“Because the money’s good and the perks are even better. I get all-expense-paid trips to some of the most beautiful places in the world, and I haven’t had to buy my own clothes in years.”
“That sounds like a good deal to me. But if you didn’t always aspire to be a model, what profession did you want to pursue?”
“When I was younger, I wanted to be Tony Hawk, the best skateboarder in the history of the sport. I used to take my board everywhere I went. At times, I even slept with it. After I won a couple of amateur competitions, I had dreams of turning pro, competing in the X Games, and getting a bunch of sponsorships, but I broke my arm trying out a new trick and decided to try my luck at a career with less risk of injury.”
“Like being a bike messenger in New York City? How’s that working out for you?”
“Touché.” Dakota rubbed her knee, which had been scraped and bleeding the night she and Grace had met. “I was a finance major in college, and I have the bachelor of business administration degree to prove it, but most corporations wouldn’t give me the time of day when Rich and I first moved to New York. They were so fixated on my look that my qualifications didn’t matter. I became a bike messenger on what I thought would be a temporary basis. I don’t have to tell you how that turned out.”
“Do you want to take another crack at making a living in the business world one day?”
“I’m doing it now. I dabble in day trading in my spare time. I’m no wolf of Wall Street, but I’ve done pretty well. I keep telling myself I’m one bad investment away from losing everything. I’m not, but it makes me be careful with the money I have tied up in the stock market. I could probably retire now if I wanted to, but I’d like to build the coffers a little more before I officially pull the pin. For me, money is like coffee and chocolate. I can’t have too much of either.”
“For me, retirement is more of a suggestion than a tangible goal. I’m trying to save as much money as I can, but it’s not enough to retire on. Not yet, anyway. Call me in thirty years or so.”
“You’re planning to retire early?”
“My goal is to have options. I want to be like Lillie—working because I want to, not because I have to.”
“I like her. She’s funny, but there’s a hint of truth in everything she says. How long does she plan to keep working?”
“She threatens to retire every January, but she always changes her mind by December. I think she likes the routine. I’m glad she does. We’d be lost without her.”
Dakota leaned back to allow the waitress to place a platter of catrachitas on the table. “I assume you always wanted to be a tailor when you grew up?”
When Grace sampled some of the food, her tongue went numb from the spices in the hot sauce. She waited until she regained sensation before she answered Dakota’s question. “Fashion has always been in my blood. I’ve been sketching designs since I was four years old, and I’ve been working for my father in one capacity or another for nearly as long. I love what I do. Even though the clients stress me out sometimes, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Are you doing something you truly love, or are you doing something that pays the bills?”
Dakota refilled their glasses. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one. I have a love-hate relationship with both my jobs. If the weather’s nice, I love being a messenger. If the weather’s crappy, I hate it. If the shoot’s going well, I love being a model. If I’m working with a bunch of self-involved assholes, I hate it. But my situation’s hardly unique. Surely you feel the same way about your job from time to time.”
“I do, and having family involved makes it worse. I can’t take out my frustrations on them because, one, they’re my family and, two, I have to live with them. It makes for some tense dinner table conversations from time to time, that’s for sure.”
“Have you ever thought about going into business for yourself?”
“I couldn’t leave my father in the lurch like that, and it wouldn’t make good business sense anyway. Right now, I’m in the perfect situation. My father might own the company, but my name’s on the shingle, too. I have a growing roster of clients, I have the freedom to create my own designs, I share in the profits, and I’m not personally responsible for any of the expenses. What could be better?”
“No offense to your father, but you’re too talented to work for someone else the rest of your life. Don’t you want to be your own boss one day?”
“I will be in due time, but I want to learn as much as I possibly can before that day comes. Is that what you want? To be the captain of your own ship instead of a member of the crew?”
Dakota swirled her drink and stared into its cloudy depths. “I like what I do,” she said thoughtfully, “but I want something that’s mine. Something I built myself. I just don’t know how to go about it.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“How do you know?”
Grace took another sip of the coyol. The unusual beverage was starting to grow on her. So was Dakota. “Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of once you set your mind to something.”
Dakota looked momentarily embarrassed by the compliment. Then she wiped her hands on her napkin and handed Grace the souvenir baseball from the Mets game. “I want you to have this.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t have made that pitch tonight without you. I want you to know how much what you said—what you did—means to me.”
Grace ran a finger along the ball’s bright red seams. The ball would serve as a tangible reminder, but she had a feeling she would never forget this night—or the woman who had made it possible.
Chapter Twelve
Dakota normally avoided certain parts of Central Park at all costs. Despite its beauty, Bow Bridge was one of those places. The bridge and the surrounding area were gorgeous. There was no denying their obvious appeal. But watching couples mooning over each other as they crossed the bridge or picnicked under a towering tree always made her feel like she was missing out on something.
She had never lacked for female companionship, even when she lived in tiny Richmond Hill instead of sprawling New York City. Each of the women she had slept with had been exciting and unique. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been drawn to them in the first place. Despite their differences, they all had one thing in common: none of them made her want to drop to one knee, pull out a ring, and vow to be faithful to them for the rest of her life.
Then she met Grace Henderson, and everything changed. She wasn’t planning on walking down the aisle anytime soon, but she could already tell one night with Grace wouldn’t be enough. She hadn’t even kissed her yet and she went to sleep with Grace’s image in her head, woke up with Grace’s name on her lips. She had it bad, and that definitely wasn’t good. Grace didn’t date clients and she also wasn’t attracted to women who played down rather than accentuated their femininity. That meant Dakota was 0-for-2. She had only one strike left, and she needed to make it count.
As she waited for Grace to arrive, she watched a gondolier slowly pilot his boat and two cuddling passengers along the lake. Her mind soon wandered from the romantic scene playing out before her to the one she had participated in the night before.
Her date with Grace had been perfect from beginning to end. Well, almost. Ideally, the Braves would have won the game instead of getting blown out, but that was a minor detail that could always be omitted from future recountings of one of the best nights she’d ever had.
She had been so nervous when she had walked out to the mound to throw the first pitch. When she’d felt Grace’s eyes on her, her nerves had disappeared even faster than they’d arrived. “Go out there and pretend no one’s watching,” Grace had said in the tunnel as she talked her through a panic attack. “It’s just you and the catcher.”
When Dakota had turned to face the catcher, she hadn’t noticed the tens of thousands of fans in attendance. She had been aware of only one: Grace. When she had wound up to make the pitch, she would have been sati
sfied if the ball had ended up in the general vicinity of home plate. Watching the ball smack into the catcher’s glove in the heart of the strike zone was a feeling she thought couldn’t be topped—until she looked into the stands and saw Grace beaming with pride.
“I did that,” she had thought as she walked off the mound. “I put that look on her face.”
The feat had felt like the greatest thing she had ever accomplished. Bigger than graduating cum laude from the University of Georgia or being awarded the cover for the September issue of Vogue. And the night had only gotten better from there.
During dinner, Grace had seemed genuinely interested in wanting to get to know her. Her questions had been probing and incisive, demanding in-depth answers rather than a quick yes or no. Dakota hated when interviewers asked such questions, especially about her personal life, because she had seen too many of them take her words out of context and spin them to match the narrative they were trying to craft instead of sticking with the truth. With Grace, she hadn’t felt like she was being interrogated or treated like a mystery to be solved for the entertainment of curious readers. The give-and-take had felt natural instead of forced. As a result, she had opened up to Grace in a way she never had with anyone else.
She and Rich had heart-to-hearts from time to time, but she usually ended up doing more listening than talking. Not last night. With Grace, she had given as much as she had received. She hadn’t told all her secrets, but it was probably only a matter of time before Grace tried to draw out anything she might be holding back. Dakota liked the idea of sharing more than just her body with someone, and that was something she thought she’d never say.
She couldn’t speak for Grace, but Grace’s admissions had felt pretty personal, too. She wondered if Grace had ever shared them with anyone. She hoped not. She liked the idea of being the only person privy to some of Grace’s secrets. Knowing something no one else did made her feel closer to Grace. It made her feel like they were part of something bigger than themselves. Like they were building something that could become much deeper than friendship.
After they drank the last of the coyol and polished off the plate of catrachitas, Dakota had walked Grace home and bade her good night at the door with a kiss on the cheek. She had longed for more—she still did—but she had convinced herself not to try for too much too soon.
Her breath caught when she looked on the other side of the bridge and saw Grace walking toward her. Her body’s reaction reaffirmed what her head already knew: Grace Henderson was definitely worth waiting for.
* * *
Grace was pretty sure she had made a mistake, but it was too late to back out now. After she made her way from Brooklyn to Central Park, she met Dakota in the middle of Bow Bridge. “I’m sorry I’m late. My appointment ran longer than I thought it would.”
Dakota greeted her with a warm hug, then stepped back to take a look at her. Her gaze skimmed over Grace’s face and clothes before it settled on her hair. “You look different.”
Grace couldn’t tell if Dakota meant her comment to be a compliment or a critique. She had decided to dress down today. She was sporting a T-shirt, tennis shoes, and jeans instead of the professional attire Dakota was used to seeing her wear, but that wasn’t the only change she had made. “I’ve wanted to do something different for years,” she said, patting her hair self-consciously, “but I never had the nerve to follow through.”
“What finally pushed you over the hump?”
Grace had been pondering the same question all morning. “I have a standing appointment with my hairdresser every other week and I always get the same thing done every time. When I woke up this morning, I was in the mood for a change.”
She had spent the last three hours at the hair salon. Her favorite stylist had nearly dropped her comb after Grace sat in the chair and told her she was finally ready to start making the gradual transition from relaxed hair to natural. She could have expedited the process by shaving her head and allowing her hair to grow out unaided by chemical straighteners, but she was afraid such a drastic alteration to her look would be too much of a shock to her system—and her parents’ sensibilities.
“I know my sisters will like what I’ve done,” she said, “but my parents are a different story.”
“You don’t think they’ll approve of the new you?”
If she knew her parents as well as she thought she did, Grace suspected they would have issues with much more than her hair.
“My mother loves to say a woman’s hair is her glory. When I sat her and my father down and told them I was a lesbian, the first thing she said was she hoped I didn’t plan to cut my hair. The second thing she said was she didn’t mind if I dated women as long as both of us looked like one. As for my father, he’s apt to say my new twist-outs are better suited for a night at the club than a day at the office. I’m not looking forward to fighting either battle when I get home.”
“My opinion might not mean much, but I think you look amazing.”
Endorphins flooded Grace’s body when Dakota tossed a dazzling smile in her direction. She felt like a runner who had just finished a marathon—giddy from a natural high. “You’re good for my ego. I need to keep you around.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Grace felt physically and psychically lighter as she and Dakota began to walk through part of the 843-acre green space that had been carved out of Manhattan’s concrete jungle. Once she had made the decision to cut her hair, she had felt as if a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. She hoped the one on her heart would soon follow. She loved her job and her family, but she sometimes felt she was living her life to please other people instead of herself. What would happen, she wondered, if her family’s expectations of her ran afoul of the ones she had for herself? Would she bow to her family’s wishes or follow her own path? She had a feeling she might soon be forced to come up with the answers to both questions.
“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” she asked.
“No, I just got here myself.”
Grace examined Dakota’s handsome face. Dakota’s expression was open and honest, lending her an endearing quality Grace found incredibly appealing. “You’re not a very good liar, are you?”
“I’m afraid not. When we were kids, my brother used to call me Saran Wrap because everyone could see right through me.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I hate when people try to hide who they are or how they feel. With you, I always know where I stand. There’s something to be said for that.”
Dakota rolled her eyes. “You make me sound dependable.”
“Don’t you want to be someone people can rely on?”
“Of course, but dependable is safe and comfortable. Dependable is boring. It’s not sexy.”
Grace pointed out some of the women—and men—who had given Dakota admiring looks as they passed by. “I don’t think you need to worry about not being considered sexy. Is that why you’re still single? Because you’re having so much fun playing the field?”
Dakota’s smile gave her away.
“Don’t you ever want to settle down?”
“One day, maybe.”
“And what would a woman have to do to convince you that she’s the right one for you?”
“That’s just it. She wouldn’t have to do anything. I want to be with someone who gets me. Someone who’s willing to accept me for who I am and doesn’t make it her mission to try to change me into something I’m not. So far, the only women I’ve come across who meet those prerequisites were on the hunt for something temporary, too.”
“I admire people who are able to identify what they want and go after it, but I don’t have the temperament for one-night stands. It takes me a while to warm up to someone enough to let her into my heart or my bed. Haven’t you ever met a woman who left you wanting more?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
Grace expected Dakota to answer the question like she did most serious
inquiries—by making a joke at her own expense. Dakota surprised her by speaking from the heart instead of from the lip.
“I took her for a ride on my bike, then I invited her to a baseball game. I haven’t decided what to do next, but I’m thinking a gondola ride might be a good place to start.”
After the import of Dakota’s words sank in, Grace turned to face her. “Dakota—”
“I know what you’re going to say: you don’t date clients and I’m not your type. I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business or your life, Grace, but I know you’re attracted to me. I felt it the day we met, I felt it last night, and I feel it now. Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong?”
Grace couldn’t think straight. Her heart was racing and she felt light-headed. For a moment she wondered if the palm wine she had downed the night before was kicking in again just like Dakota had said it would. She quickly realized the intoxication she was feeling had nothing to do with alcohol. She wasn’t drunk. Far from it. She was falling in love. She was falling for Dakota Lane.
The sky opened up before Grace could answer Dakota’s question. Dakota took her hand as they ran for shelter under a nearby tree.
“Take this. You’re getting drenched.”
Dakota pulled off her T-shirt and held it over Grace’s head like a makeshift canopy. Grace was grateful for the added protection from the sudden downpour, but Dakota looked like she was freezing as raindrops soaked her gray sports bra and slowly slid down her bare torso. “Do you want your shirt back?”
“No, keep it,” Dakota said. “I’m fine.”
Dakota talked a good game, but her teeth chattered as she hugged herself for warmth.
Grace turned around and leaned against her, trying to share some of her body heat. “Better?”
“Better.” Dakota wrapped her long arms around Grace’s waist and pulled her closer. “At least the sun’s shining. It could be worse. At home, when it’s raining like this, we say the devil’s beating his wife.”
Tailor-Made Page 13
