Almost the second Maddox walked out those doors, I was staring at the clock like it was betraying me.
The minutes passed too quickly and too slowly at the same time. I dreaded going to dinner, but I craved seeing Maddox again. When had it gotten like that? When had I become addicted to the twitch of his smile and the brush of his hand against my own.
We weren’t in this for love or for affection. I was going to have to remember that.
I tug my cell from my pocket, inspecting the blank screen. I flick through the contacts, thumb resting over Reagan’s number.
What kind of advice would she give me right now?
I could almost see the roll of her eyes and the press of her hands on her curvy hips.
“Girl, you better not even be thinking of marrying that guy.” She’d say, pursing her red lips together.
Then she’d probably go on a spiel about meeting her husband, Eli. But not everyone has an Eli. Not everyone has a Maddox. I’d better swipe him up while I could.
Even if that did mean meeting his parents…
A shudder rolled up my spine, clawing its way over my shoulder blades. I’d never met any parents before. Not even in high school. It wasn’t my thing. I’d never even brought anyone home to meet Mom, and she hadn’t pestered me about it.
I think she liked having me so focused on helping her with the café. I just wished now that I’d paid more attention to the business side of it and the congenial way she attracted customers like flies to honey. Her little shop had been so loved then.
Would it ever see attention like it had before? What would I do if Maddox was lying about all that? What would I do if he wanted to strip the place of Mom’s name and rebrand it?
I shift, leaning my elbows on the counter so that I can stare levelly into the glossy, half closed eyes of Mom in the old photo. The corners are crinkled from the heat of the espresso machine nearby.
“What do you think?” I ask aloud, getting a sideways glance from the man who’d come in for a shot of espresso.
I ignore him, it’s not like he’d come back anyway.
Or maybe that could be my shtick – crazy café lady who talks to herself. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing all this time, something insane to attract people. Kind of like Charlie Sheen and his manic rants.
With a groan, I flop my forehead down against the counter as the man gets up and slaps two dollars on the counter. A pity tip. I’ll take it.
His feet shuffle towards the doorway, bell jingling as he scurries out into the blustery fall wind and another set of heavy shoes steps inside.
“I’m lookin’ for a, uh…” The deliveryman rubs his jaw, shifting the ribbon covered package in his hand to inspect the label, “Miss Ava?”
“That’s me.” I reply quickly, uncertain to be more startled over receiving an unexpected package or from being called Miss Ava.
The steely eyed man glances at me, the package, then back at me uncertainly. He double checks the address before slowly extending the box towards me. It’s wrapped in delicate pink paper and tied with a champagne colored bow. Wider than my dresser drawer, it’s heavier than I expected. I slump slightly from the weight of it, inspecting the parcel scrutinously.
“It’s from Chantelle’s.” The deliveryman points out, eyes still watching me carefully, though I understand his doubt of my legitimate reception of the gift now.
Chantelle’s is a gorgeous boutique downtown that I’m afraid to even window shop at, it’s so lovely. Once in a while, I’ll pull up the website on my laptop and sip a glass of wine and just pretend that I could ever dream of affording something from it.
“Holy crap.” I breathe in awe, and the man nods in agreement.
“Have a good day, ma’am.” He murmurs, glancing one more time at the address on my shoddy little café before he disappears down the street.
“Holy crap.” I repeat to the walls of my empty little shop, staring in disbelief down at the parcel.
Tentatively, I slide over to the nearest table, glaring down at it to make sure that there’s no smudge or ring of leftover spilled coffee that can damage the box, before setting down and easing myself onto a chair before it.
The box sits there, regal and intimidating and oh so lovely. My fingers brush over the glossy paper, watching it shimmer in the lights of the café. I took my time peeling back the paper with painstaking carefulness, not even ripping the tiniest edge of the wrapping. Satisfied with the job, I refolded the paper and topped it with the ribbon and set it aside. I’d wrap a gift with it eventually to someone very, very special.
Even the simple, sealed cardboard box looked exquisite.
Chantelle’s logo glimmered, hand embossed on the edges of the cardboard. I run a finger under the tape, tugging it delicately backward until the box is finally open and tissue paper white and fluffy and gossamer as a cloud peeks curiously out.
I pull the tissue free, setting it on the carefully folded pile of wrapping paper as I creep up until I’m standing and peering into the dark depths of the box. A simple note rests at the very top.
I figured you’d need an outfit as lovely as you – M
What a lady’s man. It was probably Elliot’s idea again.
That didn’t stop the slow smile from spreading across my lips or the excited bubbling of my stomach, like when I’d had too much champagne that one New Year’s Eve.
With fingers delicate as a surgeon prepping for an operation, I remove the note and set it aside, my fingers returning to the box to run across the soft silk of the dress within.
Biting my lip, I pull the dress upwards so that it dangles in front of me, just barely sweeping the tile as I lift it higher above my head.
The gown was beautiful.
Deep burgundy, like expensive wine, the sweetheart neckline would cling in all the right places, the lacey sleeves dipping off my shoulders. At the bottom of the box, a pair of strappy, glimmering cream colored heels rests peacefully.
Everything was just my size.
How the hell had he known?
Was he some kind of sizing savant?
Shaking my head, I gather everything back into the box with shaky, excited fingers and head into the back room of the café.
I’d never once owned anything this luxurious or gorgeous. In fact, I’d never bought anything more expensive than the clearance rack at Target. Everything I owned was thrift shop acquired, though my Mom did splurge on me when she could when I was younger. I hadn’t revamped my wardrobe since I was nineteen and home from college for the weekend.
The dress fit me like a glove, and I never wanted to take it off except that I’d get coffee grounds or sugar on it if I kept it.
Or maybe after tonight Maddox would want it back?
The thought of losing the dress was almost as painful as losing my arm.
How silly I was being.
The door jingled once more as I eased the heels onto my feet, walking a careful circle. I wasn’t used to heels, but these were as light as air. Usually I just wore flipflops or worn sneakers.
“Ava?” Maddox calls out from the entry way, crinkle of the wrapping paper rustling as he curiously picks it up, “Are you here?”
Gulping, I run my fingers through my unbrushed hair, throwing it off my shoulders as I hesitantly walk back towards the front door of the café.
The heels click under me as I move, the dress swishing around my ankles like silky wings. I run my hands over the dress, memorizing the feel of its embrace around me.
In this gown, I felt a way I’d never felt before. Beautiful. Powerful. Sexy.
Maddox turns when he hears my shoes echoing from behind the counter, his jaw going almost immediately slack. The look on his face is enough to make a blush burn bright as the north star on my face, my body skittering slightly backwards.
“Do I look awful?” I whisper, terrified.
I should have known I wouldn’t be able to carry off something as majestic as a dress form Chantelle’s. No. This was fit for Poppy or Reagan or someone with money and beauty and a body to be envied.
I had none of those things.
I was just me.
“No.” He murmurs back, collecting himself.
He straightens, the velvet black of his suit gleaming like a raven’s wing. His hair is still damp from a shower, his eyes dark in the dim light of evening setting outside.
“No.” He repeats, “You look amazing, Ava. And that is a severe understatement.”