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“Too late.” I pulled back just enough to peer up into his face. “You already offered.”
He started to argue further, but before he could, I surged forward and pressed my lips to his, ceasing his words. His free hand slid its way up my arm to touch the side of my throat, a glancing sort of touch that felt like a whisper itself. I could taste the salt of my leftover tears, and Sumner must’ve as well, but neither of us cared.
I pulled back and smiled up at him. “Let’s not keep my avocado toast waiting.”
His eyes traced it, as they always did, as if my smile itself lit something within him. “Let’s.”
And with that, I tightened my grip on his hand and led him into the house.
EPILOGUE
The sketch came to life before my eyes, though the process had been slow. Progresswasbeing made, and while it took some time, it was beyond satisfying that the image from my mind was able to slowly make its way onto the page.
It wasn’t a suit croquis this time, but the silhouette of a dress. It wasn’t my first time drawing one, but I still hadn’t executed it as I would’ve liked it to be.
“You ready for a break?”
I looked up from the table to find Sumner coming out of Nancy’s back door. He wore a dark pair of cotton pants and a loose shirt, with his golden hair loose over his forehead. He’d finally mastered business casual.
“Just about,” I said as he came around the patio table and kissed the top of my head. “Aaron finally hung up, huh?”
“He loves to talk and talk,” Sumner said with a little groan, wrapping his arms around me. “I was barely listening.”
“I doubt he noticed,” I said with a little snort, relaxing in his embrace. The tension in my shoulders fromhunching over my paper loosened against Sumner’s chest. “He loves listening to himself talk, doesn’t he?”
“That he is.” Sumner pressed a soft kiss to my temple, lips a quick glance on my skin. His attention dropped to my sketch. “It’s looking really good.”
I regarded it with scrutinizing eyes, seeing my mistakes stand out as if with red ink. “It’s all right.”
“Are you actually going to have this one designed this time?”
“Mary-Ana wants me to do this one myself. Apparently, it’s vastly uncommon for a designer to have no skills in sewing. Go figure.”
I’d missed the deadline to sign up for the fall semester for fashion institutes, but because of Vivienne Astor’s generosity, she put me into contact with a few of her friends in New York City, just as she’d promised. Though it wouldn’t count toward credits, I’d been able to land an internship position at a small boutique. One that didn’t specialize in suits. Unfortunately. But as I built my portfolio, I learned to find sketching dresses fun, in a way. There was a lot of variety in the silhouettes, the patterns, fabrics. Whereas suits require more precision and structure, dresses had ample more opportunities for details and embellishments. It was fun to experiment with it.
The fact that I enjoyed sketching a dress design still made me chuckle.
He gave a soft chuckle that echoed in my ear. “Is that kind of like an architect that can’t build?”
I made a pout of an expression. “More like a cater-waiter who can’t hold a tray.”
“You got me.” He kissed my temple again, even though I tried to lean away.
“The clothiers at Gilfman left me spoiled, doing it all for me. I’m excited to try designing something, though.” Even though I knew the outcome would be rough, ugly, and probably something I hated with a burning passion, it was an exciting thought that I wastrulystarting my career in fashion design now. I’d sketched all along, but the true designing, the true bringing something to life, was finally set into motion. “I know I’m starting off behind, only learning to sew now, but Mary-Ana promised to help me. And you’ve seen her designs.”
Sumner’s hands slipped firmer around me, tucking me closer. “I can’t wait until you design me something one day. A Margot Massey original.”
“We might start off small. Like a necktie.”
“Only if you put it on me.”
Sumner extracted his arms from me and came around the table to sit down, blue gaze focused on me. “How did the conversation with Mr. Franz go?”
Sumner and I had come back to Addison for the long weekend—partly because there were papers Mr. Franz needed me to sign, and partly because I missed Nancy’s house. I knew, at some point, I’d have to stop calling it that—Nancy’s house—but I doubted it’d ever stop feeling like her place, even though it technically was in my name. Or officially would be, once the probate case was closed.
The past two and a half months flew by. I couldn’t believe it was almost all over.
I sketched a line along the model’s hip, but with Sumner’s attention on me, I was far too distracted.The dress disappeared from my mind’s eye, quickly filled with the awareness ofhim. “He says that he thinks everything will clear probate within the next week or two. Said that things went even smoother than he’d hoped.”