Lachlan was smart enough to look impressed. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m quite aware. How many pairs?” Paolo asked me.
“Let’s start with five. A variety.”
“Done. Fall and winter accessories?”
I silenced the ever-ringing phone in my hand. “Please.”
Lachlan held up a paisley shirt to his chest. “Are earrings included in my accessories? I cannot pull off anything that dangles.”
My friend ignored him. “What about your sister’s bookshop opening celebration? Do we need something for that?”
Lachlan looked at me, and awkwardness filled the space between us.
“We’re having a big party Sunday before Rosie officially opens her doors,” I told him. “I might’ve forgotten to mention it.”
“It happens,” Lachlan said, “but I can’t go. I leave for Los Angeles tomorrow afternoonand won’t be back until next week.”
When the twinge of disappointment hit, I had to grab a shoe display to steady myself. Where had that feeling come from? Surely it was nothing more than my need to manage all the variables. Lachlan hadn’t mentioned a thing about a trip to LA. “When did this come up?”
“Today. The movie studio wants to meet with my entertainment attorney about another deal.”
“Oh,” I said. “That sounds very promising.”
Paolo clapped his slender hands. “Focus, people. Do we need luggage? Man bag? Key fobs? New wallet?”
“Not tonight,” I told him. “Only a starter kit to take home.”
Paolo might’ve acted offended by Lachlan’s lack of style, but I knew a total makeover for a public figure was Paolo’s catnip. “Give me an hour.”
Given all I still had to do for Rosie’s party, that wouldn’t do. “I only have thirty minutes.”
“You can’t rush an artist.”
“I’ll let you throw in belts.”
“I will return shortly.” Paulo scurried away, the artist gathering materials for the transformation of his next canvas.
“Paulo seems sweet.” Lachlan watched him buzz near a shelf of socks before diving into a table of sweaters. “Very low-key. We probably pulled him away from a Chiefs game, some brats, and his recliner.”
I laughed at the very thought. “Paolo is like me—he lives to work. Despite being closed, he probably would’ve been here anyway.”
Lachlan returned a shirt to the nearby rack and tilted his head. “You live to work?”
“Yes. It’s my happy place.”
Lachlan strolled to another rack of shirts and thumbed through the selection. “How did your last boyfriend feel about it?”
That felt like a trap of a conversation. “It’s none of your business.”
But Lachlan was nothing if not persistent. “You said he stole your job. What does that mean?”
It meant I’d overshared in a moment of exhaustion. I wasn’t about to admit to Lachlan that my history with men was spectacularly awful, with Taylor being the pièce de résistance. That was, until my Vegas wedding.
But Lachlan was a dog with a bone who refused to let go. “Is that why you split up?”
“Please refer to my earlier statement in which I declared this none of your business.”
