"Possibly."
"That reminds me. I have something for you." He retreats to the counter. When he returns, he hands me a glossy flyer. "Think of this as an early Christmas gift combined with a very sincereI'm sorry. It's definitely not a bribe so you don't sue me."
He's rocking on his feet, grinning, and I'm so enamored by him, I don't pay the faintest attention to the handout I'm holding.
But when I drop my gaze, I see that it's not a flyer.
"Holy fucking shit!" I yell.
Kip's rusty laugh envelops me as I stare at…a signed photo of Taylor Swift!
"Mitch said Travis signed it, too," Kip says, indicating a squiggle in the bottom left corner.
I close my eyes and start open-mouth breathing. "I'm sorry for what you're about to witness, but…"
I let out an almighty fanboy scream and charge through the store, past displays of hand-tailored suits and pristine dress shirts displayed on individual hangers, whizzing by a gleaming glass cabinet showcasing Swiss watches and Italian leather belts, whooping and frantically waving the photo like I've just won the lottery, until I eventually loop back around to a beaming Kip, watching my display of crazy, in the fitting room waiting area.
"I'm touching a thing that Taylor Swift touched. That connects us forever." I gasp for air, approaching him, my eyes shifting between his beaming smile and Taylor's beaming smile in the photo.
It's a shot from her Eras tour, the "Midnights" act if the colorful costume is anything to go by. A memory of Sky and me screaming along to "Karma," arms looped around each other, engulfs me and makes this perfect moment even more magical.
"This is such a special gift," I say, gingerly clutching it to my chest.
Kip smiles good-naturedly. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? I love it. I don't know how you did it, but thank you."
I carefully place the most valuable photograph in the history of everything onto the wooden floor before flinging myself into his arms. He doesn't miss a beat, catching me effortlessly and holding me close against the hard wall of his chest.
He eases back slightly but doesn't put me down. The smile on his face morphs into a devilish smirk.
"And now, Darby Adams,I'mgoing to kissyou."
EPILOGUE
6 months later…
Kip
"This is totally ridiculous," Darby says, flashing a broad grin as I pull out a chair for him.
He looks amazing, and I'm not just saying that because the hand-stitched Italian cotton dress shirt and stone-washed vintage blue jeans are from my store. He truly looks wonderful.
Relaxed.
Smiling.
Slightly sun-kissed after our day at the beach. His hair has grown out. It's now a little longer up top and a few shades lighter than when we met.
"There's nothing ridiculous about Christmas in July," I retort, taking a seat on the other side of the candlelit table, the flames dancing wildly as they fight against the warm summer breeze that's picked up in the last few minutes. A miniature Christmas tree sits wilting beside the barbecue, plastic candy canes droop in the heat, and tiny silver bells, hung from the patio umbrella, chime softly.
Okay, so maybe it isslightlyridiculous, but there's a reason why I wanted to recreate some of the magic of the best day of my life.
"Christmas Day was so hectic," I say. "I never got to spend any one-on-one time with you."
Once we were done making out like horny teenagers in my store, I invited him to come to Christmas dinner at my place the following day.
He did, and it was a great time. But between my parents, my sister, her husband, their three kids, my closest friends, and then a few staff dropping by later in the evening, I didn't get to spend any time with just him.
