Page 73 of The Wish List
Freya scoffed. “My real life is a pretend world. I don’t think I’m the kind of woman you want in your campaign.”
Mariella didn’t look convinced. “I think you have a story to tell. Consider it, at least while you’re in town. We could brainstorm an angle that would work for both the brand and you. In the meantime, I have a dress that would be perfect for you.”
To Freya’s shock, Mariella went straight to the window display and pulled down the mannequin wearing the dress she’d first noticed.
“What makes you think that’s my style?” She did her best to sound dismissive. “If you know anything about me, you know that I’m about boobs and butt. That grandma frock is going to hide my best assets.”
“Humor me. Try it on.”
Freya glanced at the door, feeling like an animal about to be ensnared in some kind of trap with only one shot at breaking free. But what was the big deal about trying on the dress? It wouldn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t change her soul, and she had noticed it after all. She plucked it out of Mariella’s hands after the shop owner took it off the mannequin. “Where are your fitting rooms?”
Mariella gestured to the back of the shop. “I’ll leave some boots and a necklace on the hook outside the dressing room.”
“I don’t need help accessorizing,” Freya said through clenched teeth.
“Humor me,” Mariella repeated with a laugh, then moved forward to greet a pair of women who’d just entered the shop.
Freya pulled off her clothes, examining her body in the wide dressing room mirror. It was the first time she’d really looked at herself since coming to Magnolia. What she saw shocked her.
She’d never had to worry much about her weight. She’d inherited her height and her fast metabolism from her father, but now her arms had definition. Compared to the bevy of uber-fit people with bulging muscles she knew in California, they were tiny, but represented a strength Freya had never associated with herself. She hadn’t gotten this way by hours in a gym or being berated by a personal trainer. It had happened naturally thanks to hard work and made her appreciate her body all the more.
Uh-oh. Appreciating her body. She really wasn’t going to fit in when she returned to her old life if she started down the road of genuine self-acceptance.
She opened the fitting room curtain after slipping into the dress to grab the boots and accessories, then pressed a shocked hand to her chest at the sight of Christopher Greer standing in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, hands lifted and palms out in apology. “I didn’t realize anyone was in the dressing room.”
His gaze traveled down her body. “Wow. You look amazing.”
Freya felt a blush creep up to her cheeks. She still didn’t know how to define her relationship with Greer, if you could call it that. After the night they’d spent together, which had been spectacular, he’d left in the early hours of the morning and then showed back up later acting like nothing out of the ordinary had taken place between them. Which made her feel like ten kinds of an idiot for being affected by just one night.
She couldn’t deny she liked hanging out with him, even minus the physical aspect. But what had she expected after great sex—Greer professing his undying devotion? She imagined that being with her was as much about scratching an unwanted itch for him as she wanted to believe the same thing for herself.
She’d spent too much time being kicked in the teeth by romance to believe in real-life fairy tale princes. In the case of Greer, her heart refused to get the message.
“This isn’t my style,” she muttered even as she snatched up the boots and tossed them behind her.
“I think it looks perfect,” he said. He leaned in and seemed to shock them both by pressing a quick kiss to her lips as if he couldn’t resist, which made her smile.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked, cupping his jaw with one hand. “What are you doing in a women’s clothing and gift boutique?”
He held up the hammer she hadn’t noticed him holding. “We’re installing a new closet system in the storeroom for Mariella.”
“We?”
At that moment, Garrett Dawes appeared from the door that led to the shop’s storeroom and private office. “I think we can make do without ordering more lumber,” he said to Greer then noticed Freya. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was anybody back here. Don’t meant to be in the way.”
Greer let out an almost resigned-sounding breath. “Freya, you remember Garrett Dawes.”
“The author,” she murmured and realized he was holding a drill. She frowned. “I understood you helping your wife at the hardware store, but since when do famous authors slash screenwriters moonlight as handymen?”
Garrett’s grin widened. “My wife is a friend of Mariella’s. Crews in the area are slammed, and Mariella had an easy job so...”
Greer snorted. “Garrett’s on deadline, so he’s procrastinating.”
“I call it productive procrastination,” Garrett clarified. “I would like to tell you that every day the words just fall out of the sky like rain in the Amazon, but lately it’s been more like the Sahara where my muse is concerned. I’m glad to see you again, Freya.” He patted Greer’s arm. “This one talks all about—”
“Your mom,” Greer said quickly.
