On the other hand, the room now looked very much like a workshop where a professional tailor intended to set up shop for a while. It was also wonderfully warm. Vicki felt her shoulders relax in the heat, and sighed. “It’s cozy. What, ah…what?”
She hoped a little gesture at the room explained what she meant by the question. Fortunately, Zane seemed to understand, although he started to answer, held his breath, and said, “I’d like to say something else before I explain this.”
A nervous pit of cold appeared in Vicki’s stomach. “Okay…”
“Okay. First, I’d like to apologize for being an idiot.”
The cold disappeared into a coughing laugh. “Oh. Um. Okay?”
“I like you,” Zane said, not gracefully but certainly hopefully. “A lot. I like spending time with you. I like talking with you. I like looking at you. I like the idea of sewing for you. And itwasmy assistant’s idea for us to fake date, but I handled that really badly because I would really rather actual-date you and then I panicked because you might not want to date me, so I wanted to give you an out.”
Vicki’s voice shot up. “You mean you’re not gay?”
Whatever Zane had been about to say stopped somewhere at the back of his throat as his jaw dropped and he gaped at her for a moment before collecting himself. “Aaah. Aah, no. No, I’m not. I’m…nope. Not gay. Common…common misconception, honestly, but, uh, no.”
“Well that—” Vicki ran out of things to say, too, until she finally landed on, “Well, that’s nice.” All of her fantasies suddenly seemed to be much sharper-edged. It was one thing to daydream about an apparently-gay fashion designer way out of her league. It was something else to have him say?—
“So…” Zane gave her a nervous smile. “Would you like to not-fake-date me instead? I mean, really date? Would you like to…date? Go on a date? A real date, not a talk-about-the-dress date?”
“Do wehaveto not talk about the dress?” Vicki asked worriedly. “What if it comes up in conversation? Do we have to suddenly change the subject?”
“I don’t think so.” Zane’s bright grin flashed. “I think if it comes up organically, we’re allowed to talk about it. And since we’re talking about it now, and I just dropped a lot on you, I wondered if you wanted to look at the refined design I’ve done?”
Vicki squeaked, “That would be nice.” Her whole world felt turned upside-down. In the best way, but she needed a minute torecalibrate to the idea that she wasn’t nursing a hopeless crush. That, in fact, her crush might be reciprocated. Even if hewasa fashion designer way out of her league.
Zane stepped up close to her, hands light on her shoulders. “May I take your coat?”
A shiver ran through Vicki, even though it was plenty warm in the office. “Please, yes.” She was suddenly glad she’d dressed nicely for school that morning, although she’d done so out of spite, as if being extra-cute at work would suddenly scare up a host of attractive men who wanted toactuallydate her, and that would show Zane. Or something like that.
Zane tucked her coat over the back of a chair, then turned to consider her, a slow smile spreading across his face. He didn’tsayanything, though, at least not about her clothes, which, well. She’d worn a white blouse with a starched collar with just two buttons undone, and a snug black pencil skirt that hugged her legs all the way to just below her knees. Her blocky black shoes went well with her boxy wool coat, and she’d felt cute, anyway.Sheknew the vibe she was going for, even if she didn’t really dare play it up all that much at school. But if Zane saw it, he didn’t comment, only offered his hand to lead her to the drawing table.
His hands wereincrediblysoft. Soft enough that his touch made her gasp, and when he glanced down at her, surprised, she said, “I thought you’d have rougher hands? All that…needle handing and stuff?”
He nodded. “Fabric, needles, cuts from the scissors, the hot irons, pins…sewing a lot can be really rough on the hands. Most of the designers and seamstresses I know spend a fortune on hand creams, myself included. And manicures.” He turned his free hand up, showing off the beautiful nails Vicki had noticed the first time they’d met. “Hangnails and rough cuticles catch on delicate fabric, so I spoil my hands. If we’re working up to a big fashion show sometimes I hire a couple of hand masseusesto come in and keep everybody’s circulation going while we’re finishing the outfits.”
“You sound like a pretty good boss,” Vicki said faintly. She thought she’d be happy if he just kept holding her hand forever. “Perks of working for Bellamy Designs, huh?”
That devastating grin flashed across his face again. “I’ve been where they were, being the tailor working to get all the last-minute work done, so I know for a personal fact that well-paid, comfortable artists do better work than people who are exhausted and in pain. Now,” he said, slightly more briskly, “I think I’ve got a design you’re going to like, so once you’ve had a look at it, if I could take your measurements, we’d be off to a good start.
“Oh,” he added. “And if you want to call someone to have another person around while I do that, I’m happy to give you a minute. Usually I do measurements in my studio and there are a dozen other people around, but I’ve got sort of a start-up feeling going here, and don’t have my legions of staff on hand.”
“And I don’t have an entourage,” Vicki said wryly. “I bet a lot of your clients do. Um, no, I’m fine, really. I trust you.”
Which she did. Unconditionally, since the moment she’d met him. Which was strange when she thought about it, but felt good regardless. An awful lot about Zane felt good, and she could really enjoy it now that she knew he was interested in her. “Can I see the design?”
“Of course.” Zane led her to another table, almost bouncing with eagerness as he opened his sketchbook to a bookmarked page.
“Oh.” Vicki breathed the sound, brushing her fingertips a few centimeters above the watercolor sketch. “Oh, Zane, this is going to bebeautiful.”
The gown on the paper was fluid, shimmering blues, sky-pale with hints of rich ocean green in its shadows. It had a relativelysimple bodice, nothing that plunged too deeply or required a model’s exceptionally slender frame to wear, and had soft capped sleeves that fell gracefully around the upper arms, not really meant to cover the shoulders at all. The skirt was a work of art, delicate pleats beneath a delicate, flowing overskirt, and would swish around the feet like running water. “Zane, I love it!”
“I can’t wait to sew it for you.” Zane sounded as delighted as Vicki felt. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
She laughed. “There will be actual movie stars there, Zane. I won’t be able to compete. The dress will, though.” She turned toward him, smiling. “Thank you so much.”
“I haven’t done anything yet!” he protested with a grin, then took a deep breath and stepped back like he was reminding himself to keep a professional distance. Vicki simultaneously appreciated it and really wished he’d stayed just as close as he’d been.
In fact, shereallywished he’d stayed as close as he was. It was an absurd escalation to go from ‘would you like to date’ to…well,anythingelse within a few minutes, but…
