Page 40 of Need You
“Nope. Are you one of those women who can’t let a man pay for her?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if he was just playing with her. “Fine,” she said. “But next time it’s my turn.” And she hoped there would be a next time because maybe she enjoyed outdoor activities after all. Or maybe she just enjoyed her neighbor.
Colt drove them home, and when he left her at her door she again was sad to lose his company. He’d been attentive and funny and unbelievably sweet.
She trudged upstairs, changed into a baggy pair of shorts and T-shirt, and entered her studio, hoping to summon some of those creative juices Colt said she would get from her day communing with nature. He had funny ideas about inspiration. But at this point she was willing to try anything.
She sat down to draw and checked her voice mail instead. Two furious messages from Robert. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo that she was no longer talking to him. That’s what she paid her lawyer to do, since calling him herself had accomplished nothing other than to raise her blood pressure.
She erased both messages and began to doodle on her sketch pad to see where it would take her. The other day, she’d visualized a dress that she hadn’t been able to put to paper. She tried drawing it. The first attempt she balled up and threw in the trash.
Focus, you need to focus.
Her second attempt was only slightly better. That too went in the garbage. She got up, walked to the window, and stared out at Colt’s house. His police cruiser was still parked on the easement road and his truck sat at the top of his steep driveway. She wondered what he was doing, then forced herself to go back to her drafting table, where over the next ninety minutes she drew a house and two stick figures. A shrink would have a heyday with that one.
She thumbed through a few fashion magazines, read a profile on Olivia Lowell that made her want to puke, and grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge. For the next twenty minutes, she traced the bottom of the bottle, drawing dozens of circles like a crazy person.
Enough! You’re not leaving this room until you have at least one good design, she told herself.
Pencil to paper, she began sketching. First a woman’s body, then she gave her a flirty little dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. She added patterns, nipped in the waist, and embellished the flounce at the bottom. She emphasized the lines in black ink and shaded the folds using marker in a bold apricot. She filled in the pattern with colored pencils, holding her breath.
Finally, everything was working.
By the time she finished, the dress was sexy, fun, and had that indefinable special quality that put it above the rest. Perhaps Colt’s nature theory had actually unlocked her inhibitions, because the design was awesome. She’d done it.
“Will you look at that,” she said proudly, holding the drawing to the light for a closer inspection. Phenomenal ... and a complete replica of what she’d worn to the restaurant with Colt. The only difference was the color and pattern.
Crap, crap, crap!
She laid her head on the drafting table and pounded her fists on the laminate surface. What the hell was wrong with her? She turned to the window, wanting to jump out. Unfortunately, the second story wasn’t high enough to do anything besides break her legs.
Not leaving this room.One original design.
Delaney got up and paced. Just one original design, she repeated over and over again.
She sat back down and absently drew her croquis. A man with broad shoulders, wide chest, muscled arms, flat belly, and narrow hips.Hmm, I wonder who that looks like?Clearly, her thoughts were on Colt, not design. But okay, she’d go with it. She’d designed plenty of men’s clothing in the past.
For the next couple of hours, she let her mind take her wherever it wanted. She didn’t question herself or even stop to think about what she was doing. She just sketched. Half the time she didn’t even look at the drawing. Her hand moved of its own volition, sweeping across the page in bold strokes. Shading here, outlining there, and letting her pencil mark the final touches. At long last, she looked down at the pad to see what she’d accomplished.
A fairly good likeness of Colt’s face, complete with Ray-Bans, stared back at her. That, and a pair of cargo shorts.Cargo shorts. Wouldn’t her instructors at Parsons be proud? It turned out that nature hadn’t been her muse today, but Colt had.
She studied the drawing for a while and all she could do was laugh. Cargo shorts, for the love of God. She’d been designing couture since her eighteenth birthday. At least she now could officially leave her studio, having met the goal of one original design. Even if it was a dopey pair of cargo shorts.
Just about to go downstairs for a snack, she changed direction and on a lark headed to the room’s walk-in closet and sifted through her fabric samples. A cotton-synthetic blend in a navy blue cried out to her. The material would dry quicker than pure cotton and still be rugged enough to stand up to a beating. She played with it between her fingers, tugging it this way and that, liking the way the fabric gave. There was just enough yardage, too.
She tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Tossing the fabric onto her cutting table, Delaney went to the computer. Normally, she’d send the hand sketch, a technical sketch, and a measurement chart to one of her pattern makers. But for this project she was just screwing around.
A couple of hours later, using professional software, she had what she needed. She could only guess Colt’s measurements. But having been in the business as long as she had, Delaney had a good eye. And frankly, she’d spent enough time looking at Colt to get it close to perfect.
She cut and sewed well into the night, using low lighting so Colt wouldn’t complain about the glare. It had been so long since she’d actually sat at a sewing machine that she feared she’d forgotten how to thread one. But like riding a bike, her memory took over and she got lost in the work.
By bedtime she had a pair of shorts that were light enough for wicking water, tough enough for weathering a rough rock climb, and as handsome as the man who would be wearing them. She hoped.
