7
Paige signed the lease.
One near-death experience was a warning, but two? She’d never been one for superstition, but this had to be another sign from the universe, because when she’d looked up and seen the mob of Swedes heading straight for her, she didn’t think about damp laundry or boring errands, she’d had a flash of a different life completely.
Silk curtains, a shady courtyard, Aphrodite Designs written in gold script on the window by a red front door.
The life she could have, if she would only take the risk and leap.
So, for the first time in Paige’s life, she leapt.
She thought it should have been hard to pack up her whole world and move on for something new, but it turned out to be almost thrillingly easy. She gave her two weeks’ notice at work, notified her landlord, and began making lists. It all seemed so simple that it wasn’t until she was finally speeding down the interstate, surrounded by boxes, that it hit her for the first time.
She was really doing this.
“Tell me I’m not making a terrible mistake!” Paige hit the speakerphone option to Eliza and gripped the wheel with both hands. “What was I thinking? I can’t start my own company!”
Eliza laughed. “It’s a little too late for that. Aphrodite already has a client list, remember? You’re not starting from scratch, you’re just expanding.”
Paige took a breath. OK, that didn’t sound so terrifying. “But still, a store is so official,” she worried. “What if I can’t find any more clients? Or keep up with rent? Or, I don’t know, have some kind of designer’s block, and never come up with anything beautiful again? Why did I think this was a good idea?” she despaired. “You’re the impulsive one! I plan, and think about consequences, and make sure I have a steady income and a roof over my head.”
“Deep breaths,” her sister told her, sounding amused. “You’re allowed to be impulsive, too, you know. And you’ll be fine. The store does have a roof, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Paige answered faintly.
“Then problem solved. Look, I know it’s scary, but I think what you’re doing is great.”
“What do you know?” Paige gulped. “You probably think sky-diving is fun.”
Eliza laughed. “It is! And you’re not hurtling out of a plane right now,” she reminded Paige. “You have a parachute. Your designs are gorgeous, and soon, everyone is going to see that for themselves.”
“You’re good at this pep talk thing,” Paige said, impressed. “Have you ever thought about a sideline in motivational speaking?”
Eliza snorted. “Because I’m so supportive of complete strangers and never jump to conclusions?”
Paige grinned. “Good point. I’m coming up on the bridge now. See you soon.”
“You’ve got this!”
Paige hung up and took a deep breath, feeling positive again. Eliza was right. Her parachute was currently piled in the back of the car: boxes and boxes of her supplies—embroidery threads, and bolts of fabric, and all the reams of lace and trimming she’d been saving up the past few years. Soon, she would be sitting in that studio, working full-time on her designs—not squeezing them in after a long day at the office, or spending her weekends racing to fill orders before Monday rolled around again.
She would have time, and space, and energy for the first time: all devoted to the thing she loved.
That was worth taking a risk, wasn’t it?
Paige exhaled a long breath, her excitement returning. This was a good thing. Change. New beginnings. Going after what she wanted instead of sleep-walking through her life, doing the “right” thing, and worrying all the same that it wouldn’t get her any closer to what she dreamed.
This was the start of a new chapter, and she couldn’t wait.
Paige rolled the windows down, turned up the radio, and kept driving, making great time on the morning roads until she reached Provincetown. She carefully navigated the cobbled streets until she found the alleyway that backed onto the studio.
Her new studio.
Paige bounced down from the driver’s seat, feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve. The keys were right where Marissa said they’d be: hidden under a pot of begonias by the back door. The moving guys would be arriving with her furniture soon, and she knew she had hours of unloading and unpacking ahead of her, but she couldn’t resist unlocking the door and stepping inside empty-handed to take another look around.
The space was just the way she remembered it, but cleaner, brighter. Somebody had done a thorough spring clean, and now the floors gleamed and the windows sparkled, making the space seem even lighter. There was a welcome basket propped on the window seat, filled with snacks and a card from Marissa. Welcome to the Cape! Enjoy your new home.
Paige clutched the card to her chest, beaming. She’d lived in rambling house-shares and tiny box-like apartments, but this was the first time that four walls and a roof had spoken to her like this, whispering possibilities through the empty, sunlit rooms.
She flung open the windows wide and the door to the courtyard, too, letting the fresh breeze come drifting in, then she headed out front to admire her new red front door. She’d purchased a gilt lettering kit from the craft store and couldn’t wait to paint the lettering on that slim window, broadcasting for the first time that Aphrodite Designs was her, Paige Bennett.
Because it was time. She’d hidden her designs for too long, acting like it was some kind of secret identity, when really, she’d just been scared of what people might say. The judgment, the surprised looks. As if designing beautiful garments was something shameful, instead of uplifting. Well, she was done with hiding now. Her lingerie would be there in the window for anyone to see—and she couldn’t wait.
“Hey! Mary Poppins!”
Paige heard someone yelling from across the street and turned to see Jenny weaving through the crowd towards her, wearing jeans and a cute striped blouse, an ice cream cone in one hand, fresh from the store.
“Hi!” Paige smiled, happy to see her again. “How’s it going?”
“Better now that I have double-chocolate chunk,” Jenny grinned, taking a lick. “OK, I admit it, I have a problem.”
“No judgment here,” Paige laughed. “In fact, expect to see me there the next time you go. Now that I’m living right opposite, I won’t be able to stay away. Hello, late-night treats. And mid-day treats.”
“And ‘whoops, is it Monday again?’ treats,” Jenny finished, smiling. “Welcome to town! When did you make the move?”
“As of . . . about ten minutes ago,” Paige told her. “You’re looking at the new home of Aphrodite Designs.”
“That’s so cool,” Jenny exclaimed. “I’ll have to stop by and check it out. Let me know when the grand opening is.”
“I will,” Paige said, as she mentally took a note: plan grand opening. “I was wondering, how did that interview go?”
Jenny made a face. “I got the gig . . . for about a week. Then my niece broke her wrist, and I had to miss work to take her to the emergency room. The maître d’ was not impressed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK.” Jenny shrugged. “Things are so crazy at Sage right now, I have plenty of shifts.”
Paige’s stomach did a slow pirouette at the mention of the restaurant name, even as she fought to keep her casual tone. “So, Declan is really a good chef then?” she asked, wondering if he could possibly live up to his reputation.
Jenny brightened. “You know Declan?”
“No!” Paige blurted. “I mean, yes. But not well. I’ve just met him a couple of times,” she explained, knowing she sounded like a fool, but not able to stop herself. “He seems nice. Not ‘nice,’ but a fun guy, you know?”
Stop talking.
Paige’s cheeks were flushed hotly, but Jenny just laughed. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on all women,” she said with a knowing tone. “You know, with him being so awkward and average-looking.”
Paige relaxed and giggled. “Yes, he’s a real chore to look at.” She paused, her heart sinking. “So, the two of you . . .”
“What? Oh no!” Jenny shook her head. “He’s not my type.”
“I know,” Jenny laughed. “But I prefer them tall, dark, and devastatingly emotionally unavailable.”
Paige laughed. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Oh, just great.” Jenny’s eyes sparkled with humor. “I’m really enjoying all my Saturday nights alone. Or at least, I would be, if I wasn’t working the dinner shift.”
“Well, if you ever get a night off, let me know,” Paige offered. “I’m officially in the market for new friends. And a new contractor, and a hair stylist, and take-out place . . .” She paused, then gave a rueful smile. “Pretty much everything.”
“Well, you have one friend now,” Jenny said, pulling out her phone. “And I’ve got recommendations for the rest. Here, let me give you my number.”
They traded information, and then Jenny checked the time. “I better get going. Declan has probably ripped up tonight’s menu already, and I’ll need to clean up the mess. See you soon, and welcome!” She said goodbye, and then disappeared into the crowd again.
Paige turned back to the store, her store, and had to hug herself with the excitement again. Soon, the empty front room would be filled with a few chic racks and browsing shoppers, and her studio space would be a luxurious haven, where women could come and be transformed.
But first, she had some unpacking to do.
“Guess who I ran into.”
Declan looked up as Jenny swanned into the restaurant ten minutes behind, which usually wouldn’t have been a problem. Hell, he sometimes showed his face an hour or two late, depending on the waves, or his hangover. But today? His new hostess had just quit, his dishwasher was AWOL, and Declan was up to his elbows in dirty pans. The past few weeks had been crazy, and summer season had only just begun.
“You better have a good explanation,” he growled from his place at the sink. “And coffee. Coffee would help you keep your job right about now.”
Jenny just smiled. “Yes, boss.” She waltzed over to the cappuccino machine and set whirring the hi-tech levers that Declan still couldn’t for the life of him figure out. “As I was saying, guess who’s just moved to town?”
“Unless it’s Mario Batali, I don’t want to know.” Declan scrubbed harder. OK, so he could have had any one of his staff take over dish duty, but he was a perfectionist. How was he supposed to make magic tonight if all the damn pans were still dirty?
“Nope. Paige Bennett,” Jenny replied casually. “You know, Eliza’s sister? She’s officially a resident now.”
Declan whipped his head around—and lost his grip on a sudsy dish. It shattered to the ground with a crash.
Paige had moved to town . . . permanently?
Jenny let out a peal of laughter. “Oh man, you should take a look at your face right now.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” Declan demanded, trying to sidestep the wreckage. “Gavin!” he yelled for his busboy. “Clean-up!”
“I thought this day would never come,” Jenny continued, still smirking. “The great Declan Nash, gooey-eyed over a girl.”
“I’m not gooey anything!” Declan scowled, trying to look stern. “And you’re a damn menace.”
“Remind me to swing by Grayson’s game night sometime,” Jenny said. “Because if this is your poker face, then I’ve got it made.”
Declan opened his mouth to yell some more, but Cal stuck his head through the kitchen doors just in time. “Is that coffee I smell? Perfect timing.”
“What are you doing here?” Declan asked, still distracted by the news about Paige.
Not that it mattered. She was still immune to his charms. And off limits. If his buddy here even had an inkling about the thoughts that had been lingering in Declan’s mind . . .
Well, more like fantasies, really.
“Hello?” Cal snapped his fingers, and Declan realized he’d spaced out. “We’re supposed to go over the books, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Declan shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory of Paige’s electric smile—and the feel of her lips brushing his cheek in that whisper-soft kiss. “You go get started. I’ll be right out.”
He felt Jenny’s eyes on him as he grabbed some of last night’s pie and his recipe notebook. “You could make yourself useful and get us those coffees,” he said. She didn’t move. “Please,” he added, and she smiled.
“Coming right up.”
Declan headed out to the restaurant, where Cal was set up at the bar with his papers and spreadsheets. “You know you don’t need to run this all by me,” Declan said, collapsing on a stool beside him. “Just tell me, ‘more money,’ ‘less money,’ ‘bloody hell, Declan, stop serving the 90-day aged ribeye.’ ”
Cal chuckled. “Come on, you need to learn this stuff. What about the future?”
“I’ll hire someone. You know I don’t care about the cash—as long as there’s enough to pay my way.” Declan shrugged. “I care about the food.”
“And the fame.”
“That too,” Declan smiled. “That reminds me, my agent says Rich Crawford is sniffing around. He might be interested in franchising.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “How do you feel about that?”
“It could be a good opportunity,” Declan said. “A new adventure.”
“Or a new risk.”
“Same thing.”
“To you, maybe,” Cal replied.
“What happened to the great deal-maker I used to know?” Declan shot back, only half-teasing.
Cal gave a wry grin. “We both know I was never that great. I’m happier now, doing good with the Foundation. And keeping your sorry ass from going broke ordering too much saffron.”
“I needed it for the risotto!” Declan protested.
“At five hundred bucks an ounce?” Cal pulled a spreadsheet closer. “Look, I’m not saying cut corners, that’s not what this place is about. But surely the test of a great chef is if he can make basic ingredients taste just as good as expensive ones?”
Declan snorted. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing. And yes, we can. You’ll be pleased to know I’m serving a country pie tonight. Wild ramps and chanterelles.”
“Excellent choice.” Cal’s cellphone sounded with a text, and he paused to check the message. His eyes widened. “Poppy went into labor, right in the middle of the town square. Eliza’s driving her to the hospital now.”
“Mazel tov.” Declan raised his coffee mug. “Cooper must be having a heart attack, poor guy. You think he’s ready to be a father?”
“I think it’s about nine months too late to ask. They’ll be fine,” Cal said. “He built the crib from scratch already. Last time I saw him, he was starting on the treehouse.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I should go meet them at the hospital,” Cal said, getting to his feet. “See if they need anything.”
“I’ll get some meals prepped,” Declan agreed. “They won’t have a minute to think for, what, the next eighteen years?”
“Parenthood.” Cal nodded with a disconcerting twinkle in his eye. “Nothing like it.” He checked his phone again and frowned. “I feel bad, we’re leaving Paige in the lurch.”
Declan’s head snapped up.
“She just moved,” Cal continued, gathering up his papers. “And we promised to help her unpack. Well, we’ll make it up to her,” he said with a shrug. “Drinks at the bar, later this week?”
“I’ll be there.”
Declan tried to tell himself that Paige’s arrival in town had nothing to do with him. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think she’d moved here because of one kiss, a carnival ride, and an excellent lobster roll, but still . . .
When he stepped back into the kitchen, Jenny was lingering near the door.
“That’s a shame about Paige,” Jenny said, giving him a meaningful look.
“Is it?” Declan played dumb.
“I hate to think of her, hauling all those boxes herself. But what do I know?” Jenny mused. “She’s probably found a nice strong man to help her by now . . .”
Declan stopped dead at the thought.
“Of course, you could always drop by yourself. Maybe with some macarons. A little welcome gift.” Jenny casually nudged a tray of freshly constructed treats across the counter. “15 Commercial Street.”
Declan paused. “It would be the neighborly thing, wouldn’t it?” he said slowly.
“Mmmhmm.” Jenny smirked. “Just remember to be back by five for dinner service!”
Declan grabbed a fresh T-shirt from the back of his truck, then hit the road, pondering this unexpected development.
So, Paige had upped sticks and made a change, huh? She’d been quick to deny it, back on the Ferris wheel, but he’d seen that spark in her eyes when she’d mentioned a store, and with her clear passion for her design work, it made sense, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised by the 180.
Did this mean she was open to taking more pleasurable risks, too?
He followed Jenny’s directions and found a narrow storefront right on Commercial Street in the thick of the action. There was no answer at the door, so he headed down the alleyway beside the building, and found himself in a leafy courtyard, stacked haphazardly with boxes and bags.
“Hello?” he called, through the open French doors.
“Just a sec!” Paige’s voice came from somewhere inside. “I just need . . . Ow!” There was a sudden exclamation of pain, and Declan followed the sound up a flight of stairs, worried. He found Paige bent double over a pile of boxes, wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a tank top that hugged sweaty to her curves.
Declan liked to think he was a gentleman, but he had to fight to tear his eyes away.
“Everything OK?” he asked.
Paige spun around with a surprised yelp—and bumped straight into another pile. The top box teetered, and Declan quickly grabbed to steady it.
“You,” she said, looking adorably breathless. “What are you . . . ? I mean, how . . . ?” Her face changed. “My sister called you?”
“Close. Cal, and Jenny,” Declan replied. “And if I’d waited another hour, an all-alerts bulletin would have probably gone out.”
Paige looked flustered. “I’m going to have to get used to this grapevine, aren’t I?”
“Or get good at sneaking around discreetly.” Declan waggled his eyebrows. “I could teach you a few lessons, if you’d like.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Declan scolded himself. Couldn’t he go five minutes without an innuendo?
Luckily, Paige didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy tugging her tank top down and smoothing her hair back. “Eliza said there was an emergency. Any word on Poppy’s baby yet?”
“Still early days.” Declan looked around for the first time, taking in the breezy apartment. “This is a great place.”
“Small, but perfectly formed.” Paige smiled wider. “And don’t you dare say anything,” she warned him, with an amused glint in her eye.
“My lips, sealed.” Declan grinned back. “I’m just here to help with the heavy lifting.”
“Really?” Paige brightened. “Because that would be amazing. I hired movers, but they didn’t stick around. They brought up the bed, and my couch, and left . . . well, the rest of my entire life down in the courtyard.”
“Point the way.” Declan gestured her ahead of him. “Consider it my ‘welcome’ gift.”
“You’re a godsend.” Paige skipped downstairs and outside, to where she had her car parked in back. “Everything’s labeled, so just dump it where you need. I’ll unpack later.”
She grabbed a box and headed back towards the studio. Declan followed suit, but his box wasn’t taped shut properly, and the contents began to slip out. He grabbed a garment just in time and held it up off the dusty ground.
It was a slinky, silky negligee in midnight blue, with ribbons trailing from the neckline.
Declan suddenly got a flash of Paige wearing it, with the silk skimming her curves, and the lace trailing temptingly down her body—
Jesus.
He got light-headed just at the thought.
Declan quickly went to stuff it back, but the box was open now, and he saw that it was filled with them: slips, and bras, and lacy panties with tiny, detailed embroidery. He checked the next box, and the next, and found even more of the garments; a fantasy in delicate silks and satin.
Had he died and gone to heaven?
“These are your designs?” he asked, finally putting two and two together.
Paige turned back and saw him holding the negligee. Her mouth dropped open, and her cheeks flushed bright red, but her voice was almost defiant as she answered, “Yes. Anything wrong with that?”
“I . . . nope. Nothing wrong at all,” Declan said quickly. He was pretty sure his blood pressure had just sky-rocketed off the charts. “They look great.”
“Thanks.” Paige’s eyes darted warily over him, as if she were waiting for a different reaction, and right away, Declan realized this was a big deal to her, even if she was acting like she couldn’t care less.
“I mean it,” he said, carefully folding the delicate garment and tucking it back into the box. “Beautiful work. I’ve never seen designs like that before.”
“And let me guess, you’ve seen a few,” Paige cracked, relaxing now.
Declan chuckled. “No comment. So this is what the big move is about?” he asked, hoisting three of the boxes at once and following her inside.
Paige nodded, directing him to set them down in the corner of the studio. “I figured, if not now, then when?”
“Nervous?” he asked, and she exhaled.
“Terrified. But in a good way. It’s time I started taking some risks, you know?”
Declan did know. Because she was standing there, looking like a dream—sweaty clothes, messy hair, and a look on her face that was equal parts excitement and determination.
The way she’d looked, months ago, right before she kissed him.
Damn it.
“Go out with me,” Declan blurted, before he even realized what he was doing. “I mean,” he corrected himself quickly. “Would you like to go out with me?”
Paige blinked. “On a . . . date?”
“Yes,” Declan said, pulling himself together enough to flash her a smile. “Dinner, dancing . . . whatever strikes your fancy. What do you say? In the name of taking risks . . .”
Paige bit her lip, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her brain. He’d never hung on a single word before, but it felt like the whole world rested on that one little reply, and when he saw the answer cross her face a moment before she said it, the relief hit him like an anvil.
“OK.” Paige slowly smiled at him. “A date.”
“Tomorrow night?” Declan asked, feeling like the luckiest damn guy in the world. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“See you then.”