Wildest Dreams Page 7

  Paige giggled, relaxing. “You’re right, I don’t exactly look like a fashionista,” she agreed. “I was always the odd girl out at fashion school. Everyone had crazy-colored hair and these wild outfits, but I never felt like I needed to dress all wacky just to make a point.”

  “You prefer to put it in your work instead?” Declan asked, wondering what kind of clothes she designed. Elegant dresses, maybe. Something clean and refined.

  “Not right now,” Paige said. “I work for a children’s clothing company,” she explained. “If there’s a cute romper out there, I’ve put a raccoon on it.”

  Declan smiled. So, she was creative, but didn’t feel the need to broadcast it. Interesting. “And what about the rest of your days?” He shot her a sideways glance. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Illicit polyamorous affairs?”

  Paige looked startled. “No! I mean, I wouldn’t . . .” She shook her head quickly. “I wouldn’t have, you know, with you if I was seeing someone.”

  “That was months ago,” Declan pointed out, feeling cheerful. “Things change.”

  Paige shook her head again. “I guess I don’t move that fast.” She paused. “Should I even ask you the same question?” she asked, a playful smile teasing on her lips. “Or will you just give me a line about how you don’t like to put labels on things and prefer to just let things happen.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Declan protested, even though that line sounded awfully familiar to him.

  She laughed. “Busted! You guys all say the same thing. You just want to keep your options open in case another pretty girl walks by.”

  “Or maybe I just don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Declan corrected her. “I’m not in the business of breaking any hearts. Ask for no promises, and I’ll tell you no lies,” he quipped, repeating a catchphrase of his father’s.

  Paige paused. “No you’re right,” she said, with a thoughtful look. “I’m sorry. You’re not leading anyone on. You’re free to do whatever you want with whomever you choose.”

  Declan should have been pleased with the apology, but instead, it felt like a slight. Sure, he kept his options open, but right then, he wanted to do very specific things with this one specific person.

  They reached Eddie’s place before he needed to reply.

  “Is this it?” Paige looked dubious, and Declan didn’t blame her. Unlike the packed, touristy seafood spots that played up the beachy theme, Eddie’s was a dive through and through: dark wood, no sign out front, and just a screen door that always stuck on its hinges.

  “Trust me,” Declan promised, holding the door open for her.

  “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” Eddie’s voice boomed out from behind the bar. He was a third-generation fisherman, with the best lobster boat around. Usually.

  “What did you expect?” Declan asked, sauntering closer. “Your guy told me you were out this week.”

  “ ’Fraid so.”

  “What happened, the boat sink?” Declan asked.

  “Near enough. My idiot boy lost the traps. I’ve barely got enough to keep them happy here.”

  “So my happiness doesn’t matter to you?” Declan rested his elbows on the pock-marked bar. He was keeping his tone light, but lobster was no laughing matter—not when he had a saffron sauce just begging to be drizzled over the finest tail meat. “C’mon, Eddie. Hook me up. I’m dying out here. You know what the customers are like this time of year. They only want one thing.”

  “Wish I could help you.” Eddie shrugged. “But Beachwood took everything extra I had.”

  Declan tried not to curse. “Those hacks? They’ll broil them to death and drown them in drawn butter.”

  “Sorry,” Eddie said, unapologetic. “They offered me double.”

  “What about langoustines?”

  They both turned to Paige in surprise.

  “What about them?” Eddie asked.

  “You’ve got them available, haven’t you?” she nodded to the chalkboard menu propped by the ice-chest in back. “They’re a close relation. Aren’t they?” she asked Declan, and he paused.

  “Hmm . . .” Declan ran through the possibilities. “I could do the saffron, maybe in a light broth. Something Spanish-inspired, with chorizo, and a red pepper jam . . .”

  “Sounds delicious,” Paige said, and that decided it.

  He smiled. “Someone just saved the day. Thank her, Eddie. I would have taken my business elsewhere.”

  “Bullshit.” Eddie grinned. “But I’ll give you a discount, for the trouble. Delivery this afternoon?”

  Declan nodded. “And throw in a couple of rolls, too, to go. I told her yours were the best in town.”

  Eddie laughed, already heading into the back. “Watch out for this guy’s sweet talk,” he called through the kitchen hatch to Paige. “He can charm the spines off a porcupine.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I can handle him.” Paige shot Declan a grin, and he just about stopped himself from falling to the floor in front of her.

  Please, he wanted to say. Handle me any day.

  * * *

  Eddie ran the order and sent them off with a couple of fresh rolls, wrapped in greaseproof paper. They found a spot on the sand and sat there, eating in the sun.

  “You’re right,” Paige exclaimed through a mayo-smeared mouthful. “This is amazing!”

  “Believe me, I’ve tried to copy the recipe.” Declan munched happily. “He won’t tell me the secret, but I think it’s chives. Or maybe buttermilk in the mayo. One of these days I’ll figure it out.”

  “You really love food, don’t you?”

  When Declan looked over, Paige was watching him. He swallowed his bite, trying not to seem like a total heathen. “Would’ve been a bad career choice if I didn’t,” he quipped.

  Paige gave him a searching look, and Declan suddenly wanted to tell her something real. “I do,” he answered honestly then. “An empty plate . . . it’s a canvas. You can eat to comfort, to inspire, to arouse the senses . . . I get to tell a story, or take you on a journey, just with the flavors I choose.”

  “You like the power?” Paige smiled.

  “Yeah, I do,” Declan chuckled. “But it’s more than that. There’s no limits, aside from your imagination. You can give a hundred chefs the same ingredients, and they’ll all come back with a different dish. If they’re any good, that is.”

  “And you are?”

  “Yes.” Declan nodded, then he paused. “It’s funny, my dad hated my cooking. He thought it was beneath me, serving somebody else for a living.”

  He stopped, surprised by the confession. He never talked about his father, or the fraught relationship they shared.

  “I don’t think it’s demeaning, making something that someone enjoys,” Paige said, furrowing her brow. “I mean, look at me. Someone could say that sewing is menial, but I’m proud of the work I do.”

  “You should be,” Declan said. “So, when do I get to see some of your designs? Maybe you can model them sometime.”

  For some reason, Paige blushed even redder than he’d seen before. She coughed. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, my offer stands to come by the restaurant one night,” he said. “Special chef’s tasting menu.”

  “Hmmm,” Paige recovered, that teasing note back. “You’ll have to be pretty spectacular to beat out Eddie.”

  “Oh, believe me, darlin’. I am.” Declan’s reply came out smokier than he intended, and when he caught Paige’s gaze, she blushed pink all the way to the tips of her ears.

  Damn. Declan loved seeing her emotions written all over her face like this, but she’d already as much as called him a lothario. “Sorry,” he said, chastened. “I know you told me to dial it down.”

  “No, it’s my fault, too,” Paige said quickly. “I don’t know what it is. I’m never usually like this.”

  “Like what?” Declan asked.

  “I don’t know.” She flushed again. “Flirtatious. Playful. I guess you just br
ing it out in me. Because I know you’re not serious,” she added, and Declan was torn between putting her at ease and showing her exactly how serious he could be.

  “I guess we’ll just call it our thing,” he said at last.

  Paige smiled and polished off the last of her food. “Flirting, and the lobster rolls,” she agreed. She screwed up the wax paper and looked around. “I should probably check in with Eliza, I’ve already wasted enough of your day.”

  Declan wanted to tell her that he’d happily blow of work and waste the rest of his life with her, but he got to his feet instead, and helped her up like a true gentleman. They put on their shoes and headed back to the street.

  “Listen, if you’re around later—”

  Paige stepped off the sidewalk, just as a hoard of bicyclists came streaming straight for her.

  “Look out!” Declan grabbed her arm and yanked her back out of the way just in time as they pedaled past, their bells ringing.

  He set her down on solid ground again. She looked shaken, and he felt pretty off balance himself. “Close call,” Declan said, catching his breath. “You must have nine lives.”

  Paige blinked, still looking dazed.

  “Did I hurt you?” Declan asked, suddenly concerned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I just grabbed you. They came out of nowhere.”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I’m fine.” Paige shook her head. “I just . . .”

  She stared off into space for a moment, then her expression changed. “I have to go,” Paige said, seeming to come to life again. “I’m sorry, but . . . This can’t wait!”

  She leaned up on tiptoes and dropped a kiss on Declan’s cheek. “Thank you!” she called behind her, already racing away.

  He stared after her. Now he was the dazed one; he could still smell the faint brush of rose and lilac from her perfume and the gentle touch of her lips to his skin.

  Damn, she knew how to leave a man hanging.

  7

  Paige signed the lease.

  One near-death experience was a warning, but two? She’d never been one for superstition, but this had to be another sign from the universe, because when she’d looked up and seen the mob of Swedes heading straight for her, she didn’t think about damp laundry or boring errands, she’d had a flash of a different life completely.

  Silk curtains, a shady courtyard, Aphrodite Designs written in gold script on the window by a red front door.

  The life she could have, if she would only take the risk and leap.

  So, for the first time in Paige’s life, she leapt.

  She thought it should have been hard to pack up her whole world and move on for something new, but it turned out to be almost thrillingly easy. She gave her two weeks’ notice at work, notified her landlord, and began making lists. It all seemed so simple that it wasn’t until she was finally speeding down the interstate, surrounded by boxes, that it hit her for the first time.

  She was really doing this.

  “Tell me I’m not making a terrible mistake!” Paige hit the speakerphone option to Eliza and gripped the wheel with both hands. “What was I thinking? I can’t start my own company!”

  Eliza laughed. “It’s a little too late for that. Aphrodite already has a client list, remember? You’re not starting from scratch, you’re just expanding.”

  Paige took a breath. OK, that didn’t sound so terrifying. “But still, a store is so official,” she worried. “What if I can’t find any more clients? Or keep up with rent? Or, I don’t know, have some kind of designer’s block, and never come up with anything beautiful again? Why did I think this was a good idea?” she despaired. “You’re the impulsive one! I plan, and think about consequences, and make sure I have a steady income and a roof over my head.”

  “Deep breaths,” her sister told her, sounding amused. “You’re allowed to be impulsive, too, you know. And you’ll be fine. The store does have a roof, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Paige answered faintly.

  “Then problem solved. Look, I know it’s scary, but I think what you’re doing is great.”

  “What do you know?” Paige gulped. “You probably think sky-diving is fun.”

  Eliza laughed. “It is! And you’re not hurtling out of a plane right now,” she reminded Paige. “You have a parachute. Your designs are gorgeous, and soon, everyone is going to see that for themselves.”

  “You’re good at this pep talk thing,” Paige said, impressed. “Have you ever thought about a sideline in motivational speaking?”

  Eliza snorted. “Because I’m so supportive of complete strangers and never jump to conclusions?”

  Paige grinned. “Good point. I’m coming up on the bridge now. See you soon.”

  “You’ve got this!”

  Paige hung up and took a deep breath, feeling positive again. Eliza was right. Her parachute was currently piled in the back of the car: boxes and boxes of her supplies—embroidery threads, and bolts of fabric, and all the reams of lace and trimming she’d been saving up the past few years. Soon, she would be sitting in that studio, working full-time on her designs—not squeezing them in after a long day at the office, or spending her weekends racing to fill orders before Monday rolled around again.

  She would have time, and space, and energy for the first time: all devoted to the thing she loved.

  That was worth taking a risk, wasn’t it?

  Paige exhaled a long breath, her excitement returning. This was a good thing. Change. New beginnings. Going after what she wanted instead of sleep-walking through her life, doing the “right” thing, and worrying all the same that it wouldn’t get her any closer to what she dreamed.

  This was the start of a new chapter, and she couldn’t wait.

  * * *

  Paige rolled the windows down, turned up the radio, and kept driving, making great time on the morning roads until she reached Provincetown. She carefully navigated the cobbled streets until she found the alleyway that backed onto the studio.

  Her new studio.

  Paige bounced down from the driver’s seat, feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve. The keys were right where Marissa said they’d be: hidden under a pot of begonias by the back door. The moving guys would be arriving with her furniture soon, and she knew she had hours of unloading and unpacking ahead of her, but she couldn’t resist unlocking the door and stepping inside empty-handed to take another look around.

  The space was just the way she remembered it, but cleaner, brighter. Somebody had done a thorough spring clean, and now the floors gleamed and the windows sparkled, making the space seem even lighter. There was a welcome basket propped on the window seat, filled with snacks and a card from Marissa. Welcome to the Cape! Enjoy your new home.

  Paige clutched the card to her chest, beaming. She’d lived in rambling house-shares and tiny box-like apartments, but this was the first time that four walls and a roof had spoken to her like this, whispering possibilities through the empty, sunlit rooms.

  She flung open the windows wide and the door to the courtyard, too, letting the fresh breeze come drifting in, then she headed out front to admire her new red front door. She’d purchased a gilt lettering kit from the craft store and couldn’t wait to paint the lettering on that slim window, broadcasting for the first time that Aphrodite Designs was her, Paige Bennett.

  Because it was time. She’d hidden her designs for too long, acting like it was some kind of secret identity, when really, she’d just been scared of what people might say. The judgment, the surprised looks. As if designing beautiful garments was something shameful, instead of uplifting. Well, she was done with hiding now. Her lingerie would be there in the window for anyone to see—and she couldn’t wait.

  “Hey! Mary Poppins!”

  Paige heard someone yelling from across the street and turned to see Jenny weaving through the crowd towards her, wearing jeans and a cute striped blouse, an ice cream cone in one hand, fresh from the store.

  “Hi!” Paige smiled, happy to see her again. “How’
s it going?”

  “Better now that I have double-chocolate chunk,” Jenny grinned, taking a lick. “OK, I admit it, I have a problem.”

  “No judgment here,” Paige laughed. “In fact, expect to see me there the next time you go. Now that I’m living right opposite, I won’t be able to stay away. Hello, late-night treats. And mid-day treats.”

  “And ‘whoops, is it Monday again?’ treats,” Jenny finished, smiling. “Welcome to town! When did you make the move?”

  “As of . . . about ten minutes ago,” Paige told her. “You’re looking at the new home of Aphrodite Designs.”

  “That’s so cool,” Jenny exclaimed. “I’ll have to stop by and check it out. Let me know when the grand opening is.”

  “I will,” Paige said, as she mentally took a note: plan grand opening. “I was wondering, how did that interview go?”

  Jenny made a face. “I got the gig . . . for about a week. Then my niece broke her wrist, and I had to miss work to take her to the emergency room. The maître d’ was not impressed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” Jenny shrugged. “Things are so crazy at Sage right now, I have plenty of shifts.”

  Paige’s stomach did a slow pirouette at the mention of the restaurant name, even as she fought to keep her casual tone. “So, Declan is really a good chef then?” she asked, wondering if he could possibly live up to his reputation.

  Jenny brightened. “You know Declan?”

  “No!” Paige blurted. “I mean, yes. But not well. I’ve just met him a couple of times,” she explained, knowing she sounded like a fool, but not able to stop herself. “He seems nice. Not ‘nice,’ but a fun guy, you know?”

  Stop talking.

  Paige’s cheeks were flushed hotly, but Jenny just laughed. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on all women,” she said with a knowing tone. “You know, with him being so awkward and average-looking.”