Page 12 of Falling into Place

Chapter Eight

Carly

Dear Carly,

Congratulations! After thoughtful review and consideration of your application materials, you’ve been selected as a recipient of the G. Stanley Pearce Foundation Undergraduate Scholarship. We look forward to welcoming you to campus in the fall.

—Letter from Creighton University, senior year

“I think I’ll dress you like an Englishman.”

Brooks met her gaze from across the dress-shirt-covered table. “Sorry?”

Carly ran her hand across a silk tie paired with a lavender oxford.

“After the photo shoot I was thinking about your overall style and where I wanted to go from there. I think you could pull off more than you think in terms of colors and fabrics, but you won’t be comfortable.

The defining feature of English fashion for men is restraint.

Clothes make a statement, but they never shout and they help people notice you , not what you’re wearing.

Your wardrobe will be intentional but not loud. You know?”

He stood a little straighter and crossed his arms. “I want to argue but that actually sounds pretty good.”

“Hi-hi, sorry I’m late!” a feminine voice called out through the clothing racks. Carly turned to find Cam making her way around a display of argyle socks, holding her camera protectively to her chest.

In exchange for a 15 percent discount on their purchase, Sasha had promised the owner of Empire, a men’s clothing boutique, she’d print a candid of Carly and Brooks shopping for date attire.

Mode would get a mention out of it, too, so despite Brooks’s snarky Are they gonna photograph me taking a shit, too?

text when they got the email, Carly was on board with it.

“No problem,” Carly said with a smile. “We were just getting started.”

Brooks said nothing, his expression sullen.

Carly glared at him and mouthed, Fifteen percent off.

He nodded, sighed, and dutifully said, “Hi, Cam,” as if he were an eight-year-old kid whose mother was making him greet the great-aunt-twice-removed at a family reunion.

Cam didn’t seem bothered and looked around, glancing through her lens and adjusting a few knobs on her camera. “This won’t take long; I just need a few good shots for us to pick from. I’d like to get something organic rather than posed, so just proceed as if I’m not here. I’ll stay out of the way.”

“Got it.” Carly resumed her perusal of dress shirts, and Brooks came around the table to stand next to her, his posture stiff and more awkward than it had been two minutes ago. His gaze kept darting to Cam and back.

Carly elbowed him. “Just focus on me.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered. “So how much do I have to buy today?”

Brooks’s dating profile had gone live and Sasha had put up an entire page on the LiveOKC website dedicated to the endeavor. It included date ideas where people could vote for their favorite, with links to everything, of course, and an “About Brooks” section.

When Carly checked this morning, the comments had been out of control with women clamoring for a chance to date him. The print issue would be out next week, which would probably only heighten the frenzy. “That depends. How many dates have you set up?”

“Just one so far. Next Friday.”

A buttery-yellow linen button-up caught her eye for Vaughn, a twenty-three-year-old client she’d started working with last week. She grabbed one in his size and laughed at Brooks’s expression. “This isn’t for you.” Relief filled his features. “Where are you taking her?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t been on a date like this in years. What’s the norm?”

“You could always let her pick, but first dates are less stressful than they used to be. You don’t have to do a full-on dinner when you’re not even sure if you want to spend that much time together yet.

” A chambray shirt called to her from the top of the table, and as she reached for it, she shivered when the cool air conditioning brushed her lower back when her shirt rode up.

“Grabbing a drink or a cup of coffee is pretty standard. Takes some of the pressure off.”

When she straightened, Brooks snapped his eyes up from her waist with a blink. “I could just take her to Coffee Slingers?”

“Sure. That way if it’s clear early on there’s not a connection, you finish your drink and get the hell out of there.”

Brooks angled his head. “Sounds like you’ve done that before.”

“Many times,” she admitted.

“Really? That bad?”

“The awkward silences, inappropriate questions, suggesting we just head to his place after five minutes of talking.”

Concern etched across his forehead. “Maybe I don’t want to do this.”

“They’re not all like that,” she said quickly.

“They can be pretty great, too. The first time I went out with Benjamin, we hit it off right away and ended up talking for three hours straight. After a date like that, it’s like you float home on a cloud, wondering if you just had your last first date. ”

He’d been listening, eyes on hers, but his gaze shifted to a rack of slacks to his left. “It sounds like you miss him.”

She shifted on her feet. “I mean, we’re still friends, and I’d miss any friend that moved away. Seoul’s fourteen hours ahead so it’s not easy, but we keep in touch. Texting and sometimes email since we’re on completely different schedules.”

“How long were you together?”

“A year and a half.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you dated anyone since he left?”

“Not yet.” But she would, soon. Probably. Maybe.

She grabbed a short-sleeved shirt from a rack. “Anyway, we can just find something for a casual first date today, if you want. We can meet up again when you have more plans.”

Brooks eyed the piece she’d just grabbed. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to shop with me before every date. Is that what you usually do for clients?”

“Sometimes. But even if it wasn’t, you’re not a regular client, you’re a friend.

Plus, Sasha has some ideas for you. Depending on which offers you end up taking—like the white-water-rafting place downtown or the new escape room on Twenty-Third, we might need to go in completely different directions. ”

“I’m definitely gonna let Sasha get me suite tickets to a Thunder summer league game,” he added. “But I won’t need you for that. I’ve got Thunder gear covered.”

Carly laughed. Loud. “You do not have that covered. I saw your closet, and you will not wear a T-shirt or a jersey”—she shuddered—“on my watch.”

Her volume attracted a saleswoman, who approached and didn’t hide a blatant assessment of Brooks. Most of the employees at Empire knew Carly and would have let her be, but this one must be new. “Can I help you two find anything?”

Brooks looked like a deer in headlights, and Carly offered a wan smile. “We’re good, thank you.”

The woman nodded. “Okay, my name is April, just let me know if I can help,” she said to Brooks.

Carly sifted through a stack of dark-wash jeans and held up his size. “What do you think of these?”

He shrugged, then his face cleared as if he’d remembered something. “Hey, that reminds me. You didn’t happen to accidentally grab a pair of my jeans that day you were at my house, did you? When you packed up the clothes to return?”

She busied herself with a collection of cotton polos. “Hmm?”

“They were a pair of Levi’s. I can’t find them.”

“Huh. No, I didn’t see them.”

The warmth of his body alerted her he’d moved closer. “Carly.”

She found a size medium and yanked the hanger off the bar. “We should try this; white is a good color for you.”

One of his hands gently grabbed her shoulder, shifting her in his direction. She looked up to find him looking at her intently, a spark of accusation in his eyes. With a touch of mischief.

Wow, she’d forgotten about this side of him. The one that had all the girls at their high school walking around with hearts for eyes.

“They were the ones I was wearing that day at the coffee shop and you said you couldn’t see my ass,” he said matter-of-factly. “Are you sure you haven’t seen them?”

The distant click of a shutter reminded her Cam was nearby. She tried to step away from him. “Why would I have?”

“Because you hated them and you won’t look at me.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re suggesting.”

His lips twitched as if fighting a smile, but he let her go.

She shoved the items she’d gathered so far at his chest. “Go try these on.”

“All at once?”

It was a good thing Cam was just taking stills, because a video recording might have picked up her muttered “Wiseass” before she instructed him to start with jeans and the green crew neck.

She followed him to the fitting-room area, and a few minutes later, he walked out in navy chinos and the white polo.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“I know. How does it look?”

She waved him closer and stood from the chair she’d sunk into. “Good.” Really good. Click, click. “I was right about the white.”

“Everything still just feels ... tight.”

She pinched the soft fabric between her fingers and tugged. “Look how much room is in here. It’s not tight, you’re just used to wearing shapeless clothes that fit like a garbage bag.”

“Wow. I wasn’t sure before, but now I’m positive you stole my jeans.”

She ignored him. Well, his words, anyway. It was hard to ignore his body in the confined space, the nearby triple-paned mirror accentuating his lean, muscled form. “You should buy this. The navy goes with anything. What’s next?”

He shrugged and went back in. Cam announced she’d gotten enough, and as she left, Brooks shouted a goodbye from the fitting room. Carly slipped out while he changed to grab a few more items and tossed them over the door.

Eventually, he came out in a pair of distressed jeans and the green shirt, and Carly’s breath caught in her throat. She covered her reaction with a whistle, hoping a sassy response would distract him.

Eyes going wide, Brooks placed his hand, palm open, dramatically on his chest. “Is this what it feels like to be objectified?”

“Yes. Welcome to life as a woman.”