Page 44 of Falling into Place

Chapter Thirty-One

Carly

The anniversary date you styled me for was absolute perfection.

Oliver constantly tells me what a prize I am, but this was one of the first nights in forever I actually felt that way, too.

I know my worth comes from many places—the least of which is how I look on the outside—but it sure helps with the positive self-talk I’ve been working on when I actually believe it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

—Note from Jacque, client, to Carly Porter at Mode Style

Carly’s heart twisted at the unguarded fear in Brooks’s eyes.

She scooted closer to him, as close as she could without climbing into his lap.

It was strange, how he’d become just as familiar to her as Benjamin in just a few short months.

In many ways, she felt closer to Brooks than she ever had with Benjamin.

She’d let Brooks see far deeper parts of her and shown him a vulnerable side she usually held close.

She tugged his hand into her lap, covering it with both her palms. “I’ve hardly thought about anything else since Benjamin showed up last week.

You and me, me and him. The pros, the cons.

The history, the complications, and what makes the most sense for me and my life right now.

And no matter which angle I was considering, or how hard I tried to justify going one direction or another, it kept coming down to one thing. ”

His hazel eyes tracked back and forth between hers, searching her face as if trying to read her mind. The grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, like he wasn’t even aware of his body’s reaction.

“And that thing is how much I love you.”

He swayed toward her, brows pinched as if he was in pain or didn’t quite believe it. His lips parted. “You do?”

She reached up and wrapped one hand gently around his neck.

“I love you in a way I didn’t know was even possible.

So much that I told Benjamin it could never work with him, even when I didn’t know if you’d ever come back to me.

It wouldn’t be fair to him. Or me, for that matter.

” Oh God, she was about to cry. “I used to think playing it safe in every single part of my life—career, finances, relationships—was the key to happiness for me. But now I know it’s not.

Happiness is making fools of ourselves at trivia and guessing which couples at the bar are on a first date.

It’s teasing you about your sense of style and getting turned on watching you get dressed.

It’s being in awe of your intelligence when I hear you on the phone with the hospital, and seeing that look in your eye when I wear those earrings you love.

It’s your secret smile and knowing I’m the one who put it there.

It’s the way my heart leaps every time my phone rings and it’s you.

No one else has ever brought me the kind of joy that you do, Brooks Martin.

And all I want is to do the same for you. ”

He touched his forehead to hers. “God, I adore you,” he whispered, and seconds later his mouth was on hers, kissing her softly, reverently.

Whispering between touches, pressing words of love into her skin and her soul.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.

Are you sure about this? About me? No, forget I said that.

I’m not questioning it.” And he kissed her again, long and deep and thorough.

A wave of dizziness flowed through her, the exhilaration of the moment almost too much to bear. “I’m sure,” she breathed, pushing him back against the cushions and climbing onto his lap.

He ran his hands up her thighs and gripped her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned up to catch her lips. When she ran her fingernails through his thick hair and along his scalp, he groaned, a low rumble straight from his chest.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped, grinding into her and forcing a sharp exhale from her lungs.

She slid her hands underneath his shirt, greedy for as much of his warm skin as possible, and went back to his mouth.

When she arched into him and attempted to tug his shirt over his head, he put a firm hand on her spine and rotated, flipping her onto her back.

He stretched out over her, nestling in between her thighs, and gripped behind her knee to hitch one leg over his hip.

“Oh my God .”

At the sound of a third voice, Carly jerked her head to the side at the same time Brooks cursed and tried to shield her with his body.

She peeked over Brooks’s shoulder to find her best friend standing in the open doorway, one hand over her eyes.

“Sasha!” Carly squeaked. “What, um ... What are you doing here?”

Brooks dropped his forehead to her collarbone with a groan.

Sasha kept her hand up while she spoke. “I did knock. I feel like it’s important that I say that. I came with job news. Obviously I didn’t expect to walk in to this, but I’m glad to see you two figured things out. Also, may I suggest locking the door next time you decide to dry hump on the couch?”

“Sorry.”

Brooks lifted himself off Carly, looking incredibly disappointed to be doing so, and sat up. Carly passed him a throw pillow, which he gingerly placed on his lap, and then straightened her shirt.

“Is it safe?” Sasha asked.

“Yes. You can look now.”

Sasha dropped her hand and marched forward, plopping down on the floor near Carly. She’d brought her laptop and set it on the coffee table. “I have two things to pitch to you.”

“Wait,” Brooks interrupted. “When you said you had your job stuff figured out, that meant Sasha?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” Sasha objected. “I have excellent ideas.”

“The last time you had an idea I had to date half of Oklahoma City and put it on the internet.”

“You got Carly out of it, didn’t you?”

Carly looked at Brooks. “She has a point.”

He just crossed his arms. “Fine. Proceed.”

“Okay, so the first one’s a temporary option, but it’s also the easiest. It could be a nice gig for a few months until you figure something else out.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Come work for me.”

Carly frowned. “How, exactly?”

“I’ll hire you as a fashion columnist. It wouldn’t pay enough to be something you’d want long term, but I talked to Macy and we think having you work on a couple of pieces about boutique shopping in Oklahoma City or how to put together a capsule wardrobe would be well received by readers.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

“You let me use your friends-and-family discount at Jenni Kayne every year, don’t you?”

Carly laughed. “I’m not sure those are the same, but I love where your head’s at. It sounds like something I’d like, but the only problem is I’m not sure I’m any good at writing.”

“I read that Gossip Girl fan fiction you wrote in high school, remember? It was top notch.” She wagged her eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

“You wrote spicy Gossip Girl fan fiction?” Brooks echoed. “Can I read it?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Come on. Please?”

“No.” Carly widened her eyes at Sasha. “Can we move on?”

“Yes, let’s,” Sasha agreed, fairly vibrating with energy.

“I’m hoping you’ll pass on that idea anyway, after you hear this one.

I’m really excited about it and I think it’s perfect for you.

But I know you and you’re probably gonna think I’m out of my mind to even suggest it, so just hear me out, okay? ”

Carly and Brooks shared a wary glance. “I’m listening.”

Sasha typed something into the search bar on her computer, and once she’d found what she was looking for, turned it back to face Carly.

It took Carly a few seconds to figure out what she was looking at: the website for Backstitch, a self-described high-fashion resale clothing store based out of Tennessee.

“I know you have a thing about budget shopping,” Sasha said, tone high and cautious like she was afraid Carly might bolt any second.

It was too early for that, though, because Carly had no idea what this shop had to do with her job prospects.

“And that you love the concepts of resale and consignment to reduce clothing waste. A friend of mine from college was from Nashville, and her sister owns this place. I don’t even remember when, but somehow through the years I ended up following their Instagram account.

When I was taking a break from scouring the city for stylist jobs for you, I came across one of their posts, and apparently they started up a franchise model a while back.

In the last five years, they’ve opened fourteen stores across the country. Cool, huh?”

Carly clicked on the About Us page and skimmed the summary of the store and the types of merchandise they sold. “It is,” she said, and pointed at one of the photos. “And look at this stuff. It’s so cute ... Gah, look at that handbag! I would totally shop here.”

“Right? Anyway, so I did some research and there’s nothing like this in the OKC Metro.

We’ve got thrift stores, of course, and consignment stores, but they have mostly children’s stuff or styles for, um .

.. the more seasoned demographic. But nothing to hit the college-age and young professional demographic, or people looking for higher-end designer pieces but can’t afford the brand-new price tag. ”

Carly thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. There’s not really any good resale shops for that kind of thing.” She scoured estate sales and online marketplaces like Facebook and Poshmark for those pieces, but it would be awesome to have a physical location to browse.