“I asked my stylist to research the best fabric shops in the country and to check if there were any vintage ones. And we lucked out that this was so close. Though, if it had been farther away, we would have just taken the plane. I thought it might inspire you. There’s an entire section on specialty and couture fabrics upstairs. Pick out anything you want. I’ve arranged it to be just us until you’re ready to go.”
I laugh, a giddy sound. The tall windows of the warehouse let in direct light that casts sharp highlights and shadows, making the fabric appear even more brilliant. In one corner, there’s beading and buttons of every shape and variety in bins labeled by types and even years. Everywhere I turn, I see something even more fabulous. I’m buzzing with ideas.
I take the entire two hours, picking out more fabric than I ever imagined. But everything is so beautiful, it’s like a mother having to choose a favorite from among all her children. I don’t want to leave anything behind. Ryder insists on paying, even though I try to fight him. I thank him with yet another impromptu hug and a kiss that turns fiery.
We arrange for the fabric to be delivered to Rockhaven and drive off. The sun is low and bathes everything in gold. I take out the pencil holding my hair and let my curls fly in the wind.
Ryder shoots me an admiring expression that makes me breathless as he navigates us down the coast. “Want to have dinner before we head back?”
“Do you even need to ask?” I have zero hesitation.
“With you? Yes. Because you constantly surprise me. And constantly unbalance me.”
My eyes sting, and it’s not from the breeze. I don’t know what to make of this. I may pretend to be confident and experienced with men. And I am, to a point. But I don’t know this. I know allabout men who want a laugh or a shoulder to cry on or a good time in bed. But I don’t know men who take me out to make me happy. Who know me well enough to realize that I don’t need a Michelin-star restaurant or the latest cool club. Who know that a trip to a dusty fabric warehouse will light me up with joy.
And now, instead of being stressed, staring at a blank sketchbook page like I had been earlier, my imagination is full of ideas.
I try to school my features into something not so adoring, but it’s useless.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft against the roar of the engine. “I don’t deserve it all, but I’ll take it.”
“You do deserve it, Daisy. And so much more. I’m just sorry I didn’t make you believe it earlier.”
Less than two weeks, I tell myself. We have less than two weeks. He’s in Rockhaven to divest himself of encumbrances. To sell a house and give away a dog so he doesn’t have anything holding him back. He’s not here to gain a girl.
And my goal is to, at long last, get him out of my system.
But even reminding myself doesn’t stop me from feeling any less. And—I’m one hundred percent certain—it won’t stop me from making foolish decisions when it comes to Ryder.
Because when it comes down to it, I’m a sucker for any boy who buys me fabric.
“Archie!”I cry when we unlock the door of the house much, much later, and the little dog comes flying toward us, tail and backside wagging enthusiastically.
Despite Ryder’s initial assurances, we arrive home late.
He shuts the door, and I kneel to pet the dog and laugh when Archie covers me in kisses.
When I glance up, Ryder’s watching me with a peculiar expression. Our eyes connect.
I try to gather my disintegrating thoughts. “I hope Duncan remembered to feed Archie and let him out to go to the bathroom.”
“He took care of it. I messaged him to check.”
“You know, Duncan may look tough, but I’ve always suspected he’s a secret softy. He probably sat on the couch all night cuddling Archie.”
I stand and smooth my dress.
Ryder smiles. It’s his lopsided one. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks, catching my hand.
“Nope.” I grin. “Did I tell you that your impeccable choice of dates entitles you to receive three kisses?” I lead him toward the large, winding staircase.
He follows me up the steps.
“Just three?” he murmurs. “That’s disappointing.”
I turn to look back at him. “See, that’s the problem with rock stars. So entitled and greedy.”
“When it comes to your kisses, I am.”
