The Pact(20)

“But do you have any plans to?” he asks.

I shrug. “Hopefully. I just opened last week so I’m still not really sure what I’m doing yet.” Then, feeling flirtatious I look up at him through my lashes and say, “Don’t tell anyone.”

He grins. His smile is crooked but it’s cute. “I won’t, don’t worry.” Then his smile fades and he anxiously rubs the end of his nose. “Well, my brother Mick, he’s started a men’s clothing line earlier this year so I’m just helping him out and going around to see if anyone wants to carry it.”

He reaches behind him into a leather messenger bag I only just notice and pulls out a manila envelope. He tries to hand it to me but he drops it. He’s a bit flustered, awkward, but I like that.

He picks it up and this time I take it from his shaking hands before he can drop it again.

“So your brother is putting you up to this?” I ask him, sliding out a catalogue and peering at it. It’s hastily put together but the shots are professional. They’re also of the guy I’m talking to.

I wave it at him. “You’re a model.”

I knew it.

He nods, looking a bit bashful. “Yeah. At least I’m trying to be one. I’m doing this to help both of us out, you know. He was thinking maybe if he found the right store, that they could do an exclusive line together. And I would be the model.”

The funny thing about being in your late twenties is that slivers of adulthood slowly find their way into your everyday life. Maybe it’s putting money aside in a 401K, staying home on a Saturday night because you want to wake up early so you can go to the gym, having meetings with your accountant, taking omega-3 and calcium supplements, making expensive night cream part of your daily regime, and so on.

It doesn’t happen all at once but when it does you’re hit with, “Whoa, I guess I’m a fucking adult now. Look at me!”

This was one of those moments. Granted, it was probably a delayed reaction from opening day, but this good-looking sunny boy was asking me if I wanted an exclusive men’s line in my newly minted clothing store and fuck it if I didn’t feel like I’d finally arrived.

That didn’t mean I knew what I was doing, though.

“So,” I say, trying to find the right words, “you’d model the clothes, the clothes I’d be exclusively carrying?”

“It depends if the other stores get back to us, I guess.”

My heart fluttered anxiously at the thought of the competition. “Who were the other stores?”

He shrugs and scratches the back of his head, looking totally adorable. “I’m not really sure. I gave them my stuff, not the other way around. The owners weren’t as pretty as you though.”

My cheeks grow warm and I find myself staring coyly at the ground.

“By the way, I’m Aaron,” he says, extending a hand. “Aaron Simpson.”

“Stephanie Robson,” I tell him, returning the shake. His hand is warm, fingers long and slender.

“Aaron and Stephanie,” he says. “Sounds good together.”

I raise my brow. Just who is this awkward, nervous yet bold model standing across from me? I’m not sure but I really want to find out.

And that means taking his offer rather seriously.

“It does,” I slowly agree. While the whole “you’re so adult” and “you have no idea what you’re doing” feelings competing inside of me, I open the door wider and gesture inside. “We still have a few minutes before I open. Why don’t you come on inside and we can talk.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“For sure,” I say. “I’m always looking to do business.”

A heated look passes between us over that last word as he steps into the store.

I have a feeling that business as usual is about to take on a whole new meaning.





CHAPTER SIX

30

LINDEN



“Do you know what time you were born at?” Nadine asks me before taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

“No idea,” I tell her. “Having that knowledge would mean I have a mother who would indulge in pithy little shit like that. Or a mother who pays attention.” I lean back in my chair and breathe in the salt air. It’s nice as hell out, one of those Aprils that sing with fresh air and spicy sunshine. There is no fog and the bay dazzles before us, the water lit from within.

It doesn’t feel like it’s my birthday. That’s a good thing. I’ve been dreading the countdown to thirty for a year now and feel like I’ve been dragged into it, kicking and screaming.

“Maybe you can ask her tomorrow,” she says but I only stare out the sailboats sluicing to and fro. I don’t want to think about the fact that my parents arrive in the city tomorrow morning and that I have brunch planned with them. I don’t want to think about the fact that I haven’t seen them in years and this is the first time they’ve been to the West Coast to see me. I don’t want to hear about their expectations and the wee ways I’ve failed them.