Page 32 of Denim & Diamonds

February

“You see? Manhattan isn’t all that different from Maine…”

Brock raised his brows and looked around.

“I’ll give you that I didn’t expect Central Park to be this big.

But in the last twenty minutes, we saw a guy in only underwear and cowboy boots playing a guitar on the street, a guy on the subway who took off his shirt and started painting himself blue, and a woman on a bench eating what looked like a full Thanksgiving meal with chopsticks while sharing every other bite with a waiting rat and pigeon . ”

I chuckled. “The woman was very Snow White, wasn’t she?”

“If you say so…”

I linked my arm with Brock’s and steered us down the stairs to Bethesda Fountain. “Want to sit for a while?”

Brock shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

We took a seat on the concrete wall that circled the outer perimeter of the fountain and quietly people-watched together. To the left, a man chased twin boys who were probably around two years old. Each toddler ran in the opposite direction and tried to climb into the water.

“Have you talked to your dad since you’ve been back?” Brock asked.

I nodded. “Once. About a week ago.”

“You call him or he call you?”

“He called me. He said he was going to be in Manhattan the next day and asked if I wanted to get together for lunch. But I had a packed schedule and was busy preparing for a board meeting, so I told him maybe another time.”

“Was that a blow-off, or are you going to see him at some point?”

I sighed. “I guess I’ll see him. We left it that he was going to call me in a few weeks, when things settled down at work. But after yesterday, I’m not sure that’s going to be happening anytime soon.”

“What happened yesterday?”

I filled Brock in on the board member I’d caught trying to sell part of my company, and how I’d made the bold—and possibly stupid—announcement that I was going to buy out the investors.

“You have the cash to do that?”

“I’m a little short…”

Brock was quiet for a moment. “I still have a little money left from the inheritance I got from my uncle, if you need it. It’s just sitting in the bank.”

“I need six-million dollars.”

Brock’s eyes flared wide. “Shit. That’s a little out of my league. ”

I smiled. “I wouldn’t take your money anyway. But it’s sweet of you to offer. Thank you.”

“Where are you going to get that kind of dough?”

“The bank, I hope. Two years ago, when I took on the investors, we had a business valuation done. They estimated Amourette at twenty million.”

Brock whistled. “I didn’t realize you were my sugar momma, Red. Hell, you’re paying for dinner tonight.”

I laughed. “Most of that estimate is goodwill for the brand, not actual physical assets.”

“Still.” He shrugged. “That’s impressive. You started the company less than a decade ago, and now you’ve got a name worth that kind of money.”

“I am proud of what I’ve built. Though it’s cost me a lot personally to do it.” I looked over and caught Brock’s eyes. “And apparently, it’s still costing me.”

Brock wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. Silence hung heavy in the air. I hadn’t meant to put a damper on the day when we had so little time together. So after a few minutes, I stood and tugged at his hand. “You up for me to show you two more places?”

“Is one of them inside of you?”

I smiled. “Okay, how about three more places today?”

Brock stood. “I’m up for whatever you want, as long as the day ends the same way it started, with you beneath me.”

I liked the sound of that. A lot. Nevertheless, my heart grew heavy. I wish every day could be like that .

Brock and I rode the subway down to Penn Station.

It was amusing as hell to watch him watch people.

The young guy sitting across from us on this trip had a long, bleached-blond Mohawk and dozens of safety pins piercing his face.

The older man standing to our left was clearly drunk.

He wore a trench coat and wobbled while he held up a sign offering to show his dick for a dollar.

A woman who must have been eighty took him up on it.

Most of the time, I didn’t even pay attention to the people around me on the trains.

I was usually too busy answering emails on my phone or prepping for whatever meeting I was late to.

The absurdity of New York had grown commonplace to me, but I couldn’t imagine Brock ever getting used to it.

Once we were off the subway, we took the escalator up to street level, and I navigated the walk to the garment district—what’s left of it these days, anyway.

A lot of the shops were closed on the weekends, but Mood Fabrics was always open on Saturdays.

I took Brock in and walked the long aisles.

“My grandmother was a seamstress. She was a piece-garment worker at a knitting mill, which means she got paid per piece that she produced, not by the hour. The money wasn’t great, and my grandfather had passed away when my mom was little, so Gram had to support the house herself.

She made custom dresses on the side to help pay the rent, and this place is where she always came to buy her fabrics.

I loved coming with her on Saturday mornings.

I would spend hours perusing the fabric samples and dreaming up what I might make out of each.

Gram was the one who taught me how to sew and started me on my journey in the fashion world. ”

“She ever teach you how to make a jacket?”

I laughed. “I swear, I have plenty of outerwear. I just didn’t pack something that went with all my outfits when I was getting ready to go to Sierra. ”

Brock winked. “I think the one you had on this morning goes with anything.”

My smile widened. I’d slipped on Brock’s flannel with nothing underneath to go out to the kitchen and flip on the coffee machine.

“Come on.” I tilted my head toward the stairs. “I want to show you something on the second floor.”

I guided Brock to the cutting table, where a dressed mannequin stood nearby. Stopping, I did a little Vanna White hand waving. “This is Filomena.”

“You named the dummy?”

“Actually, I named the dress she’s wearing.

It was my final exam project during my last semester at FIT.

I got an A, and my teacher liked it so much that she put it on display in the lobby.

One day, a pretty famous designer visited the school to give a lecture, and she spotted the dress and asked if she could wear it to her fashion show.

The Carina Von Dusen wore my gown, and photos of her wearing it were splashed on the pages of Elle and Vogue . It opened so many doors for me.”

I looked at all the beadwork on the dress, remembering the countless hours I’d spent hunched over in my tiny studio apartment, hand sewing them all on.

The memory made me smile. “I couldn’t afford all of the materials I needed to finish the project, so the owner of the store made me a deal.

She covered what I was short, and I gave her the gown to display for a few months.

They usually rotate different dresses on display, but Filomena’s been here for nine years now.

I could take her home if I wanted, but sometimes when I’m feeling frustrated or nervous, I walk here and visit in the middle of the day.

My office is only a few blocks away, and it always makes me feel better. ”

Brock’s eyes roamed my face. “You really light up when you talk about your work, you know that?”

I nodded. “I feel it on the inside, too. I may often hate the business side of things, but I love creating. Even after all these years, when I design something new, I still get the same high I felt when I would show my grandmother a shirt I’d made at age eight.”

Brock nodded. “I get it. I feel the same way about building log cabins. When I was a kid, I would build them out of Lincoln Logs and show them to my grandfather. He was the one who taught me how to lathe logs. There’s an art to it.”

I suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion. It could’ve been because I’d been talking about my grandmother, and she’d passed away last year. But I suspected it had more to do with the realization that neither Brock nor I was ever going to give up what we loved doing.

I swallowed and tasted salt, nodding toward the stairs. “Ready for our last stop?”

“Sure thing.”

The final place I took Brock was the Brooklyn Bridge.

We walked over the East River from Manhattan to Brooklyn Heights.

“My dad’s an identical twin,” I said. “His brother lives in Dumbo. When my parents were married, we used to go to Uncle Mark’s house for dinner every other Sunday night.

After we’d finish eating, my dad and I would sneak out and walk to Manhattan and back so we didn’t have to help with the dishes—at least we did before I caught him with another woman.

” I paused, realizing something. “I’ve driven over the bridge many times since then, but this is the first time I’ve walked it since the days when I crossed holding my father’s hand. ”

Brock spoke quietly. “Today’s bringing up a lot of old memories.”

I smiled sadly. “Yeah, I guess a lot of my fondest ones are from a different time in my life. To be honest, I think I stopped making special memories in my personal life the last few years. I’m not sure I can come up with any I have with my ex-husband.

Maybe that’s the reason things didn’t work out—I didn’t put the time in to give us that chance, to go places and create memories. ”

Brock stopped. “The best memories are usually more to do with the person you’re with, not the places you go.” He cupped my cheek. “We could be walking down any street in any state right now, and I’d still always remember the way I feel at this moment. And it has nothing to do with a bridge.”

I turned and kissed the inside of his palm. “You’re a very smart man, Brock Hawkins.”

He winked. “And a very hungry one. Think we can head back to your place now?”