There must be something in the air because everyone’ssofucking funny today.
Paige straightens, picks up Ember, and hands her to me. “She’s a quirky corgi, alright. Most likely on the neurodivergent spectrum. There are no official tests for dogs like there are for humans, but I see no sign she’s incapable of performing the job. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“I don’t know…” I trail off when something damp seeps through my uniform pants.
Paige is casually shoving Ember’s soggy sock into my front pocket like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You mentioned vacation. Right? Spend time with her at the cabin. Enjoy Christmas in your new place together. Have fun. Or don’t.”
Next thing I know, I’m being scooted out of her office. I fish out the sock, holding it away from my body. “Did you just?—”
“Yep. Get used to it. Drool is your life now.”
I look down. When did I get into the hallway?
“Just keep the dog. You’ll figure it out. Love you, friend. Bye for now.” The door slams in my face.
I shout, “And if it’s still not working?”
The door cracks. “Then I promise I’ll talk to Chief.Afterthe holiday.” She pauses and meets my eyes. “Maybe the problem isn’t Ember at all.”
Confused, I scrunch my brows. I open my mouth to respond, but the door shuts again. I glance at the dog to see the blue sock back in her mouth. How does she keep doing that? I sigh, already counting down the days of being on Mistletoe Mountain with Ember, the chaotic corgi. Then I’m giving her back.
At this point, nothing else can go wrong.
CHAPTER 3
CHARLOTTE
Afternoon sunlight filtersthrough the sheer curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. I adjust the aperture, checking the exposure on my camera. The natural light in this tiny studio space near Rory’s hometown has served me well this past week, but I can’t wait for the floor-to-ceiling windows displaying breathtaking views of a snowy mountain backdrop at the cabin. To call some placehome.
Rory steps out of the changing room wearing her final outfit. She adjusts the black bows on her red satin corset and tugs her Santa hat into place, then she resumes telling me the ridiculous saga that is her life. I appreciate how much fun we have during shoots. Clients do too.
“Damn porch pirates, always stealing my packages. This is the third vibrator they’ve taken. It’s like they mock me for being single.” She tosses her phone aside and lies on her side on the bed. Her long box braids cascade over the red silk sheets. “My future wife is getting one hell of a Christmas present. Thanks for squeezing in this last-minute shoot. I know you’re leaving for the cabin tomorrow.” She flashes me a red lipstick smile and poses.
“World’s best assistant perks.” I position myself for a rare low angle shot. My hair falls in my face for the third time infive minutes. I should’ve braided it this morning instead of my usual messy bun. “Plus, you know I’m a sucker for sexy holiday pictures. You make that Riley Davis corset look hot.”
I snap another round of photos. As if Rory reads my mind, she leans onto her elbows and tilts her head back for an aerial shot. The lens blinks.
“Perfect. You’re a goddess, Rory,” I murmur and mean it.
Rory’s lipstick still looks brand new. Mine’s long gone, wiped away by caffeine hours ago. She’s all corset and command; I’m jeans, boots, sleeves pushed to my elbows. We work well as a team, but she’s the glue—session planner, social media manager, allowing me the space to hone my craft. That’s always been our rhythm.
“Speaking of.” She somehow holds the next pose while talking. “When’s the last time you had photos done?”
I snort a laugh. “I’m behind the camera. Where I belong.”
On second thought, it has certainly been a while since being on the other side of the lens. With building Bed & Boudoir to launch next summerwhiletaking clients, I’ve had my hands plenty busy.
“I still dream about that pin-up shoot we did in Argentina. I’d want Charlotte Harrington on my wall, no doubt. Any lucky man or woman out there would too.” She winks and performs a playful growl.
Chuckling, I wave her off and snap more pictures. After divorcing Eli, I realized I had spent years trying to fit inside someone else’s life instead of living in mine. I’m not ready to compromise that by entering another relationship. I’m thirty-seven. My twenties were spent chasing many wrong things. I’m not wasting my final years in my thirties doing the same.
Rory arches her back. Gold and amber waist beads shift over her mahogany skin. She’s stunning—all curves and confidence, owning every soft inch of herself.
It’s hard to believe this is the same woman I met in Lisbon five years ago, fresh off a plane with no job, no plan, and a story that sounded a lot like mine. I was pathetically sunburned, butchering Portuguese like I did my marriage, while she fluently asked a man for directions to the location I was headed. When we realized we were from the same state, I confessed I needed help with managing social media. She said she could figure it out. I hired her on the spot. Best decision I ever made.
This is what I love. Showing women what’s already there, buried and burdened by earthly expectations. Creating spaces where we can shed the armor and just exist. A luxury getaway. Wine and dine. Rainfall showers. Plush Egyptian bedsheets. Safety. That’s what Bed & Boudoir is. Warmth spreads through my chest. That’s what the cabin on Mistletoe Mountain will be.
I’ll need to load the car with more boxes tonight. My idea of holiday cheer is getting a head start on setting up the changing room. Crops, lingerie, angel wings. Clients love themed shoots, especially the honey goddess one. I’ve ordered so much manuka honey, the delivery woman gives me looks now.
