I bite down on my inner cheek and force a grin. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Get some sleep,” she says, closing the door behind her.
Chapter seventeen
“What are you watching?”
I tear my gaze away from my iPad screen and cock my head to look back. Jace stands over me, his brows clipped as he peers at the tutorial playing on my lap. I pull out my earbud. “I’m learning how to make clothing patterns on YouTube.”
I hit pause, then press the butts of my palms into my burning eyes. I fell down a sewing rabbit hole two hours ago and forgot to come up for air. Chucking the tablet onto the couch, I stretch my weary muscles. “You got plans tonight?” I ask.
“What do you want?” he deadpans.
“If you’re not planning on leaving the house, I was wondering if I could borrow the truck.”
He lifts a brow. “Mytruck?”
I swivel to face him and tuck my legs under my butt. “I need fabric to put together a few designs for the store. The closest fabric store is all the way the hell out in White Tail Creek. It’s too far to bike.”
A slow smile creeps along his face. “You wouldn’t be asking me for afavor, now, would ya?”
I roll my eyes with a sigh. “What do you want?”
He rubs his chin like an evil villain plotting destruction and doom. “I’ll have to think about that one.”
“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”
He just laughs and walks away. A few moments later, he reappears, keys in hand. “We goin’?”
“We?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “No one drives my truck but me.”
I offer another irritated eye roll as I step off the couch. “Do you have to be such a blowhard all the time?”
He cups his crotch with a scowl. “I’ll give ya blow hard.”
Ayechsound lodges in my throat.
Thirty minutes later, I’m humming along to Ed Sheeran while perusing the various racks of wall-to-wall fabric. I run my fingers along the edges, my heart filled with peace. It’s exactly how Holly Golightly describes the feeling she gets when she walks into Tiffany’s. A sense of calm, the notion that nothing bad can happen in a place like this.
Jace’s boots scuff behind me. “How long is this gonna take?”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me,” I reply, tugging on a beautiful jacquard weave. “Do you like the pearl or the snow?”
“You mean the white or the white?”
I look up in horror. “‘White’ is merely a jumping-off point. There are many, many different variations. For example, that dingy, pit-stained tee shirt you picked up off the floor and put on was likely a bright white when you brought it home from Walmart.”
He scowls. “Bitch.”
“Swine.”
He pauses for a beat before pointing at a bolt of alabaster. “I like this one.”
I raise both brows. “Not bad.” I check the price on the bolt before lifting it out of the rack. “Make yourself useful,” I say, shoving it into his arms.
Together, we traverse the entire store. He traipses behind me like Frankenstein’s monster, occasionally grunting while carrying all my intended purchases. I hate to admit that it’s kind of cute. In a store full of housewives and old ladies, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Tall and swarthy, with a body chiseled from stone and the face of a Roman god.