“I hope you have a good night, Sam. Same time tomorrow?”
“If that works for you,” he says.
“Awesome, it’s a date.”
“Good night, Min.”
“Good night.”
The call drops and disappointment floods my body. I’ve waited all day to see him. We only had seven minutes together and they weren’t even private. I suppose seven minutes is better than none. It’s only three more weeks until the Princess Alice Cup. I can handle this. I hope.
Twenty
Ifight off a yawn as my alarm goes off Wednesday morning and sleepwalk from my room to the coffee pot. Opening the drawer below the machine, I pull out the first pod my hands come into contact with, shove it into the machine, and press the button. It hums to life with the happy sound of water beginning to boil.
I yawn again and close my eyes. I put in another late night last night. It’s one thing to sketch a design on paper, but once you begin cutting a pattern and fabricating the dress, problems arise you might never have thought of. Especially when your client adds a request you didn’t anticipate.
Take yesterday’s problem. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out where or how to add a pocket to my design without making the dress appear bulky. I spent hours playing around with my muslin mockup before finally deciding to create an opening near the right hip that could be hidden by the dress’s belt. The trick is to use the tulle underlayer as the pocket’s lining.
By the time I cleaned up and finally arrived home, it wasnear eleven. I’m expected back at the atelier this morning at eight. Which would’ve been fine, except I didn’t fall asleep until two. I couldn’t get my mind to quiet itself. It’s now just half six. Sam and I have a chat scheduled in five minutes.
Suddenly, a splashing noise causes me to open my eyes. “Oh crud,” I mutter, scrambling to turn off my coffee machine and grab a sponge. I’ve forgotten to put a cup under the machine and now my coffee is in one giant puddle all over the ground. “So that’s the type of day it’s going to be.”
Using my limited time, I quickly wipe up as much as I can before grabbing my phone and calling Sam.
When he picks up, his voice is chipper, despite his ragged appearance. “Good morning, Min.” He’s started to let his hair grow out and has also begun to grow a beard. I’m not too fond of the scruffy look—it takes away from his handsome jawline. But it’s his choice, not mine.
“Hi.” I half-heartedly wave.
“What’s in store for you today? Did you sort out the pocket problem?” He sips on his own morning coffee, popping his riding helmet onto his bed.
“I did. It hit me late to use the lining of the skirt as the pocket.”
“I knew you’d solve the problem!” He grins, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. There are more lines than I’ve noticed in the past.
My eyes narrow. “Another late night for you too?”
He nods.
“Please tell me you got at least a few hours ofuninterruptedshut-eye.”
“Um...” He tugs at the collar of his shirt.
“Sam, this isn’t good for you.” I rub my forehead. “Taking off one evening isn’t going to hurt your chances.”
“It’s not that simple, Min. I need all the time I can get to catch up.”
“I disagree. Your health should come first. Period.” I swallow hard, frustrated at what I’m about to suggest. We were supposed to have a long-overdue date. “What about this: Instead of us meeting for dinner at the pub tonight, what if you used the time to go to bed early.”
“But, Min, I want to see you.”
“You will.” I chew on my lip. “It just might not be in person. How about we plan a video chat for seven, then you are in bed by seven fifteen.”
He stares at me for a few moments. I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Min, thank you.”
