Up until earlier this evening Zane had believed the answer to that question to be an obvious ‘yes,’ but he was no longer certain. He wasn’t even sure if he’dbeenflirting with Victoria the past few days. He’d thought he was, but maybe they’d just been talking. There had been heat between them when he’d come out of her shower. He was almost sure of it. And even when she’d fallen on him in the first place. And there had been a real intensity of connection as they’d talked about the dress and other things that morning.
Hadn’t there? He didn’t know anymore. He stared at Dion uncertainly, and his assistant groaned. “Start by groveling. Explain you reallydowant to date her and didn’t want to seem like you were moving too fast.Because that’s true, right, Zane?”
“Yes!” Zane was sure of that, at least.
“ThankGod,” Dion said rather melodramatically. “So apologize, explain, and the for the love of all that’s merciful, do something sexy. Do I need to explain whatthatmeans, too?”
“No!” Zane was less sure of that, but wasn’t going to admit it to his PA. He stared at Dion a long moment, partially offended on his own behalf and partially thinking fast, while also not letting himself think about what he was thinking. “I’m going to need you to get me some fabric. And a place to work. And you’ll just have to tell my clients that if they want to see me for fittings over the next few weeks, they’re going to have to come to Virtue.”
Dion actually beamed and stood up. “You got it, Mr. Z.”
Zane mumbled something, and went upstairs to think more carefully about what he wasn’t thinking.
By eight a.m. Monday morning,Dion had worked actual miracles.
He’d somehow arranged a work space for Zane in one of the unoccupied shops on the town square. It had large, inviting windows that a day earlier had been coated in that white smeary stuff used to keep people from looking into closed-up store fronts. Now those windows were brilliantly clean, and the shop’s interior had been turned into an entirely passable sewing center overnight. There was excellent lighting, with large, sparkling-clean skylights that made the new studio space bright and airy. Dion had acquired two sewing machines and a Serger, all in working condition, and half a dozen long tables with flawless surface quality to work on. The floors weren’t carpeted, but they did have rugs thrown down for warmth and softness, which would do nicely.
Stacked in the corner were long rolls of brown paper for developing patterns and cutting fabric on, and althoughgoodfabric wouldn’t arrive for at least another day, Dion had found muslin for mockup work and rows of thread in almost enough colors to satisfy Zane’s nitpickiest needs. There were a variety of scissors that would do for the moment, although if he was going to do this, really do it, he’d have his personal sheers expressed to him as soon as the weather cleared a little more.
Best of all, the new studio waswarm. Shirtsleeve temperature, which was Zane’s favorite way to work. There was a faint draft from under the door, but twenty minutes at a sewing machine with the muslin and some cotton batting made a perfectly serviceable, if not beautiful, draft-blocker that Zane tucked against the bottom of the door. He did a roughmeasurement on the front windows, examined the wall above it, and texted Dion to get some dowels for a curtain rod. While he waited, he cut muslin to size, hemming three sides and waiting to see what kind of dowels Dion came back with before finishing the curtains.
Then he sat down with his sketchbook and the notes he’d taken during his breakfast with Vicki, and started putting the design together in a more meaningful way. He lost track of time—he almost always did, when working—and gave a startled, appreciative groan as Dion rapped on the door to warn him he’d arrived, then entered with dowels, coffee, and a man around Zane’s own age with silvering hair and blue eyes.
“Zane,” the man said in obvious pleasure as he crossed the room to offer his hand. “Good to see you again. Don’t know if you remember me. Jake Rowly. I was a few years ahead of you in high school.”
“Oh. Jake! I do remember, yes. You left town almost as fast as I did, after graduating.” Too late, Zane thought maybe that was the wrong way to remember him, particularly since he remembered going out to play in wolf form with Jake a few times, but Jake chuckled.
“And yet here we both are, back again. I hear you need some carpentry work done.”
Zane, eyebrows lifted, glanced toward Dion, who gave an elegant shrug. “I thought hiring a professional was a better idea than letting you loose with power tools. Jake says it’ll only take a few minutes, so we can stay and drink coffee or walk around outside and drink coffee. We should walk,” he added with a bit of a severe glance. “You’ve been sitting for almost two hours.”
“Really?” Zane looked for the time, but his phone was on the table and there were no clocks on the walls, which was also as he preferred it. “But I could sew the last hem on the curtains now that I know how big the rods are.”
“Which you can also do in the peace and quiet of no drilling if you’ll go for a walk with me first,” Dion said patiently. “You know how you don’t like noise when you’re working, Mr. Z.”
“Are you handling me, Dion? He’s handling me,” Zane said to Jake, who grinned broadly.
“Yes, he is. Why don’t you let him handle you—” Jake coughed, trying not to laugh as he heard how that sounded, and plunged on, “—uh, handle you, while I get the rods up, and—oh, god, just go, this conversation is just going to get worse and worse with the innuendo if you don’t.”
Dion laughed and waggled his eyebrows. “I could handle your tools for you, too, if you wanted, Mr. Rowly.”
“Only if you’re prepared to face Mabs’s wrath,” Jake said, amused. “And let me warn you, she’s small but fierce, and way, way stronger than she looks.”
“Mabs Brannigan is the massage therapist down the row,” Dion told Zane, whose eyebrows rose again.
“Brannigan? Like the Old Brannigan Place Brannigan? I thought it was just Old Mrs. Brannigan out there now.”
“Doris died a few years ago,” Jake said, almost softly. “Mabs inherited the house and moved to Virtue about two years ago now.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad somebody’s in the old place. I remember running around the woods out there when I was a—kid. In fact, I think you showed me some of the best places to hide out there.”
Jake Rowly grinned, obviously remembering being a rangy teenage wolf showing the younger shifters how to get around. “Yeah, I think I did. Anyway, give me half an hour or so and I’ll have your curtain rods up for you, and then the place is yours. Planning on staying a while?”
Dion widened his eyes warningly at Zane, as if Zane was likely to say the wrong thing. Which he guessed he might, because he didn’t know how committed Dion wanted him to be.
He knew how committedhewanted him to be, though. “A while. I thought I’d work out of Virtue for the next month or so leading up to the Starlight Ball, so I can focus on Ms. Hawthorne’s gown.”
“She can’t be your only client for the ball,” Jake said, surprised. “Isn’t that going to inconvenience a lot of rich people?” He looked pleased by the prospect, and Zane laughed.
