me again and again that I get under his skin like no-one else does. The man who finds time in his over-scheduled life to bombard me with texts all day long. The man who threw a hissy at the thought of me leaving town. Because he wants me to stay here? Maybe?
And he’s the man who just paraded me in front of New York’s finest like I was something to be proud of, not Weird Winona who makes skirts out of curtains and purses out of vintage lunch pails. Also, vintage lunch pail purses are totally on-trend now, and in fact Hudson’s sells ten-thousand-dollar replica vintage lunch pail purses, so in your face, head cheerleader Honey Lou Morrison, and also Aunt Loretta with her snide little “Well, isn’t that special” smirks.
Not that I hold a grudge or anything. Ahem.
I give myself a final once-over and emerge from the bathroom. Blake is waiting halfway across the room, holding up a gorgeous silk dress. It’s the color of a baby faun, trimmed with beige lace and hand-painted with flowers and hummingbirds.
When I reach him, he says, “I owe you a dress,” gesturing at my gown, which is splotchy and ruined now.
He hands the dress to me. I hold it up, trying not to drool on it. I stroke it very gently, letting the cool silk run through my fingers. It’s so pretty I’d rather hang it up on my wall at home than wear it.
Then I catch sight of the price tag and gasp aloud.
He grabs the tag and rips it off. “Sorry! I missed that, my bad. It’s yours. Don’t argue!” he says sternly. The note of command in his voice sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine.
I need help.
“I wasn’t going to,” I assure him. “In fact, if you tried to take it back, I was prepared to fight you for it.”
That earns me a genuine laugh. A happy laugh, not a sardonic, dry, mocking laugh.
“You can change right here if you want to,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t peek. Unless you ask me very nicely.” Before I can say anything, he walks off.
I carefully drape the new dress over a rack. I strip off my booze-soaked gown, roll it up, and shove it into my purse. Then I pull the new one over my head, shivering in pleasure as the silk pours over me. I twirl around, and it swirls like a breeze, lighter than air.
“Here you go,” Blake calls out. He’s holding an empty shopping bag in one hand, and in the other a Judith Leiber purse shaped like a butterfly, and a pair of low-heeled pumps. “The bag’s for your boozy dress and shoes and purse.”
I take them all, and stuff my drenched things in the empty bag. “Stop, you’re spoiling me. Kidding! I will accept a little spoilage.”
I step into the new shoes, and it’s like standing in two little clouds, the buttery soft leather hugging my feet.
“Holy tamales! They’re my new favorites!” I cry happily. “They’re the unicorn of shoes! Heels, but comfortable!”
“I aim to please.” He does a half-bow. “Your dress is unzipped in the back. Shall I?”
“That would be lovely, thanks.”
I turn around so he can zip me up. His hand moves up my back, fingers brushing against my skin as the zipper slides shut. The casual intimacy of the motion sends heat pulsing through my body.
He gestures at a full-length gilt-framed mirror. “Look at yourself.” He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my hair.
We look like a couple in a sitcom – I’m the quirky boho girl and he’s Mr. Serious, but somehow, it works.
Then it hits me. “Oh my God. We’re in an empty department store in the middle of the night. And not just any department store – Hudson’s!” I squeal like a first-grader on Christmas morning. “This is like my total fantasy. We could go anywhere! We could do anything!”
Blake grins at me. “What department do you want to go to?”
“Bedding! I want to bounce on all the beds!”
Instantly, I realize how dorky that sounds. “Never mind, just kidding. Forget I said anything.”
“You know that I am literally never going to let you forget that. Let’s go.”
He grabs me by the hand, and I let him pull me along. We rush through the store, clattering down an escalator that’s been turned off for the night, and when we reach the bottom, I hold my breath to enjoy the silence.