by Melody Grace
“The price of popularity,” Eliza said. “That’s what you get for being a genius with buttercream.”
Paige reached for her purse. “What do we owe you?” she asked, but Summer waved her away with a cloud of powdered sugar.
“Please, it’s on the house,” she insisted, so Paige stuffed a few bills in the tip jar instead and followed Eliza to where she grabbed them a table in the corner. Her sister scooped up a copy of the local newspaper and began reading.
“I thought you spent all week editing that thing?” Paige said, amused at her focus. Eliza had traded her Boston newspaper job for the Cape Cod Caller, but she still treated the gardening columns and local features like they were front-page news.
“I know, but I need to check that the printers didn’t miss anything.” Eliza pored over the type until Paige gently tugged the newspaper away and set it aside.
“What was that about quality time?” Paige teased, and Eliza laughed.
“OK, OK. So What’s been going on? How’s work? Any hot dates I should know about?”
“Um, nope,” Paige replied quickly, glancing away. She didn’t want to mention Declan and make it a whole thing. “And work is . . . interesting.” She quickly filled her sister in on Lexi’s MILF-loving escapades.
“Seriously?” Eliza cringed. “What will you do?”
Paige shrugged, breaking off a corner of croissant. “What can I do? It’s not my company. I’ll design what they ask. Even if it makes me die a little inside.”
Eliza shook her head, angrily munching on a muffin. “I would take a stand. Try and make the boss see sense or organize a walkout. Stage a protest!”
“And then what?” Paige asked, amused. “Wind up job-hunting all over again?”
Eliza grinned. “OK, maybe not.”
“It’s nice to see you’re mellowing in your old age,” Paige teased her. “What was that you learned about compromise and getting along?”
Eliza laughed. “I compromise with Cal just fine,” she said. “But I’m serious, you shouldn’t hate your work. You put your time and energy into those designs, don’t just roll over for some interloper.”
“That interloper is married to the boss, so I don’t think she’s going anywhere,” Paige said dryly. She gave a shrug, not wanting to make a big deal about it. “It’s fine, I’ll figure something out.”
“Of course you will,” Eliza said loyally. Her gaze caught something outside. “Ooh, Gordon! I just need to check about his bridge column for next week. Be right back!” She darted outside just as Summer came over and sank into a free chair with a sigh.
“That’s better,” she said, wriggling her toes free from their sensible clogs.
“You must be run off your feet now that it’s tourist season,” Paige remarked, looking around the bustling space.
Summer nodded. “I won’t complain, but it’s non-stop from Memorial Day all the way through to Labor Day. And then I barely get a breather before the holidays.”
“You moved here recently too, right?” Paige asked curiously.
“Last year.” Summer smiled. “My best friend moved here, and I fell in love with this place too, so I quit my job to make it happen.”
“You just dived right in?”
“Pretty much. Don’t get me wrong,” Summer added, “I’d been dreaming about opening my own bakery forever. I’d run all the figures, planned everything, down to the last teacup. But I had to take a leap sometime, and when I stumbled over this place . . . Well, the hot landlord didn’t hurt either,” she said with a wink, and Paige smiled.
“It just seems pretty daunting, starting out on your own,” she said.
Summer nodded. “There were some close calls, but in the end, I just asked myself, what have I got to lose? I could have spent the next ten years in someone else’s kitchen, waiting for the perfect moment to strike out alone. My dreams were worth the risk, I figured.”
“It looks like it paid off,” Paige noted, as Eliza came bustling back inside.
“Aunt June says Poppy is going stir crazy on bed rest,” she reported. “The baby’s due any day now.”
“You should have said!” Paige cried. “I have a ton of baby clothing samples I could have brought down.”
“Next time,” Eliza promised. “I thought about dropping by. Want to come deliver some pastries and gossip?”
“You go ahead,” Paige told her. “I think I’m going to ride into Provincetown, stretch my legs some more. Meet you there for lunch?”
“If you can even think about your next meal,” Eliza groaned. “I’m stuffed!”
“It’s a gift.”
6
After breakfast, Paige got back on her bicycle and rode the main highway up the shore, the wind whipping around her as she pumped the pedals hard. It wasn’t just her sister starting over here; it seemed like every other person she met had decided to make the Cape their new home. On a day like this, with clear skies and the ocean stretching out to the horizon, she could see why. There was something about getting out of the hustle of the city, with all its noise and distractions, that made her feel free of the usual stresses and strife, like work and errands, and Lexi’s absurd demands were a thousand miles away.
But that was what vacations were supposed to do, she reminded herself. A break from reality, a chance to recharge your batteries before heading back to the real world again. And speaking of the real world . . . When she arrived back in town and stashed her bicycle in a rack by the beach, she found a voicemail waiting from an unfamiliar Boston number.
“It’s me, Lexi!” the high-pitched voice on the other end of the line exclaimed. “I just had another genius idea, Robert totes flipped for it. Two words for you: adult rompers! We do, like, a matching mommy-and-me set, for all the hot moms who want to strut their stuff! Like bathing suits, but for every day! I want to see some designs by Monday, so can you like, mock something up ASAP? Call me!”
Paige stifled a groan and hung up. The jailbait line, and now this? Soon, they would be emblazoning their toddler line with eggplant emojis and cockerels. Subtle, Lexi wasn’t. Paige knew that Robert was under Lexi’s spell, but would he really throw away the company’s reputation just to keep his new bride happy?
Paige had a terrible feeling he would.
Which meant she had a choice: keep dutifully churning out designs to keep the bosses happy, or . . .
Make a change.
Paige felt a glimmer of excitement. She would never have admitted it, but she’d slipped into a rut with her designs this past year. Woodland animals may have been cute, but she could have sketched them in her sleep. It was a good job, with steady pay and decent benefits, so it would have been crazy to walk away of her own accord. But if the writing was on the wall—or, the adult romper—then maybe it was time for her next step. That adventure she’d been promising herself. A new job in adult fashion, maybe, or swimwear, or . . .
Aphrodite Designs.
Paige realized she was back on Commercial Street, and she found herself strolling in the direction of that empty storefront she’d seen the other day. Just to look, she told herself. Curiosity’s sake.
This time, the red door was ajar, and when she peeked her head in, she found the tiny front room swept and empty, and a petite woman in her twenties flipping through a file. “Are you my ten o’clock viewing?” the woman asked, brightening. “Please, come in.”
“Oh no, I’m not . . .” Paige started to reply, but she stepped inside anyway. “Is this place up for rent?” she asked, looking around.
“Just on the market. Prime location, too,” the woman said. “It won’t last long. I’m Marissa Santos,” she added, holding out her hand.
“Paige Bennett,” Paige shook it. “Don’t let me take up your time. I’m just . . . looking.”
“Feel free.” Marissa gestured behind her. “There’s a workshop in back, and the apartment upstairs, too. Bijou, and full of potential.”
Paige chuckled at her real-estate speak. “And b
y that, you mean it’s tiny and needs a ton of work.”
Marissa’s professional smile spread into something more genuine. “Should I dial it down? This is my first solo listing,” she confided. “And I know this place is rough around the edges, but there is potential here, for the right person.”
“Has there been much interest?” Paige found herself asking as she picked up the flyer.
Marissa paused. “It’s a very . . . specific space,” she said, in a tactful tone. “I mean, you can barely swing a cat in here, and most stores want more space up front, you know, for people to browse. But I do have one guy coming later, he makes these sculptures out of recycled garbage.” Marissa wrinkled her lip. “He said something about a new installation, made up of tuna cans?”
“Fragrant,” Paige cracked, and Marissa laughed—then quickly stopped.
“Shh, that’s him, I think.” She nodded through the dusty window to an older guy with long gray hair in a ponytail and chunky turquoise jewelry.
He stepped through the door and took out a crystal on a piece of string. He dangled it as the rock swung back and forth. “Good vibes,” he said approvingly, and Paige smothered a laugh.
“Good luck,” she murmured to Marissa. “I’ll go take a look around.”
She left them and headed into the back, where a narrow hallway led down a couple of steps and then opened out into a cozy, clean studio space.
Now, that was more like it. Paige looked around, feeling that shiver of anticipation again. The floors were bare, honeyed boards soaking up the sun that fell through the tall, dusty windows, and a set of French doors opened out into the shady private courtyard. Or, at least they would, with some oil on the rusted hinges. There was a wood-burning fireplace in the corner, a little washroom in back, and in the corner of the room, a narrow staircase climbed up to the second floor.
Paige ignored the grime on the bannister and headed upstairs. The small apartment stretched the length of the building, a glorified studio with just a screen separating the main room from a slim galley kitchen, and a bathroom that had seen better days—twenty years ago. But it was bigger than the shoebox she was squeezed into in the city, so Paige ignored the dirt and dust and lingered by the windows looking out over Commercial Street. If she leaned out just right, she could see the glint of the ocean between the storefronts opposite, sparkling blue in the summer heat.
“What do you think?” Marissa greeted her as Paige went back downstairs again.
“It’s . . . promising,” Paige answered absently, looking around. She could see it all now. This space would be her design studio, with her sewing machine set up by the window and a table for cutting patterns. There would be pretty wallpaper, a sofa for clients, and a changing area cordoned off with silk curtains, something that felt luxurious but welcoming. She didn’t need the storefront space, not when she would be dealing with private clients most of the time. Just a single outfit displayed in the middle of the window, discreet gold lettering tempting customers inside . . .
“What business are you in, anyway?” Marissa asked.
Paige turned back to her. “I’m a . . . fashion designer,” she said, coming back down to earth.
Design studio? Private clients? She was spinning daydreams here, and wasting this nice woman’s time.
“I’m sorry, I’m really not looking for a space,” Paige apologized quickly. “Sorry for the bother.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Here, take a flyer in case you change your mind,” Marissa insisted, pressing one into Paige’s hand. “Although, I think tuna guy is going to take it. Apparently, the ley lines are very creative in this part of town.”
“Lucky for him.” Paige smiled and stuffed the paper in her purse. She headed out via the courtyard alleyway, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt leaving the place behind. She’d let herself get swept up in a crazy fantasy, but the realities of striking out on her own and starting a business were more than just pretty wallpaper and silk curtains.
Even if it was a perfect location, with tourist foot traffic passing right outside the door. And if she was working on Aphrodite full-time, she could fill those extra orders she’d been turning down all year. Not to mention charging private clients a premium for custom-fitted, one-of-a-kind sets . . .
Paige shook her head, as if she could dislodge the vision from her mind. She wasn’t about to uproot and change her life like that, she wasn’t the impulsive one in the family. When she talked about adventure, she meant a daring new haircut, or a week’s vacation in Mexico, not exposing her secret design identity.
What would people say if they knew she designed all those sexy, sensual garments? Her mom would freak out, her colleagues would gossip forever, and as for the men she dated . . . ? Doug had made it clear that Aphrodite wasn’t wife material, and as much as Paige wanted to flip the bird in his direction, she had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t the only guy who would think twice.
The whole thing was a pipe dream.
Right?
* * *
Declan sauntered down Commercial Street, trying his best to put Paige Bennett out of his mind. Weekend? Check. Relaxing morning surfing out by the breaks? Check. It was a lazy Saturday morning and he wasn’t due at the restaurant for hours, but he still felt edgy and off balance, like he was forgetting an important meeting or had just rolled out of the wrong side of bed.
An empty bed, too. Maybe that was his problem. Paige was putting a serious dent in his usual extracurriculars. He had a contact list full of potential partners-in-crime, but after running into her again the other night, he didn’t feel the urge to give any of them a call.
Who was going to measure up now that she was back in town again?
He exhaled, remembering how her cheeks had flushed that irresistible pink when he’d flirted—and how casually she’d laughed off his usual lines, leaving him feeling like a green kid again, laying it on way too thick to impress someone out of his league.
Any other woman, and he would have launched a full campaign to win her over by now—Cal and his bro code be damned. Candlelight meals, romantic music, and champagne chilling on ice . . . Just because he preferred jeans and a T-shirt around the kitchen didn’t mean he couldn’t scrub up nicely, given the chance. But something told him all the champagne in the world wouldn’t make a difference to Paige. She seemed completely, frustratingly immune to his charms.
Except . . .
There was something there between them. He wasn’t just imagining it. Up on that Ferris wheel, the chemistry between them had burned hotter by the minute, until he was sure she was about to melt into his arms and kiss him again.
But he’d been wrong.
Declan strolled past a group of women, just out of yoga it looked like. He flashed them a smile and was rewarded with blushes. So, he hadn’t lost his touch overnight. It was just Paige who wasn’t buying it.
So what would it take to change her mind?
Declan puzzled over it, and when he looked up to see her on the street in front of him, he did a double take. Paige had materialized as if he’d summoned her: drifting through the crowds of tourists towards him with a far-away smile on her face.
And just like that, Declan’s bad mood melted away.
She was wearing a breezy summer shirt and cut-offs, looking tanned and golden in the midday sun. Declan waited for her to catch his eye, but she was almost on top of him without noticing before he spoke up.
“Hey.”
Paige blinked, looking startled. Her cheeks flooded with color. “Oh. Hi. I didn’t see you.”
“You were miles away. Penny for your thoughts. Or maybe a quarter,” Declan offered. “They looked pretty intense.”
She smiled. “It’s nothing, I was just . . . No, nothing.” Paige shook her head, still looking distracted. “What are you doing?”
“Besides stalking you?” Declan replied lightly. “I have a standing appointment with some crustaceans. Want to join me?”
Paige looked bla
nk. “Lobster,” he explained. “I’m heading over to place an order, and Eddie always throws in a couple of rolls. Best on the Cape,” he added, not expecting her to agree, so it took him by surprise when Paige brightened.
“I love lobster rolls.”
“Who doesn’t?” Declan said, and if you’d waved a live snapper in his face, he would have kissed it. He offered her his arm. “Right this way.”
Paige didn’t take his arm, but she fell into step beside him as they navigated the packed streets, heading to an old shack on by the pier. “Eddie’s is an institution, or so I’m told,” Declan explained. “He’s one of my best suppliers, but he claims they have no more inventory this week.”
“And you’re here to convince him otherwise?” Paige asked, laughing.
“I figured I could flutter my eyelashes and see if we can’t come to some arrangement,” Declan grinned.
“Is there anyone around here who’s immune to your charms?”
“You mean, besides you?” Declan shot back lightly, and Paige laughed.
“Right. Besides me.” She had to duck out of the way to dodge a group of eager cyclists, and Declan grabbed her arm to steady her. “Sorry.” Paige flushed, stepping away. “I forget what a hazard this place is around the fourth.”
“Here, I know a shortcut.” Declan led her down a passageway between the buildings, down onto the beach. The swells he surfed were on the Atlantic side, over by the dunes, but on this side of the cape, the bay was flat and peaceful, gold sand curling around the shoreline, and sailboats cluttering the harbor, bobbing on the tide. He kicked off his sandals, and Paige followed suit, walking barefoot along the high-tide line past picnicking families and kids, charging into the surf.
“Tell me about your designs,” Declan said, enjoying the feel of the sand beneath his toes.
Paige looked over, surprised.
“You said the other night that you were a designer,” Declan explained. “What kind?”
Paige smiled. “Fashion.”
