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I agree. I’ve done this before. I try not to think about the fact that it was with Blake. I can’t afford to become emotional; I have business to attend to. I send my new client the address for these offices, and confirm a time.
As soon as that’s taken care of, I jump into a list of ideas. It takes a bit of time and research to find something that might work for a man who wants to prioritize his family. I’m impressed that he wants to do this—usually, the people I dress are high up in the business world, and they don’t spend much time with their families at all.
When it’s close to four o’clock, I walk to the kitchenette adjacent to the waiting room and put on a pot of coffee so it’s ready for when my client arrives. I go over my little speeches again.
I’m excited about this one. Blake was the only male I’ve dressed in my time as a wardrobe consultant. The rest of my clients have all been female, and even though I love dressing them, I like the challenge of working with a male client. They’re harder to dress because the options for men are so limited. And I love a challenge.
“Hello?” a voice calls out while I’m still in the kitchenette.
I didn’t realize it was four already.
“Coming,” I say and put out two cups on the counter so I can pour coffee as soon as the introductions are over.
When I step into the waiting room, he stands with his back to me, studying a painting I put up on the far wall. It’s abstract.
The broad shoulders and the upright way he carries himself make my stomach clench.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Rachel W—”
I can’t finish my sentence. While I try to introduce myself, he turns around, and it’s Blake.
I should have recognized him. I should have known who those shoulders belong to, that posture that I would recognize a mile away if my mind wasn’t on other things.
“Blake,” I stay breathlessly. I feel faint and sway on my feet. “What are you doing here? I have a client. I can’t talk to you right now.”
“It’s me,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m a family man, who wants a wardrobe change to include clothes for a family vacation, play clothes for when he spends time with the children, and something more casual to celebrate holidays in.”
I gasp when he parrots the email I answered word for word.
“You didn’t use your email address.”
“I figured it would be safer so you don’t have a chance to reject me.”
“You’re not a family man,” I point out. “You liked—”
“Yet,” He says.
“What?” I blink at him. Nothing makes sense.
“I’m not a family man, yet. But I want to be, Rachel. I want a family and children. I want a full life with a legacy I can leave behind.”
I shake my head. “Am I missing something? You don’t want children. You don’t want anything to do with family. And you don’t want anything to do with me.”
Blake sighs. “You see, I was willing to firmly believe that last part. But I’m very good at lying to myself, and that was a lie, too.”
I’m still shaking my head.
“I want to be with you,” he says. “It’s taken a lot of mistakes before I realized it, but I don’t want to do this without you.”
A lump rises in my throat. How can he do this to me? How does he look so put-together, so calm and collected with his hands clasped behind his back and deliver such earth-shattering news?
He takes a step closer to me and lifts a hand to my cheek. He brushes the back of his fingers against my cheek and I shiver at his touch. His slate eyes rest on mine, and his face softens.
“As for the family, I want one with you. Deep down, I’ve always wanted one. I was just too scared of my past and that it would catch up with me. I didn’t realize it, but until recently, I was still that teenager, running away from a monster. It took a couple of hard hits—and losing nearly everything—to realize that I’m not that teenager anymore. And the monster is long gone.”
