Paige stared at the fat-free yogurt sitting on her desk and willed it to transform into a delicious breakfast burrito. Meaty and satisfying, maybe with a side of hash brown . . .

Nope, still yogurt.

She peeled back the lid and sighed. For someone who’d pledged to live a life of reckless adventure, she wasn’t doing the greatest job of it. In fact, her grand plans hadn’t really added up to much at all, so far. Besides googling salsa classes in her neighborhood and buying a bright-pink lipstick that was still buried in the bottom of her handbag, Paige’s new, reckless life looked pretty much like her old boring one.

Except kissing Declan. She couldn’t forget that part, even if she tried . . .

It had been months now since that night on the beach, and the memory was still burned into Paige’s brain. She flushed even to think of it, how bold she’d been, but a part of her wished she’d been bolder still: taken the kiss further, invited Declan back somewhere, and discovered just how he’d earned that reputation of his . . .

She shook her head, blushing. In an alternate universe, maybe. Paige had been so embarrassed after that kiss, she’d barely stepped foot back in Sweetbriar Cove for fear of running into him. What would she say? “Sorry I ravished you, no hard feelings?” They didn’t exactly make a Hallmark card for that.

Paige giggled at the thought. Her co-worker, Mindy, looked over from the next desk. “What?”

“Nothing.” Paige pushed her yogurt away. “Do you know if there are still donuts in the break room?”

“Trade you.” Mindy nudged her pastry in Paige’s direction. “Ever since the new Mrs. Johansson started parading around the office in those itty-bitty cut-offs, I’ve been feeling like a lump.”

Paige followed her gaze to the corner office, where their boss, Robert, was fawning over his new bride. Lexi was barely out of college, and barely wearing a strapless tube top under her mane of bleached blonde hair.

“Should I offer her some samples from our toddler line?” Mindy cracked. “That has to be a kids’ size she’s wearing.”

“Shush,” Paige whispered, feeling bad. “We hardly know her yet. And Robert looks happy.”

“Of course he does. He came out of the divorce with a Viagra prescription and Miss November.” Mindy snorted. “He’s living the dream.” She checked the clock. “Ready for the meeting? Maybe our new head designer has some more genius ideas.”

Paige winced. Lexi had been trying to get involved with the company—with disastrous results. “She emailed me last night, suggesting a new line of all-age rompers,” she told Mindy.

“Can’t she just stick to spending his money?” Mindy sighed. “Instead of messing with our whole fall line?”

Paige grabbed her sketchpad, following Mindy into the conference room, where the rest of the staff were gathering. Today, they were pitching for the kids’ clothing collections, and she’d been working all week on some new designs: cute kangaroos, koala bears, and wallabies, frolicking across the outback.

“Australia, huh?” Mindy said, looking over her shoulder. “I could use a vacation, too. Find myself one of those hot Aussie surfers,” she added with a wink.

Paige blinked, the theme dawning on her for the first time. She hadn’t even realized it. So much for putting Declan out of her mind—he was scrawled across every page of her sketchpad!

Maybe she should renew her subscriptions to those online dating services. If she was still thinking about that kiss, it was clear she had way too much romantic energy swirling around.

“. . . get started. Paige?”

Paige jolted her head up to find the room looking at her expectantly.

“Your designs?” Mindy, prompted helpfully.

“Right!” Paige exclaimed, flushing. She quickly pushed the memory of Declan’s miraculous mouth away and tried to focus. “I’ve been working on some new colors for the season,” she explained, finding her place again. “Fun purples and oranges, and new nature looks.”

Her co-workers all cooed approvingly as Paige distributed her designs. Printed T-shirts, little corduroy pants, and cute dresses with animals on the front. She’d been designing the kids’ line for a few years now, but she still got a kick out of the wide-eyed cartoon animals and sweet matching separates.

“These are so cute!” Mindy cried. “And look, surfing kangaroos!”

Paige beamed.

“Blah, blah . . .” A bored-sounding voice spoke up. It was Lexi, glancing up from her cellphone with a roll of her eyes. “If I had kids, I wouldn’t let them be caught dead in them. No offense,” she added with a syrupy smile.

Paige glanced at Robert, but he was gazing at his new bride in adoration.

“Animals are always our top sellers,” she answered, keeping her voice even. “My reindeer line broke our sales record last holiday.”

“Exactly, last year!” Lexi said. “They’re old news. This place needs shaking up, something new that’ll be big on social.”

“Social?” one of the older designers, Trevor, frowned.

“Social media.” Lexi snapped her gum. “It’s where all the kids are.”

“Our buyers tend to be older,” Paige said gently. “They find out about our clothes from word of mouth or seeing them in stores.” Robert frowned, so she quickly added, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Tons!” Lexi exclaimed. “How about a romper that has, like, ‘Future Jailbait’ on it? We could do a whole line. ‘Future Playbunny,’ ‘Future Prom Queen,’ ‘Future MILF.’ ”

Paige burst out laughing and had to hide it with a cough. “Oh. You’re . . . serious?”

“I think those sound like great ideas, baby.” Robert beamed. “See? I told you she was creative.” He looked proudly around the room, and Paige had to fight to keep a straight face. “Why don’t you girls work it out? Great meeting, everyone!”

Paige headed back to her design station in disbelief. Was he serious? Cartwheel Clothing was a staid, family-oriented company beloved by moms. She could just imagine the response if their catalog went out featuring “Future Jailbaits.” But it wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself. Robert was calling the shots, and if he wanted MILFs emblazoned all over the place . . .

“Penny.” Lexi materialized beside her, tottering on platform sandals. “I feel super-bad about how that all went down. No hard feelings, I hope?”

“It’s Paige,” she corrected her. “And I’m fine.”

“It’s just your designs are kinda, you know, old. I did a semester of fashion merchandising in college,” Lexi added, browsing Paige’s station, strewn with designs and fabric swatches. “So I totes know what I’m talking about.”

She reached for one of Paige’s sketchpads and started to flip through, and Paige realized too late it wasn’t her work book. It was one of her personal design books; she must have brought it from home by mistake.

“Stop!” Paige yelped, grabbing it back. Lexi looked shocked, and she covered quickly. “Sorry, it’s just . . . those are bad. Terrible. Tell me about your ideas,” she said, hugging the book protectively to her chest. “They sound amazing!”

Lexi launched into her plan for an all-ages cropped T-shirt range—“So, like, you can borrow your kids’ clothes!”—while Paige tried to get her heartrate back to normal again. She probably looked crazy, freaking out like that, but her personal designs were just that: personal.

Finally, Lexi waltzed off, and Paige collapsed into her chair. The coast was clear. She opened her book and ran her fingers over the clothing tag she had pinned to the last page.

Aphrodite Designs: the most beautiful lingerie she could dream to life. Silks and satins, and flirty lace trims. Sensuous and seductive . . . and completely anonymous, just the way she liked it.

She’d started the line a few years ago, after a disastrous shopping trip for new underwear. Paige had been looking for something cute to wear on her third date with a new boyfriend, but every store she tried, she just found garish, “sexy” designs full of push-up pads and underwire. She didn’t want uncomfortable black garters or bright red crotchless panties, so she detoured to her favorite fabric store and set about making something better.

The result was a work of art: soft blush silk that barely skimmed over her breasts, with scalloped edges and a bouquet of tiny ribbon roses trailing across the French-style knickers. Looking in the mirror, Paige could hardly believe she was the same person. She looked sophisticated, sensual . . . Bold.

After all that, the date turned out to be a bust, but Paige had found her calling. She plunged into the project, researching classic undergarments and construction tricks and fine-tuning her designs until she had something that would flatter smaller frames and support the fuller-figured. She experimented with different fabrics and trims, adding some slippery negligees to the collection, until she finally worked up the courage to show them to a boutique in town, pretending she was just the salesperson working on behalf of the mysterious designer herself. They’d ordered ten sets on the spot, and ever since, Paige had quietly sewed away behind the scenes. Making everything by hand took a long time, and she had to turn down more orders than she filled because she couldn’t meet demand, but she liked it that way—it made her designs seem more valuable, something precious and rare.

At least, to her. Doug had hated her “hobby,” as he called it. He would always get annoyed by her embroidering away, and urged her to do something useful instead, like knit socks. “You don’t need all that frou-frou to look sexy,” he’d frowned, “I like you in normal clothes.” No matter how many times Paige had tried to explain it wasn’t about looking good for a man, he just didn’t get it, but still, she noted his disapproval and the way he judged her for it, and it was part of the reason she kept her real identity under wraps. She wound up keeping her materials locked away in the closet, stealing time to work while he was off playing racquetball every weekend. It wasn’t until she moved out and set up her sewing machine in pride of place on her new coffee table, surrounded by bright bolts of fabric, that Paige realized just how close she’d come to keeping a part of herself shut away.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again. She wasn’t sure what was next for Aphrodite, but she wasn’t going to let a man make her feel like she had to choose again. And if he did? Well, next time, she was choosing herself.