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Still, if she’d go on one official date with me . . .
“Angle your head to look at him, Aria,” the photographer commands as the assistant reaches in for a quick adjustment of her hair.
Aria turns her head, and we lock gazes. The air is sucked out of me, and I struggle not to let it show. There’s a frisson between us, pulling me to her, drinking in everything that she is. Her faint dusting of cinnamon freckles across her nose about does me in. Desire shifts through me, swift and strong.
“It’s snowing!” Liz says, wiping her shoes off on the mat when she comes into the room. She flicks the top of her head and beads of moisture fling off in all directions. “Let’s step outside and get some authentic snow, shall we?”
The whole party moves out through the double doors and onto a grassy area next door. It’s the first snow of the season and I have to admit, it’s magical, even if it’s just a skiff.
Aria bends down, gathers a tiny snowball in both hands, and lifts it to my face. “If we weren’t in a photo shoot right now, I’d plaster you with this.” Her eyes are daring.
“If we weren’t in a photo shoot, I’d dump you in a snowbank.”
“There aren’t any snowbanks. There’s barely any accumulation,” she insists.
“I can be patient.” And I can. Aria might dislike me; she might think she knows me. But I can wait for her to come around, as difficult as it may be.
The tiny, heavy beads of snow soon grow into larger, fluffy flakes, falling slowly all around us, and the photographer’s excited about how the shots look. He has us pose so that Aria is facing away from me, her back against my front. My hands go around her waist, and even through the ridiculous torture device that is the corset, I can feel her strength, the smoothness of her body. Her clean, berry scent is in my nose, tripping me up, setting me up for disappointment.
She shivers.
“Are you cold?” I whisper.
Her only response is a fluttering of her eyelashes before she looks again at the camera.
“Can we get a blanket for her?” I ask the assistant.
Within moments, the assistant places a white, woolen shawl over her shoulders.
“Thank you.” Aria fusses with the shawl, focusing on it instead of me.
Is she flustered?
“Okay, we’ve gotten a lot of serious expressions.” The photographer says. He’s looking at us like he knows. Like he can see what’s happening between us. “Now, let’s mix it up. Let’s have some fun.”
Aria frowns and looks at me doubtfully. It’s a challenge, even if she’s not meaning it to be.
“You don’t think I can make you laugh?” I ask. “Me? Class clown extraordinaire?”
She folds her arms across the vee in her dress at the waist. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but . . .”
I do a deep knee bend and then spin around. “You’re not the only one who took dance.” I tell her as I whip my body around in a pirouette of sorts. I don’t stick the landing very well, but I don’t have to. She looks impressed and her head tips back in a laugh.
“How did you know I took dance? And when did you take it?”
“I know because I can tell just by looking at you. And, Camilla mentioned it once.” I do another pirouette, muscle memory taking over. “I had a phase in fourth grade. Wanted to do hip-hop, but my instructor made me also do some ballet because he said it would help my hip-hop skills.”
It was a short phase. My mom was still single at that time. After my father ruined her reputation as an attorney, as well as his own, he left us. And because of all that happened, she systematically lost all her clients in the aftermath of my dad’s actions. She was so heartbroken, her hopes so ruined, that she decided to leave the law profession altogether. Which is why she couldn’t afford lessons for very long.
“I also learned this,” I tell her as I kick my leg out to the side, as far as I can, and then jump, shooting my bottom leg up to meet the one in the air. It’s a hitch kick. Probably the best one that I’ve ever done. And Aria’s head goes back in a laugh, her hand on her chest, radiant joy on her face.
It’s the most compelling, gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
Chapter 8
Aria
I park behind the bakeshop, and, completely unbidden, my thoughts turn to Theo. There was trouble in the vibe he carried into the photo shoot. Typical Theo, confident with a dash of uncertainty—a vulnerability I’ve never seen from him before.
