The Designer by Aubrey Parker

Author:Aubrey Parker [Parker, Aubrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sterling & Stone
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HAMPTON

IT’S BETTER AFTER LUNCH. THE weirdness is gone. Out here in the fresh Williamsville’s air, it’s easier to see Stacy as some woman who happens to be walking the town by my side. A guide. A business acquaintance.

And that’s good because after thirty seconds of being in her alterations shop, I was starting to see her as I last saw her. Naked on the couch, beneath me as we moved together, in my arms after it was over.

And that made me respond in several telling ways. My hands started to sweat. I wanted to touch her. Lord help me, I wanted to kiss her. A week’s worth of distance had dulled most of that — truth be told, I’d hit pause on it all, hoping it could resume when I got my head straight — but in her shop, Stacy’s orgasmic cries are like echoes.

And that made me want to nudge things in directions they ought not to be nudged. Not that I was uninterested. But Stacy? She seems distant about the whole thing. Weirded out, maybe. I wouldn’t want to push her. Maybe what we had was a one-night stand, and if so, maybe she’s embarrassed. I don’t want to blow this and lose her as a designer.

Things thaw over lunch. We don’t discuss our exact business and sure as hell don’t discuss our history. It’s interesting. And by that, I mean pleasant. The only reason it takes me time to admit to myself that I’m enjoying her company is a sense that I shouldn’t — that I should keep an arm’s length distance between us, for obvious reasons.

But Stacy Grace is a woman in her element. Once the awkwardness leaves her, she settles into who she must be day to day, when not working under the thumb of a CEO or sighing under a lover’s caress. She becomes a person I haven’t seen. A small-town woman with a full and rich life, as tied to this little burg as she is to the clothing she makes.

She greets our waitress by name. The two trade smiles and I see a new emotional nuance on Stacy’s face. She holds a facade with me, and for good reason. In each of us are a number of different faces, and I’ve only seen those I’ve evoked. This is her friend face. And there are others as the hour elapses, and our talk blooms from small to something more.

Deep down, I think I can see Stacy as she must have been as a little girl. I see her father and mother’s daughter. I see a sister to her siblings. I see someone who (judging by the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes) must have a great sense of humor, who laughs a whole lot.

All of these faces were strangers to me until now.

“You’re an odd man, Hampton Brooks,” she tells me, interrupting my thoughts.

“How so?”

“You’re full of opposites. You come off harsh.”

“I do?”

“Yes. In fact, you come off like an asshole.

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