Connor was a unicorn—both gorgeousandmodest.
His clean-shaven face was disarming in a way his bearded face hadn’t been. With his thick, faintly disheveled hair and lean, fit frame he looked like what he wasn’t—a wealthy New Englander who’d casually accepted the gifts of wealth and looks that had dropped in his lap.
“It’s not every day that handsome, talented men ask me to provide my advice,” she said. “I happen to enjoy providing advice. Especially to handsome, talented men. So, c’mon.” She turned toward the studio door. “This is going to be fun.”
•••
“In the name of full disclosure,” Shay said to him from outside his dressing room an hour later, “I’m realizing that this might be the first time I’ve been inside a clothing store that’s just for men. That said, I don’t want you to revoke my consultant credential. I still think I can do a really good job at this.”
“Nothing would motivate me to revoke your credential.”Literally nothing, seeing as how this whole enterprise is about you. He finished tucking in the shirt she’d picked and confronted his reflection.
He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about his appearance. In college, he and his friends had participated in a “No-shave November” challenge. At the end of that month, he’d liked the beard he’d started, so he’d kept it. Then unintentionally left it on his face for eight years.
When it came to clothes, he was visual enough to notice what was current. The few times a year he bought new items, he had the ability to recognize what suited his body and personality. However, he could admit that he’d been stuck in a rut for a while. Maybe to his detriment, because he reached for plain, unremarkable garments every time.
He’d given Shay control over these decisions because he was easy-going about them. He’d never considered himself to be someone who cared very much about his clothes or his hair.
Shay had brought him to Brad the barber. And trusting her and Brad had been a good call because the result had been a clear improvement.
But this outfit? Not an improvement. He looked lame. And he was suddenly realizing that he apparently did care about clothes. Because he didn’t want to walk around in things that made him feel like a clown.
She’d put him in a bright patterned shirt and pants that were too skinny. Would letting Shay see him in this hurt his chances with her?
No turning back now. She was waiting for him to show this outfit to her.
He opened the dressing room door.
She winced from her position on the small bench facing the two dressing rooms. The one next to his was empty.
“I’m not really into stretchy pants,” he said.
“Noted. I went for an artsy vibe but now I see the error of my ways. You’re artistic, but you’re not flashy or super trendy.” She stood. “Simple, tailored pieces will flatter you better. Then again, we don’t want them to be dull. Hmm. I’ll be right back!”
He remained where he was. From here, he could see a slice of the retail area. One customer was working his way through sweaters, one was trying on shoes.
“Ron? Is your name Ron?” she asked an employee. “Hi, I’m Shay. I could use your expertise.” She’d never met a stranger.
Connor watched, entertained, as she flashed back and forth across the shop’s square footage with Ron trailing her. It always felt like he’d received a surprise gift when he had the chance to study her without her knowing.
Back in the studio, her praise of his art had meant more to him than the most glowing review from an art critic could have. Then, in a one-two punch, she’d met his eyes for a long moment, which had sent desire humming through his bloodstream.
“He’s understated but creative,” Shay informed Ron. “I don’t want him to blend into the background, but he won’t want anything showy.”
If Shay was a Spice Girl, she’d be Sporty Spice. On her, athletic wear looked business chic. It tagged her as a person who went running in the mornings and checked ten things off her to-do list before breakfast.
She returned, pressing more garments into his hands. “Two more outfits.”
He closed himself inside the dressing room. “What are your plans this Christmas?”
“The usual. I’ll be tugged like a dog toy between my parents. I never get the feeling that either of them really wants the toy. They just don’t want the other one to have it.”
He unbuttoned the bright shirt and returned it to its hanger. “Explain.” He knew the basics of her history thanks to the town grapevine, but they’d never been close enough for her to share the painful aspects of her childhood with him. He wanted to hear about it in her own words.
“When I was in third grade and my brother, Reece, was in fifth, my mom caught my dad having an affair with Cindy Richter. You might know her, she’s the manager at Whiskey’s.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Anyway, Mom’s discovery of the affair caused a very dramatic scene. I’ll never forget all the screaming and weeping and throwing of breakable things. It didn’t end that night. It continued for days. Terrible confrontations. Both of them hurting each other.” She sighed.
