Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
My stomach dropped out at his words. I hadn’t even considered that I might not be the only one struggling with what the future held. I dropped a kiss to his head as I pulled him back against me. We were quiet for a long time. My stomach was in knots as I considered what to do.
Staying was stupid and dangerous.
But only to my heart.
Because there was absolutely no reason to think that my presence in Haven was putting anyone in immediate danger. I’d worked long and hard to get lost and I’d done an admirable job. A couple more months wouldn’t change that, right?
“Oz, baby, look at me,” I said as I leaned back enough so I could force his head up. I waited until our eyes met. “You’re leaving in February, correct? You’ve got your thing back in New York then, don’t you?”
He nodded morosely. “Fashion Week.”
I took in a deep breath. “Okay, so here’s the deal… if you want it, I mean. I leave when you do.”
“Wh–what?” he asked in surprise.
“The second you drive out of Haven, I do too. Until then, it can be as much or as little of this” –I motioned between us– “as you want.”
“Really?”
“Really. But it’s temporary, Oz. I can’t… I can’t change the way things are and I need you to not ask me why. This is as much as I can give you,” I said, hating the words even as I spoke them. What I wouldn’t give to be able to offer him more… to give him what he deserved. “If that’s what you want—”
He kissed me to silence me. “It is,” he said. “I want it, Jake. More than you know.”
Another kiss and then he was wrapping his arms around me.
Uncertainty and relief warred deep inside of me. Had I just made things worse by prolonging the inevitable? And worse for who?
Oz?
Or me?
I had a sneaking suspicion the answer was both.
Chapter 15
Oz
After a big breakfast that included another truckload of fat-laden but delicious food from Jake’s cabin, I found my guy dozing face-first on the sofa by the roaring fire with Boo curled up like a queen on his lower back.
The storm had finally passed, leaving nearly a foot of soft snow piled up everywhere outside. It was certainly gorgeous, but according to Jake, it meant we were stuck on the mountain for a few days until the plows could get to us.
As I stared at the rounded curve of Jake’s ass in flannel pajama bottoms, I could think of worse situations to be stuck in.
I was way too hyper to sleep anymore, so I cleared off the breakfast table and laid out the supplies I needed to start cutting fabric for my first pattern. I had a makeshift dress form I pulled out of a storage closet behind the kitchen and began carefully draping cheap muslin fabric on it so I could make mistakes in the draping without damaging the fancy fabric that would actually be used in the gown.
While I pinned and tucked and draped, I thought about my goals for this collection.
Before leaving New York, I’d submitted my application to show at Fashion Week and had made sure my contacts at the fashion council knew to look out for it. There was a smaller group of indie designers hosting a more toned-down show during Fashion Week in a large gallery space. They’d offered me a chance to participate in their show if I wasn’t accepted into the big show. It would only be a week or so more until I heard back about whether or not I had a spot in the larger show, but several of my contacts in the industry had implied they’d be crazy not to use the allure of my name to attract attention and attendance to the show.
As I began to see the shape of the skirt come together, I felt nerves come alive in my stomach. The collection would be presented by me as a regular guy, but everyone would consider it “Laird’s” collection nonetheless. My agent, Aiden Vale, and I had discussed the issue at length. He’d tried to make the point that showing under my supermodel name would bring fantastic press and exposure to the new endeavor, but something about going into the design world under my model name made me feel very uncomfortable.
“Why are you frowning?”
I looked up to see Jake watching me from his sprawl on the couch. I hadn’t realized time had passed, but there was significantly less light in the room than there had been, and the fire had died down.
“Oh. Just thinking about what name to show this collection under. Any ideas?” I said, putting a final pin in the form and watching the whole thing fall to the ground and break into four pieces. “What the fuck?”