Page 106 of Not You Again
He laughs as he pulls his thread taut. “Only twice.”
I chew on my lip as he threads another bead and tacks it to the bodice.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Stressed,” I admit. That’s another change I’ve made since Kit left. I don’t tell people I’m fine when I’m clearly not.
Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Just about Fashion Week?”
“No.” I grab a metal stool from a few feet away and take a seat next to him. “Have you heard from Kit?”
He offers a kind smile. “We’ve tried to reach him. He’s texted back, so I know he’s alive, but no, we haven’t talked.”
I let out a sigh and tap my fingers against my mug. It’s too much to ask for him to reach out after I sent him an invitation to Fashion Week, right?
“I’m sorry, Andie.” Jamie shakes his head. “I really thought you two were going to make it. We all did.”
I shrug and try to keep my voice from breaking. “Me too.”
Catarina waves a small envelope from across the room. “This came for you.”
Desperate as I am for some word from Kit, I practically run across the studio and snatch it from her fingers. She doesn’t flinch, but she does smile. I hope I can afford to keep her on after the time Kit already paid for runs out.
There’s no return address. I rip open the envelope and pull out the contents. It’s a note card from a hotel in the Florida Keys and a glossy photo of my mom and Jim. They’re swimming in a lagoon in life vests, smiling while they pet a dolphin who’s poking his snout out of the water.
I’ve never seen my mom swimming. It’s such a stupid thought to have now, but growing up, bathing suits were worn to be seen, to draw attention to the best parts of her body. Not for actually swimming.
Frowning, I look at the notecard. It’s one sentence scrawled in my mom’s handwriting: It’s different this time.
Tears nip at the corners of my eyes, and I take in a deep breath, only for it to get snagged in my throat. A tear falls and I wipe it away with the heel of my hand.
The knot in my chest I wished Kit could untangle just loosened another degree. Every seam I stitched together for this line has been doing the work too. I’ve been digging my raw fingertips into the mass of fear and teasing out the truth, little by little. Maybe one day I’ll have solved it completely.
I sniff and read the note again, running my fingers over the words. “It’s different this time.”
“Hmm?” Ruby looks up from her tablet. “Did you say something?”
I shake my head, clearing my throat. “No. Nothing. Except—”
Both women and Jamie look at me expectantly.
Clutching the note and the picture to my chest, I ask them all, “Would it be crazy to attempt just one more design?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIXKIT
This tent is crowded. I pull the cardstock invitation from my breast pocket and stare at it again.
It’s been a week since I accepted a job with Mason Architecture here in Atlanta and moved into their cozy library office in a restored craftsman home. I trace over Andie’s handwritten note at the bottom of the invitation.
It’s not a confession of love or an offer of forgiveness, but it’s enough. There was no way in hell I was going to miss this day. So I put on a suit for the first time since my conversation with Hammersmith—the one she’d fixed the cuff on, and the first pocket square she gave me—and showed up ready to offer her everything I can think of.
I locate my seat only to find it buttressed on either side by Leslie and Patrick. Kendra sits on Patrick’s other side, beaming. When I sit, Patrick smacks me on the back. “Damn, I’m glad you showed, man.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I shake Leslie’s hand. After I take in Patrick’s Miami Vice–style suit, I tell him, “You look good.”
“Kendra picked it out.” He smiles sheepishly.
“Where’s Jamie?” I ask Leslie.