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I want—The scissors fall from my hand, clattering on the tabletop.
I’m exactly what he accused high school boys of being—horny.
I’ve gotten all googly-eyed over a guy before. It’s hard to be in the middle of a group of people all revved up for sex and not be affected somehow by the pheromones. Plus, it’s like a rite of passage to have a crush on someone, to write their name in a notebook with little hearts. I’ve experienced that, but I’ve never thought about stripping them naked and doing things I’ve only ever seen while searching X-rated websites when boredom strikes late at night. There had been times when I wondered if I even had a sex drive because getting down and dirty with someone is rarely where my head goes, and even less after that night with Seb.
“Is this a bad time?”
I turn toward the feminine voice and smile.
“This is a perfect time,” I tell Khloe as she steps into the room.
The excitement in her eyes as she looks across the room to the bag hanging there matches my own.
“When I tell you this stressed me out,” I say as I walk toward the bag.
“I didn’t mean to cause you stress,” she says, her face falling a little.
“No, no,” I insist. “In the best way possible. I’m honored you trusted me with this, but I won’t lie and say I wasn’t nervous. I was terrified to mess it up.”
I tug down the zipper, but her hands rush up to her face, covering her mouth before I get it fully unwrapped.
“That’s my dress?” she asks from behind her hands.
My pulse immediately quickens. “Oh God.”
She shakes her head. “No, not like that. It’s beautiful.”
“Really?” I read her the wrong way, and it will take a moment to get over that rush of failure that hit me immediately.
“I love it,” Khloe says, reaching out and letting some of the tulle slide between her fingers.
“You should try it on, so I can make sure the fit is perfect.”
I hand her the hanger, grinning at the extra pep in her walk as she heads to the bathroom.
“I think this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
Seeing Emmett always brings a rush of excitement, but the huge box in his arms is the real winner today.
“The footballs!”
This shipment has been delayed more than once. I haven’t wasted my time. I’ve been able to complete other orders while waiting, but this order is what set everything in motion, and I’ve been eager to get started on it.
“There’s more than one,” he says as he places the box against the far wall. “I’ll carry them all in.”
I thank him, but then my attention is pulled back to Khloe as she steps out of the bathroom with tears in her eyes.
“Wow. You’re stunning.”
She pushes a hand against her hair as if she struggles with compliments.
“I feel as beautiful as I did the day I got married.”
I watch as she turns in front of the mirror, checking every angle.
It’s no longer white. She wanted it dyed a burgundy color. Originally, it swept the floor, but now it teases the tops of her knees. The sequins didn’t take the dye, but their opal coloring, something I was initially worried about, are magnificent in their contrast, looking like dew drops on the bodice.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Think Kid will like it?”
“He’s going to love it,” she assures me, taking one final look at herself in the mirror before heading back into the bathroom to change.
Her anniversary isn’t until spring, so there will be a few more months before she’ll be able to show off my hard work, but I know it’s going to be well worth the wait.
“I was thinking,” I tell her as she exits with the dress back in the protective bag. “Would you be interested in a mini photoshoot with it? I was hoping to use it for my portfolio.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “That would be amazing.”
We chat for a little while longer before she insists I get back to work. Emmett comes and goes four more times with boxes of footballs, and I realize as I start to run out of room, that I underestimated how much space so many balls would take up.
“What’s that about?” he asks, coming in with yet another box.
“What’s that?” I ask, my hands working on pulling back the tape on one of the boxes.
“The longest sigh I’ve ever heard,” he answers.
“These boxes were delayed,” I mutter. “I’m behind.”
“You have time. Didn’t the guy say he didn’t need them until closer to Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, but I have a million other orders. The pajamas for example.”
“The Polar Express thing isn’t until the week of Christmas,” he says, his hand covering mine on the box. “Look at me.”
I swallow as I look up at him. “I think it’s more work than I can do.”
