Page 106 of Fashionista's Playbook

I turned to the front desk, where the petite woman with short brunette hair looked up from the computer she typed at. Concern darkened her sharp features.

“I’m good. You’ve done a great job here, Bianca.”

“No,we’vedone great. I fly out just before the big game to give out the scholarships to the foster kids that won them. Theirentire lives are going to change because of you.” She pushed her dark rimmed glasses back up her nose and smiled.

Moriah had done well when she hired Bianca, the young woman believed in this place as much as I did. And that she’d stayed on after her fling with Vin was a testament to what we were doing here.

I ducked my head. I hadn’t done shit but run off the person who made this all happen. Sure, helping kids in the system was something I’d always wanted to do. But it had been Moriah’s drive and focus that got us here.

Fuck.I missed her. I was down a few pounds and was barely capable of getting through a workout. Being here with the kids was the only time I had peace. Which was likely because I felt her everywhere here—she’d been the one calling all the plays.

From here, she was only a few blocks away and maybe I drove by, saw the lights on in her new store, imagined I could make out her silhouette hovered over a sewing machine. I resented and loved her all at the same time. And I was building up a good deal of self-loathing.

And this was why I’d never let anyone get close before—why I should have never let her.

The bells above the door chimed and the breath was ripped from my chest like a midbody tackle. My pulse raced and I flexed my clammy hands to keep them from shaking. Moriah Stanhope was just as beautiful as she had been the last time I'd seen her.

I turned from Bianca, straightened, and we stood like that, staring at each other.

Bianca was the first to act, clearing her throat and jumping to her feet. “Oh, thank you, Moriah. I appreciate you bringing these by.” She kissed Moriah’s cheek and took the stack of folders from her hand. “I’ll just stash these in my office.”And give you two time to talk, was what she didn’t say.

And then we were alone as the sounds of basketball and childhood reverberated through the walls, almost as loud as my heartbeat.

“You look good, Mariposa.” I said, lounged against the counter, and shoved my hands in the pockets of my joggers. More than that, she was beautiful, glowing almost. Had someone else made her look that way?

The muscle in my jaw twitched as I waited on her to reply, to say anything. Yell at me, even, anything but standing there watching me, her eyes shining with what could only be tears. No, only one man had made her look that way.

I hated myself for it.

She fidgeted with her now empty hands before responding with, “Hey, yourself.”

God, how I itched to touch her; to soothe the hurts. Especially as she took a few steps toward me, before stopping. Even that hurt me like a kick in the mouth.

I shifted, my skin heating in discomfort. “How are things?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Good. I got a business loan, used your bank guy. Have more commissions than I ever thought I would. Busy, but in the best way.”

“I’m glad.” My voice was a hollow sound. I knew about the loan—I never expected it back and I was glad my money guy—Wilson—hadn’t told her where the money had come from.

She might hate me forever, but she deserved the very best life. I glanced toward the doors, where the kids played, because if I kept looking at her, I might say or do something my pride wouldn’t allow.

A basketball bounced from the gym and rolled to her feet. A little boy, maybe six, with dark skin and shining, messy hair bolted after it.

“No running,” I chided him, my tone lighter.

Scooping the ball in his skinny arms, the boy flashed a snaggle-tooth grin and disappeared from where he came. But his presence broke whatever painful spell I was under.

“It was good to see you, Travis. Good luck this weekend.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and headed toward the door.

“I don’t need luck, Mariposa.”

She turned back to me and smiled, a silent tear tracking down her cheek. I should have chased her. For the third time I didn’t. I’d give her space, cheer her on from a distance, as she made a happy life for herself. And I’d win a ring—because it was all I had left.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Moriah

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