twenty-one
It took me a while to realize it, but Joan Jett had been on repeat for some time. As in, I’d probably been listening to her iconic screech during “I Love Rock ’n Roll” for at least an hour. Maybe more. I hadn’t been paying attention to Joan. I was puzzling over the design of a Flyover-worthy evening gown, and even Joan hadn’t broken through. The loft was empty but for me and the in-house stereo, synced with my phone and apparently unbothered by a long tribute to “putting another dime in the jukebox, baby.” The rest of the staff had left long ago, after clocking in yet another long, full day in our effort to create a line that would be buyer ready in the remaining two days before our meeting.
We were crushing it.
I glanced at the finished pieces that stood in an obedient line along the back wall. The mannequins wore a variety of looks, from day wear to evening, and the winners were exquisite. I studied them as I stood to stretch, newly impressed with what we had accomplished and how well we’d merged as a team, both in terms of workload and design inspiration. Chase was funny, really funny, and Eleanor and I were already getting to the point where we finished each other’s thoughts and sentences. Moira was a dream assistant, watchful with her wide-set brown eyes, ready with my phone, the latest spreadsheet, the number for the best button supplier in Manhattan. I had, on more than one occasion, professed my undying love for her and a blessing for a long and healthy life. She’d smiled noncommittally and handed me another dose of caffeine.
I blinked a few times and rolled my shoulders forward and backward, feeling every vertebra protest realignment from hunched to vertical. The oversize train clock above the elevator doors read three in the morning. I groaned aloud. Time would need to slow down a bit if I were to keep both sleep and work in my daily schedule. At least until the buyers’ meeting, I thought, my eyes on the sketches before me but my body reminding me that all work and no play made for things like sinus infections and unsightly drool stains on fabrics.
The elevator doors opened and I felt my heart skip a beat. A woman alone in an empty building at three in the morning? Not a recipe for safety or smarts. I reached for the scissors on my desk and was pulling them up to strike position when James stepped from the elevator.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “James,” I said, unnerved. “You scared me to death.” My hands were shaking as I returned the scissors to the desk. “I’m so glad you’re not a serial killer.”
He walked toward me, his shirt uncharacteristically rumpled to match a wild coif of hair. “You’re safe with me, babe. First, that sounds messy. And second, I don’t have that kind of time.” He walked toward me, his heels marking a crisp rhythm on the floor. “I’ve been working on an investment proposal upstairs and I thought I heard music.” He cocked his head in the silence. “Please tell me I’m not losing it.”
I laughed. “You’re not. Joan Jett was keeping me company. I just turned her off.”
He stopped in front of me and swept a hand at my cluttered desk. “How’s it going?”
I shrugged. “I’m stuck on this gown. It will come, but it’s not coming easily.”
He studied the sketch and, after a pause, nodded. “I think you’re close. And you’re right. It will come.” He lifted his chin at the back wall. “Like everything else. You’ve knocked those out of the park.”
I followed his gaze and let my exhale leave in an exhausted but satisfied rush. “Thanks. I think we’re on to something.”
James’s mouth lifted in a half smile when he turned to me. “Hey. We’re both too blitzed to be of any more use tonight. Let me buy you breakfast.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, running a hand over my face. “I would probably do better to go home and sleep for a while.”
“You can sleep afterward. Come in late,” he said, already turning my shoulders toward the elevator doors. “I’m sure Chase and Eleanor have plenty to do without you here, and Moira can continue organizing the universe until you arrive at noon. Case closed. Time for waffles.”
I protested again, but weakly. My stomach had growled at the thought of buttermilk and syrup.
A block and a half later, James held the door open for me at Lou’s and I stepped through to the smells of coffee, butter, and bacon. Only in New York, I thought as I scooted into an open booth, could a girl find a full breakfast and a fresh pot of coffee at an hour that most of the time zone was hard at sleep.
We were one of only three couples in the room, so our server came quickly and took two orders for waffles, one with strawberries and whipped cream, one with powdered sugar and blueberries, and both with sides of bacon and decaf coffee.
“So tell me,” James said after a dainty sip of ice water. “How is your team working out?”
“Beautifully,” I said. “Honestly. I can’t believe how seamlessly we work, how little drama there is among us. A bit different from Milano,” I added with a wry smile. We hadn’t revisited much of our shared work history, James and I, and I was a bit wary of opening that door.
James sniffed a laugh. “That place was like a careening Titanic. Always one iceberg away from total destruction.”
I laughed, pushing away the knowledge that I was too far down the payroll ladder to have seen anything from the helm of the ship. We had never been close to colleagues, James and I, and I was still getting used to sharing more equal footing with him. I sat up straighter on the red vinyl seat and cleared my throat.
“How are things at Saffron as a whole? Have you been working a lot of nights like this?”
James shrugged. “This is the way it goes, particularly for the first five years or so. We are expanding at a speed that feels just shy of lunacy, but expansion is a good thing. And the late nights, well.” He grinned. “Allows me time to share waffles with beautiful women.”
I took a careful sip of my hot coffee before responding. “Three a.m. isn’t my best beauty hour, but the waffles are welcome.” The server arrived with a full tray then, and we took a few moments to start in on the food. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten something hot, much less a full meal. Dinner and lunch that day (the previous day?) had been Thai and Ethiopian takeout, both cooled to room temperature by the time I breaked long enough to eat. Even cold, they were both delicious, but there was something about waffles that felt like home.
“These are so good,” I said between bites. “Almost as good as my grandmother’s, though I wouldn’t advise mentioning that to her. Recipe pride is a serious thing in my family.”
“Wait. Stubborn, fierce pride in one’s work? Hm,” he said, head to one side and a playful grin on his face. “Weird.”
I frowned. “One of the many very positive traits I have picked up from my hometown,” I said, filled anew with a longing to see Gigi and Tucker and the sewing girls. “I can’t wait to go back.” I chewed thoughtfully. “We finish everything up today and tomorrow, present on Friday morning, and I’ll be on the first flight out Friday afternoon.” I took a long swig of ice water and caught the concern on James’s face. “What is it?” I returned the water glass to the table, watching his face as he answered.
“Grace,” he said, then stopped to pat the edges of his mouth with a paper napkin. He started again. “Grace, this is a huge commitment, this partnership.”
“I know,” I said, a bit prickly.
“This week has been intense, to be sure,” he went on. “But it won’t be the only week like this. Weeks, weekends . . . this is going to get big quickly. You understand?”
I nodded, but I needed him to clarify. “I want this to get big too, James. You know that.” I put down my fork, heavy with a big, syrupy bite of waffle that wasn’t tasting as good as it had a few moments ago. “What are you trying to say?”
James put his hands up for defense. His tone lighter, he said, “Nothing you probably haven’t already thought about. Just that this isn’t going to be a back-and-forth thing. You need to be here. In New York. Pretty much all the time until we are fully launched and things are running like clockwork. Which, as you know, can take years.” He shoveled an oversize bite into his mouth and set to chewing while he watched my reaction.
I sat, sifting through a jumble of thoughts. I knew the hours would be long and I’d need to be in New York, of course. But I had to go back to Iowa, didn’t I? At the very least, I had to visit our production hub there. The sewing ladies weren’t just the heart of the company; they were also gold for publicity. Surely James would agree. I was about to mention that particular when he interrupted my thoughts.
“Of course, we aren’t necessarily a conventional company.”
“Exactly,” I said readily. “I was just going to say that.”
“Our growth might be manageable enough to allow for the occasional trip to Ohio.”
“Iowa,” I corrected.
“Right. Sorry,” he said with a smile. “Iowa. I just don’t want you to expect to be able to hop on a plane every weekend. You’ll be needed here.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “I have to be honest. This is a change from how I was picturing all this.”
James flagged down our server and pantomimed being ready for the check. “I understand. I do,” he said, returning his focus to my furrowed brow. “It’s good we’re talking about it at this stage. Think about it.” He slapped his hands on the table with an air of assuredness. He knew my drive, he knew my dreams, and he knew they were all within reach, just a block and a half away. “Think about it and we can talk again after the buyers’ meeting. Everything out in the open, right? That’s the best way to go about this.”
I nodded. “Definitely,” I said. I pushed my plate away, noting I had lost my appetite.