She looked away.
He didn’t ask what she wanted to discuss, but his neutral expression told her that he probably knew. Maybe he’d been waiting for it.
Maybe, she thought with a squeeze of her stomach, he had been wishing for it.
“I’m usually at Harrison’s,” he said. “When I’m not home.”
She narrowed her eyes on that word. Home. Surely he wasn’t implying the little cottage down near the cove with the view of the lake barely visible through the dense trees? How many mornings had she lay on the cool white cotton sheets and looked out over that view?
Not many.
Jackson slid the four glasses of wine to her and disappeared without a word. She struggled to hold them all, happy for the excuse to end this conversation, even if she had initiated it.
“This is a busy week for me. I’m getting my shop off the ground, but I’ll find you once I have a chance.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, giving her a long, steady, dare she say suggestive look. “I’ve always been here.”
She blinked at him, unsure what he meant or what he wanted her to say, much less think.
But yes, he had always been here, because he’d chosen to stay behind.
Really, he’d chosen to let her go.
.
4
Brooke was grateful for the work that kept her occupied every waking hour of the following days. She was so busy hanging framed prints, setting up the dressing rooms, which combined totaled close to the entire square footage of her New York City apartment, and selecting which gown she would display in the window for her opening week, that she barely had time to think about Kyle or that fact that he was simply down the street.
The only time she thought of him at all was when she sat down at her newly delivered desk in the corner of the shop, where she could work on a slim white laptop while keeping an eye on the door. The back office was set up with her sewing machine and table, and right off it was the storage room, stacked high with bolts of fabric arranged by color. She had minimal inventory to start with—about twenty gowns in a standard size—as she suspected that the majority of her work would be custom, which suited her just fine. She loved the idea of working closely with a client, hearing their vision, giving them new ideas, and then delivering the wedding dress of their dreams.
Gabby had been helpful, bringing by bunches of white tulips and even tending to the planting in the formerly empty black urns that flanked the front door of the shop. Gus had been installing the sign that day, and Gabby had stood back and admired it with approval.
“Something Blue. I like it!”
“Not very original, but considering we live in Blue Harbor, it made sense.” Brooke liked the name, though, and it was one of the reasons that she ultimately chose to go with one of her simple ivory satin gowns in the window—the one that boasted a big blue sash. The dress was so perfect that she decided to leave it simple, with no flowers or confetti or anything else to take attention away. Just a dress to build a dream on.
Brooke sighed, thinking that had she been able to turn back the clock, she might have chosen this dress for her own wedding. Instead, she’d worn something from a catalog, that she’d altered herself, seeing as she was a better seamstress than her mother or sisters. At the time it had been the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. Perfect really: a sweetheart bodice of lace with a soft tulle skirt that flowed when she walked and moved like a dream.
A dress she had built a dream on. A dream that she had thought Kyle shared.
She righted herself, shaking away the cobwebs of her past, even though they were determined to creep back in, and stick. There was no sense in thinking about that now. Her mind was on other brides. On their special day. She hadn’t even considered getting remarried. Technically, she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.
She’d waited until her opening day to pull the curtains from the front picture window, letting the sunlight pour through the window, giving the gown the light and airy feeling that it deserved, and bringing the entire room to life. Eventually, she might switch to appointments only, but for now, she needed all the walk-ins she could get.
She almost jumped when the bells over the door chimed within minutes of her turning the sign on the door. She had slipped into the back office, not wanting to stare at a door and wait for it to open, and now she hurried as quickly as she could back to the storefront, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.
A woman with big, blond, curly hair was admiring the dress in the window, and then gasped when she saw the racks of samples that Brooke had worked on in her spare time over the past couple of years. She’d built up quite a collection. Enough to make the room feel filled but still spacious. Enough to demonstrate her range, but clearly define her style, which was classic, but fresh, or at least that’s what she liked to think.
Her boss back in New York had thought otherwise. Thought that Brooke was trying too hard. That she should stick with what she knew. In other words, tried and true, boring designs, for everyday wear. Nothing that excited Brooke or challenged her creative spirit. And even then, she’d managed to come up short.
“Can I help you?” Brooke asked, careful to give the client space to browse. She remembered when the store
