“Who?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t keep tabs on your books.”
But she does. She manages the whole thing.
“Tess?”
“Gotta go.”
“Wait. I want to know her name.”
Tess turns and greets the women, who immediately ask her for a selfie.
I grab my schedule book and flip it open. Sure enough, there’s an appointment on the block. An unnamed appointment.
Gah. That’s not how I like to greet the ladies who are putting their trust in me and stripping down as bare as they ever will for someone.
I grab my camera and knock on my studio door before opening it.
“Hi—” The word evaporates because the man standing inside my studio is the last person I expect to see on the other side of this door.
Him.
Not a client.
Not a stranger.
Not a woman wrapped in nerves and lace.
Cash.
He’s leaning against the brick wall in jeans that hug him just right and a dark jacket.
For one suspended second, my brain refuses to catch up with my eyes.
Like it’s buffering.
Like reality just glitched.
Two months collapse into nothing.
“Hey, Shay.” His voice hits me low and warm, rough around the edges, like gravel and smoke and home
My pulse stutters so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You—” I clear my throat. “You’re... here.”
“I am.” His eyes flick over my face.
Slow.
Like he’s checking to see if I’m real, and I feel the same way.
“What are you doing here? How? How did you know?”
“Tess.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Of course. Tess.”
