“Hmmm,” the redhead said. “Could you add some of those chocolate curls? They look like little scroll embellishments—so fun.”
The high-maintenance woman stepped aside, and he moved forward. “I’ll have a coffee—black, no sugar, no fuss.”
As he waited, he scanned the café, cataloging exits and noting faces, until his gaze inevitably fell on the redhead. She now stood to the side facing him, a contagious smile on her lips. The smile, despite it being a Monday morning, made sense once he read the front of her pale pink T-shirt.Professional Daydreamer.
He glanced away and snorted derisively. The shirt was probably designed to be a joke, but Miss Fairytale Latte seemed the type to be declaring it literally. How could he sign up for that gig? His way of earning a living couldn’t be more different. The notion of someone making a living as a daydreamer seemed ludicrous, but then again, who was he to judge? Some would say his secret weapon of choice in his job was far more outlandish.
The barista called out, “Order for Stone,” and thrust a cup toward him. “An order for—”
Stone took the cup, got a whiff of something super sweet, and read the name written on it. He cleared his throat and held out the cup to the redhead who’d just accepted the other order. “I’m assuming, Fairytale is you.” He twisted the cup so she could read the name written on it.
“Oh, that would be mine, thank you,” she said, her voice light and airy as if mix-ups were a normal occurrence in her life. “And that would make you…” She glanced at the name on the cup she held and frowned ever so slightly. “Stone Cold.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Her fingers brushed against his as she took the cup, sending an unexpected jolt through them. Stone retracted his hand slightly, masking his reaction with a neutral expression.
“It appears we are mirror opposites,” she mused.
Under normal circumstances, he avoided small talk. But he was early and had a few minutes to spare. “Life would be dull if we were all living fairytales.”
“True, but everyone could use a bit of enchantment now and then,” she said, emphasizing the wordenchantmentas she gave him an assessing look. “Don’t you think?”
“Perhaps,” he conceded cautiously, “but in my experience, reality tends to be complicated enough.”
Her lips pursed, drawing attention to their heart shape because, of course, they were shaped like Cupid’s bow. “Who says reality can’t have a bit of whimsy, too?” she said before making her way to an open table. “Care to join me?”
Everything about her was a stark contrast to his own existence, which was entangled in shadows and secrecy. He shook his head. “I have an appointment.”
Her response was to immediately start chatting up another man. Stone gave her one last look and, for a nanosecond, could have sworn he saw a spark come out of her hair. No doubt it had been nothing more than how the light landed on it, but still, what with her shirt and her coffee shop name, he couldn’t help but admit to himself:
That woman just might actually embrace our family secret.
Not that he’d test his theory. His heart no longer took such painful gambles. He was a bachelor for life.
Chapter 4
Leaving the coffee shop, careful not to spill her drink on herProfessional DaydreamerT-shirt, Sophie navigated the hallway leading to the conference room atNaked Runway, barely thinking about Stone Cold and his vibes of anti-book boyfriend material.
Each step took her by fabulously styled individuals wearing designs she couldn’t afford. As such, she’d decided it was the perfect day to debut her latest creation. A bright pink tee she’d embellished over the weekend with her career of choice all in celebration of her new gig. She’d decided to pair it with a black tulle skirt sporting a field of dancing wildflowers along its hem.
Over the past week, every time she reminded herself she’d landed the gig for a year-long column at Manhattan’s premier fashion magazine, giddiness had filled her with cheeky smiles and bubbly laughter. According to a follow-up gab session with Isabella, they’d had over one hundred applications.
Isabella had also informed Sophie that Frankie had insisted she needed a month-by-month breakdown of Sophie’s plannedcolumns so she could properly plan the non-digital magazine’s layout, thus today’s gathering.
Arriving at the meeting room, Sophie discovered it empty. Had she gotten the dates mixed up? Or the time? Or had Ms. Birdie changed her mind and sent Sophie a pink slip?
Stop spiraling, Sophie.
The admonishing voice in her head was that of five-year-old Sophie’s therapist, a grandmotherly woman who’d worked with Sophie in the months after her parents had died in a boating accident. The three-word command triggered a memory-muscle response. Sophie closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly.
It wasn’t until she heard someone clearing their throat that Sophie realized she wasn’t alone. She opened her eyes.
“You okay?” Isabella asked, viewing her quizzically.
Sophie grinned. “I’m better than fine. I’m fabulous. Just grounding myself for today’s presentation.”
Isabella nodded and then tilted her head and eyed Sophie’s whimsical ensemble.
Taking care not to fidget, Sophie waited.
