the way you transformed this space is amazing and I know you have a great career ahead of you.”

“Well, you certainly helped,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it without you. But . . . thank you.”

We were silent for a bit and then I said, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

His cheeks lifted into a small smile. “Truth.”

“Girlfriends?” I asked.

“Not really. My first love from high school pretty much stomped on my heart, and since then, I’ve just been dating here and there,” he said. “But I also have a lot of responsibility on me right now. So I guess I don’t really have the time or energy to dedicate to it.”

And there it was. He had his reasons laid out as well. “Well, I definitely understand that.”

“Have you dated anyone . . . since . . . ?” He stared into my eyes. “I mean, when was the last time you . . . you know, a guy made you feel good?”

“Um . . . not sure.” My breaths sputtered out. “I’ve been with a few guys. But it’s . . . been a while.”

“Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes closed as if painfully trying to restrain himself.

“What . . . what about you?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer. But also to keep him talking, because I was about to become a puddle on the floor from watching him alone. “When’s the last time a girl . . .”

His gaze blazed into mine and then he took a step closer—so close he could’ve reached out and pulled me into his arms, if he’d wanted.

“Made me feel good?” he muttered. “The other night . . . with you.”

“God, Blake . . .” My head rolled back and my breath became fluttery. “What are you saying? We didn’t do anything besides kiss.”

“But I went home knowing how your skin and your lips felt against mine and that . . . almost satisfied my fantasies for the night.”

A whimper burst from my lips. “You’re not the only one.”

His eyes widened and he moved even nearer.

His fingers slipped up my arms, making the hairs stand on end. “Truth or dare, Chloe?”

As we stared each other down, I couldn’t have answered any other way even if I tried.

“Dare,” I whispered. My heart was pounding against my rib cage.

“I . . . dare . . . you . . . to close your eyes.” He paused and waited for me to slide them shut. Then I felt his warm air against my lips. “And just feel.”

I gasped and my lids fluttered open.

“Keep them shut.” His voice was like a command and I responded by slamming my eyes closed.

My body began trembling. I was craving him—craving his touch. My heart was in my throat as I waited to see—to feel—what he was about to do.

Also because it was very difficult for me to give up this amount of control.

“You’re so pretty,” he said as his hands wrapped around the back of my neck and his lips grazed my throat. “Let me make you feel good.”

It was a foreign feeling to have my eyes closed to the surrounding world and just experience someone’s touch. His lips closed around my ear and I felt emboldened and alive, much like that night at the club. As his fingers slinked down my arms to my waist, I pressed my chest against his. My nipples were erect and my breasts felt dense and full.

As if he’d taken the hint, his thumbs brushed across my buds and I sighed in relief.

His fingers traveled beneath my shirt to my bare skin. “Do you like when I touch you here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please.”

He groaned, and just as his hands fully cupped my breasts, his mouth captured mine in a bruising kiss. His tongue slashed past my lips as his finger moved across my back to unhook my bra.

“So sexy.” In one swift motion he lifted off my shirt and then tugged off my bra. I stood before him naked from the waist up. “God, Chloe . . . you look amazing.”

I kept my eyes clenched tight. It was easier that way. If I opened them, I might’ve chickened out.

His mouth kissed and licked down my throat to my collarbone. “Can I keep touching you?”

I nodded and then suddenly had a moment of unnerving uncertainty. The last measure of my control crumbling. “Can anybody see us?”

“The windows are covered, remember?” His mouth swiftly moved down and captured one of my nipples—maybe in order to keep my mind off the previous subject. “You’re safe with me.”

My knees nearly buckled from the sensation of his hot mouth on my skin. When he moved to the other side, I moaned and grasped at his hair. I didn’t remember ever being this turned on in my entire life. I ground my hips against him, needing to get closer.

“Ah hell,” he blurted out, and then slowly backed me against the wall. The brick felt cool against my fiery skin. All I could hear was the distant sound of the traffic buzzing by on the street and his heavy breaths at my neck. I felt secluded, protected, and unbelievably stimulated.

As his hand hovered on the button of my jeans, his lips found my ear. “Can I touch you everywhere?”

I was momentarily petrified, my knees quivering, but that gave way to my blazing arousal. All I could do was nod—my body was so bombarded by sensation.

I whimpered as he unzipped my jeans and then his hand slipped down the front of my underwear. I was so completely wet and nearly mortified that he’d soon discover that.

“Oh damn,” he grunted out in a tortured voice. “You’re so turned on, aren’t you?”

“Completely,” I said, letting go of any shame.

He pushed my jeans to my knees and then his fingers nudged inside the edges of my underwear. “Did I do this to you?”

I was shuddering and panting. “Yes.”

He swore as his fingers found my center and the sensation was like being suspended off the edge of a cliff. My heart was thrashing and my pelvis was pulsing and all I wanted was to take that leap of faith. With him.

A low growl emitted from his throat and the sound was so visceral I almost let go right then and there. Almost. But still I hovered over the precipice of my own orgasm, nearly embarrassed by how long it had been and how easily I was giving up control from the simple brush of Blake’s fingers.

“Have you been thinking about me in bed at night—like I’ve been thinking of you?”

I quavered as his fingers continued brushing over my nub and then slipped firmly inside me. “Every . . . single . . . night.”

He groaned and sucked expertly on my nipples. “This moment, right here with you, is my fantasy come true.”

“Oh God . . . Blake.” There was an upsurge deep in my belly, like sparks sending a heated footpath up and down my legs and then biting at my center.

All it took was another swipe of his thumb for me to fully and completely detonate. He grasped on to my waist as I shook and mumbled and kept my eyelids firmly shut.

Blake kissed my neck and ear and lips as I became more fully aware of myself and my surroundings. With my lids still closed, mortification began to bear down. I was basically naked, up against a wall with Blake—in my employer’s place of business.

“Open your eyes,” Blake whispered against my lips.

I did so, reluctantly. I found him staring at me in wonder, his eyes bright and clear.

His thumb traced against my throat. “You’re beautiful.”

chapter ten

Blake

It’d been a miserable day. That morning, I’d found my mother passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of wine hidden in the wastebasket. When I began rummaging around, I also found vodka hidden in the back of the cupboard above the stove.

I stood over the sink dumping the contents of the bottle as a storm of emotions swirled inside me: shock, anger, and defeat.

After I drove my brother to school, I nudged my mom awake. “Have you started drinking again?”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of anything,” she snapped.

But then I held up two empty bottles of vodka and immediately saw a flash of mortification in her eyes, before her face fell into her hands. As the realization sank in that she’d been caught and had most certainly fallen off the wagon, she began blubbering and mumbling incoherently.

We’d been here before. Several times. But the sting of it was no less wounding. Though I was beginning to become numb to this feeling of loss I’d experienced practically my entire life, this time was particularly painful, because we had come so far and I had given up so much to get here.

It was always so difficult to hear my mother’s gut-wrenching sobs.

I handed over her cell phone and encouraged her to call her sponsor and attend an AA meeting today. “The counselor said this could happen, Mom. It’ll be okay. You just have to do the work to get to a good place again.”

“I will,” she said, not meeting my eye. “I promise.”

I was so distracted at the construction site that I cut my finger with a putty knife. Thankfully it was Friday and I was supposed to meet Chloe tonight to put the final touches on the runway.

That girl had somehow gotten under my skin. I couldn’t get her out of my fucking head. The noises she made when my fingers were inside her. I could get used to that sound every night. Damn, I was already beginning to miss her, knowing that this might be one of our last nights together.

I went home to shower and change after work and made sure my brother had gotten to his buddy’s house for the night. There’d been a note from my mother that she was out with her sponsor and would be attending her second meeting of the day. Still I wondered why she hadn’t answered her phone or responded to my text, so I drove past her favorite watering hole on the way to meet Chloe.

When I didn’t find her car parked anywhere nearby, I blew out a breath of relief even though something still felt off. Dread had settled dead center in my chest, and my fingers trembled on the steering wheel as I imagined what I might find when I got home later that night.

The moment I stepped into the store, Chloe took one look at me and her jaw went slack. She could sense something was wrong, which didn’t surprise me—anxiety was pressing in on me from all sides. We had been in this confined space together for weeks and had come to know each other’s moods. Why I thought I could gloss over my feelings tonight was beyond me.

“Blake.” She’d begun staining the runway black, but now she set her brush down and approached me cautiously. She wore hip-hugging skinny jeans with a vintage ABBA T-shirt. Her blond hair was loose from her usual dainty clip, the curls framing her face, and damn, she looked sexy. “Talk to me.”

I momentarily shut my eyes and shook my head. For a second I was afraid she’d think it was something she’d done, but I was pretty certain she realized it had to do with something else. “No. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Please,” she said, stepping closer. “I want to help.”

“You can’t help. Nobody can,” I said, feeling a flash of frustration. “It’s just . . . things are a mess again.”

“Your mom?” Her voice was low and careful.

I scrubbed my fingers over my face. “Yeah.”

She moved behind me, her fingers reaching for my shoulders. “You’re so tense.”

Then her hands began working some kind of magic by deftly massaging my neck and my shoulders. My arms braced the wall in front of me and I let out a moan.

“Feel good?” she said.

“Yeah.” I rolled my neck back against her fingers. “Thank you.”

“What else can I do?” she asked cautiously.

“I . . . I don’t know.” My eyes practically spun in the back of my head from her hands moving over my skin. “What you’re doing is . . . amazing.”

Her fingers slipped beneath my T-shirt as they began kneading the muscles between my shoulder blades. “You want to tell me about it?”

“N . . . No.” My voice stuttered as her hands journeyed down my spine to my waist.

“Take this off,” she said in a soft and tentative voice. After I pulled my shirt over my head, she smoothed her warm fingers over my flesh, as if savoring it.

Her hands traveled to my stomach and it quivered from her touch.

I immediately felt hot and solid for her despite all the chaos going on in my life.

“Blake,” she whispered. Her fingers skimmed up and down my chest and her nails lightly scratched my abdomen.

My hard-on fought against the material of my jeans. “Damn, that feels incredible.”

I just wanted to get lost in this girl.

Her lips found my ear and I shivered from their closeness. “I only want to make you feel good,” she said as her teeth grazed my neck and then trailed down to my shoulder. I pumped out a heavy breath. She turned me on so damned much.

When I felt her breasts flatten against my back and her hand brush over my erection, my arms flexed against the wall. I didn’t even try stopping her. Because hell, I wanted her to touch me.

She unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, and without hesitation slid her delicate fingers inside. When her small but sure hand gripped me firmly, I groaned loudly.

“Chloe. God,” I strained out. “I’ve imagined you doing this on so many nights.”

Her hot lips began sucking on the back of my neck as her fingers worked me in the front.

After so many days of pent-up sexual frustration from just being around her—smelling her, tasting her skin and lips—I was already close.

I probably should have twisted to look at her, to kiss her sweet mouth. We weren’t even making eye contact, but somehow this felt so damned intimate. To have someone to lean on when everything in my life was going to shit.

Besides, I knew her pretty well by now. Had I turned to face her, she might have balked. More than likely, not seeing my eyes, my expression, made her feel brave—and I didn’t want to ruin this. I needed her fingers on my skin, wanted it so damned badly.

“Christ, I love feeling your hands on me.” My words spurred her on as she gripped tighter and stroked faster.

“Let go,” Chloe mumbled, kissing between my shoulder blades. “Just let it all out.”

And that was exactly what I did. I unleashed all of my frustration and sorrow. And I allowed my uninhibited passion for this girl to sweep me away into a mind-numbing orgasm.

chapter eleven

Blake

When I came through the door carrying two coffees the following night, Chloe was lighting the last of dozens of tea lights she had spread across the room.

It gave the space this magical, almost ethereal glow. She’d also laid down a plaid blanket and wicker basket in the center.

“Wow, what’s all this?”

“I thought we’d have a picnic tonight,” she said, biting her lip and looking incredibly sexy. “After we finish painting. It’ll be our reward.”

“Sounds great.” Her actions were exceptionally sweet and considerate and I just wanted to pull her against me and kiss the hell out of her.

There would be time for that later, but first we needed to finish applying the second coat to the runway. The street sale was at the end of this week.

“How are things . . . at home?” she asked, her voice tentative.

“Um, I . . .” I shook my head. I didn’t want my mood to permeate the night the way it did last time, but I guess I couldn’t help it—I was currently living under a dark cloud.

“Please, Blake,” she said, her gaze searing into mine. “Talk to me.”

Being with Chloe the previous night had somehow helped. Like I had someone to lean on and get lost with. Maybe it was okay to allow her to be my anchor. Just for right now.

“Not much better,” I said truthfully. “Mom’s sponsor spent the day with her and got the treatment center involved. We have a family session in the morning to discuss the next steps to her sobriety.”

“I’m sorry.” Sadness filtered through her eyes. “How’s your brother?”

“After his game tonight, he begged me to stay over at his friend Matt’s house again,” I said, thinking about how I sat there, seething in those stands, because my mother wasn’t able to attend his game with me. She hadn’t been to a game all week. “I was about to say no, but his parents had walked over and told me it would be fine by them.”

“You’re a great big brother.”

“Thanks,” I said. “What’s new with you?”

“You mean besides the fact that my mom got on my case about not attending an art and design fund-raiser last night?”

My jaw went slack. She had been with me. Essentially taking care of me. “You ditched out on that last night?”

“I did,” she said with a strong voice. “And it felt darn good.”

Her grin was wide and open and I couldn’t help smiling right along with her. She was fighting her own kind of battle and I wanted to be a support for her as well.

We left the second coat of paint to dry on the runway and then sat down on the blanket. She opened the basket near her knees and said, “I thought maybe we needed something strong tonight.”

My eyebrows shot up as she pulled out a bottle of Baileys.

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

She shrugged. “I said I usually don’t. But this kinda tastes like chocolate and goes great with coffee.”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“My roommate Indy let me swipe it from her.”

I grinned and opened our coffee lids while she changed the station on her iPod. A slow and soulful Adele song came on, and to my utter amazement, Chloe reached for my hands. “Let’s dance.”

We did a toast with our Baileys-laced coffees and then I pulled her into my arms as we swayed to the moody song.

Her skin was soft, she smelled like strawberries, and I felt all the tension unraveling in my chest at having her nearer. I wasn’t sure how I was going to walk away from her after this week, and maybe I didn’t have to.

Maybe if I got things squared away with my mom again, I could ask her out on a real date.

But for now, I just wanted to be next to her. In this moment.

I looked into the dark blue depths of her eyes. “Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“For . . . being here for me, the last couple of nights.”

“No problem. I . . . look forward to being here . . . with you.”

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers in a heated kiss, showing her just how much I liked it, too. Within a couple of minutes our kisses became more insistent, our tongues tangling frantically as our bodies overheated.

Next our shirts came off and our bodies were molded together, chest to stomach to hips, and I was beyond turned on. I wanted to strip off the rest of our clothes so that I could feel all of her smooth skin next to mine.

“Blake,” she whispered. “It’s been a long time, but I want . . . I need . . .”

My stomach tightened in anticipation. “What?”

“I want to be with you . . . tonight.”

My breath caught in the back of my throat because I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be with her, connect with her, in that way.

I cupped her face and then deepened the kiss, my body flattening against hers more urgently. I kneeled down on the blanket and tugged her with me.

I nibbled her ear and then along her neck, making my way to her breasts. She arched up against me as I pulled one of her nipples into my mouth and then gave the other side the same attention.

“Please,” she urged, grasping me through the front of my jeans.

“Oh God, Chloe,” I rasped out. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” My mouth captured hers in a bruising kiss and we continued grinding up against each other. In another minute, both of our jeans were off and I could barely catch my breath. She was so gorgeous—kneeling there completely naked, her skin soft and glistening in the dim light.

Our hands were roaming everywhere—in hair, over chests and backsides, between legs, working each other into a panting and reckless frenzy.

She was so wet and I was so damned ready my hard-on was straining against her stomach. It’d been so long since I felt so connected to someone that I was desperate to be inside her. But I needed her to be sure.

“Now, Blake, please,” she mumbled, while kissing my neck and gripping me in her fingers.

I reached for my wallet and pulled out the condom I’d always kept there, just in case.

I slid it over my very hard erection and then nudged her back on the blanket. I took my time kissing her soft lips, all the while looking deeply into her eyes. “You’re so damned pretty, Chloe.”

I positioned my head at her entrance and she shivered from the contact. I entered her partway and then paused, hissing through my teeth. She was so tight and wet and warm.

It felt incredible being inside her, so I wanted to take my sweet time.

I noticed her trembling lips and her flushed cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she strangled out. “I’m perfect. This is perfect. Please, I want you.”

I slid in farther, inch by inch, and she cried out as I filled her completely.

As soon as she became adjusted to the feel of me inside her, I began moving in and out at a solid pace, keeping eye contact with her. Everything in this moment felt so right, so amazingly fucking flawless. I didn’t want it to end.

I could feel her climax building slowly—her skin pulsing, her warm center squeezing more tightly—as I reached my thumb down to roll over her swollen nub.

She yelled out my name, trembling and grasping at my hair, and I stilled myself to watch her get her release, before pumping into her more firmly to chase my own.

We stayed wrapped in the blanket for a long time afterward, just gazing into each other’s eyes—talking, laughing, and stealing kisses. It was one of the most unforgettable nights of my life.

chapter twelve

Chloe

Today was the day of the Made in the Arbor street fair and I had gotten an early start to prep for the long hours. I hadn’t seen Blake in a few days and was basically going out of my mind.

We’d never exchanged phone numbers, just always shown up at the space to work together. I figured his disappearing act had something to do with his mom, because of what he’d shared that last night we were together.

I squashed down the notion that he didn’t return because of me—that I’d given him what he’d wanted and he was done. Or maybe it didn’t live up to the fantasy he’d said he had of me. I wasn’t very skilled in that department, but he certainly made me feel like I’d been.

No matter how busy I made myself, I couldn’t get him out of my head—how his skin smelled like fresh linen or the way his lips fit so perfectly against mine.

Jaclyn seemed more than impressed with what we had accomplished at her other store. She said that it would be a shame to take it down and that she knew the sale would be a hit. She began officially calling the new space Fibers, which matched nicely with Threads.

I couldn’t help telling Jaclyn that I was concerned about Blake and that I hoped he was okay. I was sure she could see my feelings for him in my eyes, in the emotions I was trying desperately to rein in. It must have been obvious how close we’d grown over these past few weeks.

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?”

A flash of pain registered in his eyes. “It’s getting there. Mom’s back in treatment. I’ll explain more later, because I just want to make today about Fibers and you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Oblivious to the swirl and chaos around us, we were trapped in our own little bubble. My fingers skimmed around his waist, and his fingers tunneled through my hair. “So, what do you say? Can we try to make this work?”

“Yes,” I breathed out.

“Ah hell.” His lips stretched across the space between us to press against mine. “I’ve been miserable without you.”

He kissed me again, this time more firmly. His fingers grasped the back of my hair securely as if he was unwilling to let me go.

“God, Blake,” I mumbled, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I’ve been miserable, too.”

He groaned, deepening the kiss, his tongue licking over my lips and then dipping fully into my mouth. Everything happening around us faded into the background as my fingers fisted the back of his shirt and tugged him nearer.

For the first time in ever, I didn’t care what anybody else thought. The only thing that mattered was that Blake was here and he wanted to be with me as badly as I wanted to be with him.

I tore my lips away from his, realizing just how unproductive I’d been in the last several minutes. Especially before a huge event. It was so unlike me.

I needed to call out the model order. I had a grade to earn and people were counting on me. My stomach tensed, taut with familiar panic, as I attempted to break his hold and smooth down his designer shirt. But Blake tugged me back against him for a final tender kiss.

Just then I heard a whoop from the middle of the room, and when I looked up, my three roommates, Courtney, Misha, and Indy, were standing there grinning at our display. I walked toward them and they pulled me into a group hug, congratulating me on the store and giggling about Blake. They backed away, saying they’d wait outside to see the show.

Taking a deep breath, I turned and called the lineup. This was the easy part. The timing and the dress changes were the chaotic parts. But I felt good, like I had this in the bag. I walked up and down the row to be sure clothes were straight and hair was in place on each model.

When I got to number ten, Blake grinned and laced his fingers through mine, pulling me in for a brief and chaste kiss. “Good luck. You’re going to rock this.”

The show went off without a hitch and I was on a high—feeling so alive and confident in my own skin as I took a bow at the end of the set to roaring applause.

As the models filtered off the stage and headed to the back room to change, I was surrounded by my roommates and other design students, who had wanted to congratulate me on a job well done.

The storefront was empty when I walked back inside, but I could still hear the buzz of the crowd from the street and customers combing through the racks that had been brought outside.

“The show was a hit. Fantastic job,” Jaclyn said, rounding the corner from the dressing area, and my cheeks lifted with the swell of pride. “And what you’ve done to this space is simply amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, heading toward her. I heard the door swing open and chatter from customers behind me, but I was riveted by the serious look in Jaclyn’s eyes. There was something else she wanted to say.

“I know your plan is to move to New York City after you graduate, Chloe. But I want you to know that you have another option, too,” she said, fixing a rack of dresses near the back wall. “I’m willing to offer you the job of managing this store. It belongs to you anyway and I’d like to see if this location takes off.”

Hearing her offer unleashed a swirling kaleidoscope of emotions inside me. It’d been the first time I’d ever allowed the possibility of having this job as a career inhabit my brain. I really enjoyed the merchandising aspect of running a storefront, but I never saw it as an option for me—and neither did my mother.

“That’s an incredible compliment,” my mother’s voice rang out from across the room, and my shoulders immediately hunched up. It was the tight, professional sound I’d come to recognize all too well, when she was holding herself back from being something other than polite. “I agree what she did was amazing.”

She took a deep breath and I knew what was coming next. “But Chloe has classes and schoolwork and will eventually have résumés to fill out with my contacts in New York. I wouldn’t want her to get bogged down with the idea of having to manage an entire store when that’s not what she’s been working toward.”

“Chloe is excellent on the business side of things,” Jaclyn said, essentially shutting my mother down. Watching two strong women going toe-to-toe was like waiting for the outcome of a tense tennis match. But I was beginning to feel like a child standing there in silence, and I needed to get my mouth unstuck. “I’m her boss and I’d like to give her this opportunity. She can make up her own mind and I’ll respect whatever she decides. And I hope you will, too.”

For a brief moment I was too dumbfounded to move. But I quickly got my wits about me, because I couldn’t allow Jaclyn to fight my battles for me. If Blake could face the crisis in his family head-on, it was time for me to do the same.

“Mom, we need to talk,” I said, effectively ending their conversation. I had to face up to my own truths, and now was the perfect opportunity to do it.

I spun to confront my own mother. The woman who made me my heart tremble and soar at the same time. I always had so much respect for her, but lately she’d become too overbearing. She needed to hear how I felt about how she’d been treating me. I had allowed it to continue for far too long. That blame was all mine.

Jaclyn simply squeezed my shoulder as she passed, her face set in quiet admiration.

I inched toward the front of the shop, my feet nearly pasted to the floor. My mother stood perfectly still, her eyebrows creased together in indignation. “How dare she think that I don’t—”

“She’s right, you know.” My heart was hammering in my chest.

She stared at me as her face traveled through a series of emotions, from shock to sadness, and finally landing on something that resembled regret.

“The reason this is the first time you’re seeing the store,” I said, feeling like a traitor to my own mother, “is that I wanted to finally have something of my own.”

Her shoulders drooped as her head fell forward. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I needed her to know exactly how I’d been feeling.

“Please understand, Mom,” I said, my voice quavering. “I know you only wanted what was best. I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done for me. But lately . . . you’ve been so insistent . . . pushy . . . and I . . . I should have spoken up sooner.”

“Oh, honey.” She stepped forward suddenly and pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry. What have I done? I must have really gone overboard if you didn’t even want to share what you’d been working on with me. We used to tell each other everything.”

“I did want to share it,” I said, tears burning the back of my throat. “Just not until after it was completed. I wanted you . . . to be proud of me. Proud of what I’d accomplished on my own.”

“I am proud of you. Very proud,” she said, squeezing tighter. “It’s just . . . I felt you pulling away from me. And I guess I tried holding on tighter. It’s like I blinked and you became this responsible young adult. I . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you, Mom,” I whispered. “Always. But you need to give me the space to make my own decisions . . . and mistakes.”

“I’m beginning to understand that,” she said, her voice clogged with emotion. “I . . . I’ll support whatever you choose to do with your life, Chloe.”

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that.” When I opened my eyes, I saw Blake headed from the back room with a handful of models, looking unsure of whether he should even approach.

“Blake!” I called over to him.

My mother released her hold to look behind her. “Is that him?”

“What . . . What do you mean?”

“The boy you’ve been spending all of your time with?” she said with a half smile. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”

“Mom, this is Blake,” I said as I motioned for him to join us. “He’s worked just as hard on this space as I did. For weeks, he helped me bring it all together. All of the shelves were built by hand.”

“Very impressive,” my mother said.

“It’s your daughter who’s impressive.” Blake smiled at me and then shot out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?” Surprise filtered through my mother’s eyes, quickly followed by relief—maybe that I didn’t totally disregard her, after all.

“It’s a pleasure, Blake,” she said. Then she turned to me. “I’d better head back out there to the other committee members. How about dinner on Sunday? Maybe Blake can join us.”

Even though I knew she probably just wanted to find out more about him, I was secretly thrilled at her offer.

“Thank you,” Blake said. “I’d like that.”

As my mother left the shop, Blake moved behind me and slid his arms around my waist. “Are you okay?” He pulled me firmly against him.

I smiled. “I’m actually pretty darn good.”

As a group of customers entered the store, Blake spun me around and gave me a heated kiss that was too short for my liking.

“When can I get you alone?” he whispered against my lips, and my skin prickled with longing.

“Let’s meet back here later tonight,” I said, and his eyes ignited with desire. “I think we have a runway to christen.”