Page 28 of That Next Moment

I admitted to Madeline that I had a good time while Clay was over. It was easier to talk to him than I thought, and just having him there was comforting. I told her the stupid comment he made about the past andbeing on the same page. She raised her eyebrows at me and shook her head.

“You two have always been on the same page. You just won’t admit it,” she grumbled. And with that, the conversation ended.

We weren't on the same page. . . were we?

I tapped my fingers on the desk, making my pencil roll to the side.

I glared at my phone, as if it would have all the answers. I heard Carter clicking away in the background, his tiny mouse so loud, even over Chord Overstreet’s “Hold On.”

“Hey, Carter,” I suddenly blurted out, standing up from my desk and making my way over to him. His eyes moved from the computer screen to me, his head staying firm in one place. “How long have you known JoAnn?”

He raised his eyebrows and went back to the computer. “I’ve been the photographer for all her boutiques and have helped with her models for the past five years. I was at that show where she purchased your line.”

I narrowed my eyes and nodded. “Do you think she would go for gowns only in the boutique, or would she want the seasonal styles?”

Carter’s eyebrows raised, and his eyes went wide. That was the best reaction I’ve ever seen out of that man before. “She doesn't own a wedding gown store. It may interest her. I do know that she loves all the designs you've done, so in all honesty, Miss Fuller, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

“She loved my wedding gown designs?”

Carter nodded. “She even told me to focus more on that during the trip. She wants that to be the focus of your account.”

“So, if I asked her—”

Carter interrupted me. “It wouldn't hurt.” His eyes, for the first time since I’d met him, locked onto mine. Almost as if he were telling me something.

I heaved a sigh and straightened my back, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you telling me something, Carter?”

He shut his laptop and stood from his desk. “I think you already know the answer to that.” He picked up his laptop and shoved it in his bag. “I’m going to head out and get some lunch. Are you done for the day or. . .?” Carter's question trailed off.

I looked back at my desk, my phone still sitting on the papers or doodles. “I’ll be here for a bit longer, then I may be done. But, if you are done with pictures, tomorrow is the bigger day. I'll be piecing the dress together tomorrow.”

Carter gave me a slight smile as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Madeline will be here?”

“Well, of course. I need her here to make sure my measurements are accurate.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Perfect, I'll be in touch tonight for a caption. Oh, and. . . email JoAnn.”

I tightened my lips into a smile and nodded. Watching him leave the studio, I went directly to my phone and opened a text. I circled my thumb over JoAnn’s name, but my mind shifted and clicked on another thread instead.

Ophelia: Hey, Clay. You wouldn’t happen to be free for lunch today, would you?

Those three elusive dots appeared instantly.

Clay: Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

Maybe meeting at the food trucks wasn't the best idea, but it was the more casual plan. I didn’t want to end up in a fancy restaurant, sitting across from Clay with wine glasses and a candle in between us. We were starting over, just as friends, nothing else. Food trucks were the next best thing.

I stood in the center of the square, tables and people all around me, my eyes searching for Clay. There were hundreds of people here. As my gaze followed the crowd, Clay finally came into view. He was wearing gray slacks, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and aviators covered his eyes. His brown hair was neat, but the wind added just a bit of flair to it. As I watched him, I felt like I was in a movie, watching the love interest walk up in slow motion. Hundreds of people surrounded him, yet he was all I saw.

I took a sharp inhale and blinked my eyes a few times.Pull yourself together, Phe.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as he approached, leaving his aviators on but flashing his smile. “Food trucks? Good choice. What do you want to grab?”

I exhaled finally and looked around at the trucks. You would think with me waiting here, I would have already known what to eat, but alas; I couldn't think of what sounded good. I took another look around, moving my entire body. My mind was spinning. I wasn't this girl who got flustered when a guy entered the room. I was Ophelia Fuller, New York Fashion Designer who was getting her own store front, advocate for women everywhere, organizer of events and fundraisers for BLM charities, proud of who I was and where I came from, especially seeing how far I’d come since college. I wasOphelia Fuller,and I was a force to be reckoned with. I didnotget flutters because of aman.

And yet. . . here I was.

I cleared my throat. “Tacos?”