Where Dreams Are Written

by M. L. Buchman

  Perrin turned back to her fabrics, testing the drape and lie of a couple of them.

  Melanie focused on the papers before her. There were bills to pay with completed but unsigned checks, probably prepared by Raquel. Good, that meant Perrin wasn’t letting others make her payments. Sign your own checks for your own business. None were over seven days old. Also good.

  There was a fair wad of fan letters. Melanie was used to these, but was surprised to see that a designer also received them. Most were harmless, only a few creepy ones, and no gross ones; her own mail had the reverse ratios.

  There was also a thin stack of general correspondence. She started reading without really thinking about it. Then she read another and a third.

  “Perrin?”

  “What do you think of this one?” she held up a swatch of Malachite Green.

  “Not with your skin, non. En réalité, I’m not sure any woman could get away with that unless they were going to a costume ball as a harlequin.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Perrin tossed it aside and continued her sorting. “Don’t know why I ordered it in the first place.+”

  Karissa and Clem were conferring over whether they needed to hand roll the hem. When they decided that was what the fabric called for, Melanie relaxed. They did have a proper sense of what was required to execute Perrin’s effortless styles. She was also pleased to note that neither had to ask the other how to execute it.

  “Perrin,” then Melanie realized that she already had Perrin’s attention, the woman was just multi-tasking. “I hope you do not mind that I—”

  “If I did, I would have stopped you before you got to the fan mail.”

  Melanie had only seen a few times how sharp a person Perrin was, in addition to her design work. She wore a cloak of wild craziness that distracted like…ah. It distracted like Melanie’s accent. A revelation she’d regretted making to Joshua last night, but he’d scared her all the way down to her core.

  Whenever her childhood New Jersey accent slipped back to the fore it made her feel unclean. She’d had to take a shower to scrub it off before she’d been able to go back to bed. Still, she’d lain awake far into the night. She couldn’t write it off as adrenaline let-down, her heart rate was unexceptional. It was… She pictured the moment again. How Josh Harper had looked after getting over his surprise. No, not how he’d looked, how he’d looked at her.

  She knew that her legs were one of her best features. And while he had obviously noted them, he had spoken neither to her legs nor her breasts. Disconcertingly, he had looked right at her. As if having heard her original, hated voice, he somehow saw the real her. No one did that, not Russell or Perrin. Maybe not even herself, but somehow Joshua did.

  “Some of that fan mail stuff is pretty weird,” Perrin shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Melanie waved at the thick stack of letters, “I send them a signed photo.” Except for the creepy and the scary ones. “You should use this pile to create a mailing list. Just give them to Raquel and she can use them to send out your season-line brochures.”

  Perrin suddenly became very interested in sorting a stack of reds. She set aside a Persimmon and a Cayenne, not a color combination Melanie would have expected, but she did like the way it felt to her eyes.

  She nodded when Perrin sent her a questioning glance.

  Taking up the two fabrics side by side, she walked over to the wall of fabrics stacked on shelves down one of the studio’s long walls and began holding them up to different fabrics, both complementary and contrasting.

  Melanie read between the lines, “You have no season-line brochure.”

  “I barely have a season-line,” was Perrin’s whispered response.

  Melanie moved up beside her and rested a calming hand on Perrin’s arm. She was practically vibrating with nerves.

  “Perrin.”

  This time Perrin looked up at her and Melanie could see the incipient panic so close below the surface. That’s when she realized that Perrin’s success had already overwhelmed her and now she was losing control.

  That also would explain the letters that Melanie had sorted aside from all of the other untended business. Those were requests for major blocks of work. An Off-Broadway show, five society weddings—three of them complete ensembles from mother-of-the-bride on up, even a request from Shelley at Fashion Alive magazine. She was just a junior editor at the magazine, but she had a discerning eye and was looking to make her mark. She wanted to come for a visit and see a show.

  Perrin took one look at the letters in Melanie’s other hand and shied away toward a horrid Cyber Yellow that had nothing to do with two reds she was still holding.

  Melanie took the letters back to the desk, found a folder and tucked them inside. No wonder they’d been at the bottom of the pile of unfinished business, they were scaring the woman to death.

  “Come here,” Melanie called her over.

  Perrin came, still clutching her two pieces of red fabric and a swatch of the Cyber Yellow.

  Melanie knew when a little harsh therapy was needed and pushed her into the chair. She relieved Perrin of the reds with a bit of a tug, secured the yellow with an extra sharp tug, and then put a pen in her hand.

  “First, you sign these checks and pay all of your bills. Then we give the bills and the fan mail to Raquel to deal with.”

  Perrin nodded mechanically and began signing.

  “What about the other—” the poor woman couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “We forget about those and I take you out to lunch.”

  Perrin didn’t protest about the unsorted mounds of fabric awaiting her. She nodded again and worked her way through the bills.

  Aubrey James paced the tables as if he were inspecting a firing squad rather than judging a cook-off at the county fair. He was a tall, spare man who walked with a pronounced stoop and clenched his hands firmly behind his back. A frock coat and a beaver top hat would have placed him comfortably in the eighteenth century where…

  Josh glared at his laptop’s screen, “Where mystery novels go to die.” It was his tenth opening just this morning and not a single one had led anywhere. At least this one had the decency to die quickly unlike the three full pages of crap he’d given to Felicity James, clearly Aubrey’s evil twin sister.

  He reached for his coffee, but it was long gone cold. He took a sip anyway.

  Then he looked up in some shock. The restaurant which had been comfortably dark, only the soft worklight over the server’s station lighting the entire space, was now vibrant with light, patrons, noise, and food. His stomach rumbled. Angelo’s had filled with a lunch crowd without his consciously noticing. There were chattering tourists, small family groups for whom lunch at Angelo’s was obviously a splurge—dinner being out of their reach, and many wearing Seattle-casual who were so underdressed that they were clearly labeled as being very well off.

  Thinking back, he could remember hearing things. But he’d been lost in trying to grind out an opening scene to the novel. He’d been meaning to write a foodie mystery since, well, forever. So, despite the miserable openings he’d created, he’d take it as encouraging that he’d become too absorbed to be distracted by what was going on around him.

  His was one of the few tables not filled with patrons. Paying patrons.

  Graziella swung into the server’s station to collect some menus to take back to the greeter’s station.

  “Ah. The writer emerges,” her smile lit her beautiful Italian face. Her English had only the slightest trace of an Italian accent. She ruled the front of house with an iron hand, but she added an Italian greeting and the Mediterranean flair for warmth and an ease to her seamless service. That the girl was also drop dead gorgeous and glowed with joy anytime you mentioned her chef-husband Manuel, only added to the charming atmosphere she created.

  “I guess. Is it okay that I’m—”

  “Angelo has declared this table as yours. Most patroni paying our pr
ices and eating our food don’t want to sit so closely beside the wait staff. We usually only seat our personal guests here. You look hungry, I’ll bring you a bowl of chicken skewers marinated overnight in white wine and baked with an Umbrian spice rub served over fresh-made pepper linguine.”

  He was too busy salivating to protest about not wanting to mooch before she whisked off to greet some new arrivals.

  He was again scowling at Aubrey James to see if he was salvageable, when someone joyfully called his name and practically launched herself into his arms.

  “Perrin!” he gave her a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding, but—”

  She kissed him on the tip of his nose then snagged his left hand.

  “But,” she said with a sudden, soft sympathy. She rubbed her thumb over the spot where his wedding ring had been and it all slammed back in. Then, with her flawless timing, before he could once again feel all of the gloom of the world crashing down on him, she turned on one of her radiant smiles.

  “If only you’d told me sooner, Josh, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Bill and his children. Our children,” she corrected herself and her smile bloomed even brighter. “Then I could have been all yours as I always promised. Alas, now we’re not meant to be.”

  Perrin had made any number of flirty passes at him over the couple of years since they’d met. Always harmless fun. She was a truly enjoyable woman, who’d have driven him nuts trying to live with that wild energy of hers.

  She dropped into a chair and turned to address her companion, “But he’d be perfect for you.”

  That’s when Josh focused beyond Perrin.

  Melanie stood there: quiet, self-contained, and breathtaking. In sharp contrast to the last time he’d seen her, she was impeccably dressed. Her long hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, a designer cashmere sweater that draped down to mid-thigh captured at the waist with a wide belt of hand-tooled leather that slid down over one hip like a caress, tight slacks that had clearly been made with her legs in mind. Actually, seeing as this was Melanie—they probably had been designed specifically to be modeled by her. Leather sandals and unpainted nails finished off the delightful picture. He could feel his brain knotting up again and nothing he did seemed to fight it off.

  Perrin waved Melanie to join them.

  “We do no want to disturb…” Melanie’s soft French was firmly in place.

  “Oh, yes we do.” Perrin pushed the lid of his laptop closed with a sharp snap.

  “It was just as well. Aubrey James had been no more interesting than Sheldon Taylor or Percival Cummings or…” he shrugged his apathy, even if his shoulder cramped a little on the way up.

  Melanie settled with a grace and poise that Perrin thoroughly lacked. But to see them sitting side by side was actually pretty surprising. Perrin’s personality was always so big that it overshadowed her beauty. But side by side with Melanie, the two women could almost be sisters.

  Yet there was more to Melanie than looks. She might think she was hiding behind a tall protective wall of French elegance and reserve. But Josh had heard her true accent and seen her street-fighter’s stance. There was a strong and tenacious woman in there as well; such a sharp contrast to her outer mien that he had trouble crediting it. But he could see it in her eyes.

  He shoved his laptop into his bag and smiled at the two of them. “I’d be thrilled if you two would join me for lunch.” He’d also be the envy of every man in the room. He nearly said it aloud, would have if it had been only Perrin, for she’d have been tickled by the idea. But for Melanie, it was probably something she heard far too often, being credited only for her beauty. Well, if that was how she was perceived and treated, he would be the exception to the rule. He’d start with being real.

  “I’m so sorry that I scared you last night. ‘Course you scared the crap out of me; turnabout is fair play, I guess. So, we’re kind of even on that. But are you comfortable with me there in the condo? I can find somewhere else to go if you aren’t. Though I’d hate to leave that kitchen before I had a chance to try it out.”

  Melanie studied him and he learned something else about her in that moment. In addition to being beautiful, Melanie was smart. He could see her weighing factors, assessing him, a quick glance to Perrin as if factoring in Perrin’s greeting of him.

  He now knew that the model’s stellar career had been no lucky coincidence of fate and fortunate genes, but rather a success engineered by a highly intelligent woman. Then she offered a smile that knocked him back in his chair, not with its force, but rather its genuine unaffected nature. In a funny way, it made the gorgeous supermodel into a beautiful woman.

  “I think it will be agréable if you were to remain,” Melanie offered and sipped at the water and ice tea that Graziella had somehow spirited to their table with none of them noticing.

  He would like very much to know what factors had just been included in her decision.

  Had Joshua Harper done more than a cursory appreciative look at her outfit, or had made some stupid guy comment about “having two tall blondes for lunch,” Melanie would have asked him to leave the condo before nightfall.

  But he hadn’t.

  Instead, he’d cut straight to the first thing between them. No comment about last night, no leer because he’d seen her in a state of déshabillé that few men ever had. And he’d offered to move out rather than asking if he could stay. Obviously a friend of both Angelo and Perrin, the latter opinion carrying a surprising amount of weight…

  Melanie looked again at Perrin in surprise to see if she’d reacted, but she was still doing that cheerful, exuding-joy-at-the-whole-world thing she did so well. She was still the same woman; so whatever had shifted had been inside Melanie. Some part of her had decided to trust Perrin’s instincts, beyond the world of fashion and now extending out to people.

  She’d decided it would indeed be very agreeable to have Joshua Harper staying there and had told him so. And again surprised herself. It was one thing to think it, but why had she added “nice” to her statement? Perhaps he wouldn’t know that agréable implied more than the English “agreeable.”

  This time it was Joshua she turned to assess. She sometimes wished that she could turn it off, step back and simply accept people, but she’d learned to choose even casual acquaintances very carefully as a survival trait. She’d done it for so long now that she could only be amazed that others didn’t do the same.

  Joshua leaned in to laugh at some tease by Perrin. He was handsome, with softly curling dark hair and a well-defined chin. He had an easy smile. However, just as she’d noted the first time they’d met months before, it was mostly for Perrin.

  He began telling her of last night’s events and Perrin was listening as if she hadn’t already heard it from Melanie. Joshua did leave off the part of how scantily clad Melanie had been, but was entertaining Perrin with a description of his being sprawled at a beautiful woman’s feet and facing a fearsome weapon of death as if she’d wielded a machine gun, or perhaps an entire Schwarzenegger-esque arsenal based on his embellishments.

  Melanie felt a pinch as she watched him regaling Perrin. Of course Perrin was smiling at him and what was she doing? Remembering from last night that he was as tall as she was, and liking that. Assessing, calculating—gods, she’d shut it off if she could.

  His story over, Perrin had asked him what he was working on.

  “A novel,” then Joshua had blushed.

  “How’s it going?” Perrin ordered a shrimp panino and salad. Melanie selected the same, slightly envying the lush bowl of pasta that Joshua was served. This was her carbs-allowed meal, but pasta was for splurge, not for everyday.

  “It sucks!”

  Melanie laughed. She didn’t know why. It just came out. His clearly conflicted emotions about his book didn’t stop his wry humor. She hadn’t expected him to be so…unforced.

  He looked at her in wonder as if she’d just sung an aria.

  She was tempted to snap out “What?
” but his smile had answered her laugh. So, she changed her path.

  “And why, Mr. Harper, does it suck?”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “Been working on it all morning and I’m sick of it. Tell me something from another world. What is amazing and new in the fashion world?”

  That easily, he turned the topic away from himself. She began to feel suspicious now. Nobody was that thoughtful, were they? Or had she truly become so calloused and suspicious of everyone’s ulterior motives?

  Maybe—just while she was in Seattle, which wouldn’t be for long anyway—she would try being a different person.

  Perrin had begun discussing her new fabrics and some of the textural ideas that were sparking already for her next creations.

  Melanie waited. She’d suggested lunch to get Perrin out of her workspace and ready to talk about her business. She’d dismissed the idea when Perrin had chosen to sit with Joshua. But now… He had opened a door out of kind consideration rather than talking about himself as any normal man would. She waited her moment and joined the conversation just as the salad was served with a balsamic vinaigrette on the side.

  “The amazing thing, Joshua—”

  “Josh.”

  “Non. I will call you Joshua.”

  The polite bow of his head tickled her. She always called people by their full name to keep them at a distance. With a simple gesture and smile, he had shifted it from a formality to an endearment. So simply that she couldn’t help but feel charmed by him.

  “The amazing thing, Joshua,” she smiled back despite her normal practice of reserve, “is the other requests that Perrin’s Glorious Garb is receiving.”

  “It’s just letters—” Perrin tried to cut her off.

  “Society weddings, an Off-Broadway show. Next, Hollywood will come calling.”

  “Well, actually…” Perrin was studying her salad. “I got a couple of e-mails, but they scared me.” Then she looked up. “Melanie! I can’t do what I need for the shop. How can I do the rest of that?”