Page 20 of Silk and Honey

We both stare at the speaker for three seconds before Avery bursts into a sudden, loud fit of laughter.

"No fucking way," Avery giggles, burying his face into my shoulder, his entire body shaking with amusement. "Oh my god, no way."

"Is that..." I trail off, a rare, genuine chuckle breaking out of my own chest.

"It's Arcade Lake," Avery laughs, looking up at me with bright, joyful eyes. "It's Olly and Emery’s band! My phone automatically shuffled my rock playlist and of course it had to pick their band."

I shake my head, looking down at him as the loud, energetic rock music bounces off the bedroom walls. The mental image of my best friend screaming into the mic while I’m currently covered in honey scented oil and hovering over Avery is kinda ridiculous, but it breaks the tension perfectly.

"A smile spreads across my face as I reach down and gently set his phone on the nightstand. "Well, at least we know the guys play loud enough to drown out the noise around us."

Just then, the front door opens. “I’m pretty sure Kai just walked in the house.” I lean over and turn up the music even louder. Leaning down, I hover my lips over his. If he wants me to stop, then I’ll stop.

"Go on, kiss me, Honey Bear," Avery chuckles, tugging me to his lips.

I do. I pepper him with light kisses before pressing my mouth to his. His lingering laughter turns into a deep, breathy moan against my lips as the loud indie rock tracks keep the rest of the world locked outside.

Chapter nine

Avery

“Like this?” I ask, my eyes focused on the pretty material in front of me. The rhythmic snap of shears cutting through heavy silk is the only sound inside the studio of Beauty and the Boutique. A warm afternoon breeze drifts through the open back window, bringing with it the faint, earthy scent of the valley, but my focus is entirely locked onto the cutting table.

"More to the left, Avery," Ezra says, leaning over the side of the massive wooden island. His tape measure is draped over his shoulders like a silver scarf, his dark eyes narrowed in deep concentration. "The cut on this piece needs to drape flawlessly from the hip. If the line is even a millimeter off, the wax treatment will make the hem wrinkle instead of structure."

"I see it," I murmur, adjusting my grip on the fabric. I hold my breath, sliding the heavy shears through the rich, golden material. The silk parts like water, falling away into a perfect, clean curve. I let out a slow breath, my shoulders dropping slightly.

I bite my lip. "How’s that?"

Ezra leans down, his fingers lightly smoothing over the cut edge. A brilliant smile breaks across his face, and he taps the table with his knuckles. "Perfection, babe. Your hand is getting steadier. The stress is officially leaving your muscles."

"That might have something to do with a massage I got from a certain beefarmer," I tease softly, a heavy flush of heat rushing straight to my cheeks as my mind instantly flashes back to the other night. I can still feel the phantom weight of Gideon’s hands pressing into my lower back, the sticky, sweet scent of honey-lavender oil filling my small apartment while Arcade Lake blasted from the speaker to drown out my loud, breathless moans.

Ezra lets out a dramatic, knowing chuckle, plucking a stray pin from his velvet pin-cushion. "Oh, please. Kai already filled me in on the fact that our resident giant spent the entire day off up in your apartment. I’m your boss, Avery, but I’m also your friend. You look glowing. Whatever the hell that man is doing to you is clearly good for your health."

"We just watched movies," I say quickly.

"Mmmhmm. Of course you did," Ezra says, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he begins pinning the silk panel to a linen dress form. "And I’m sure the movies were incredibly… educational. But let’s keep that beautiful brain focused for just a few more hours. Scott Woods sent an email this morning confirming his flight details. We have exactly two and a half weeks before he steps through that front door."

I suck in a harsh breath. The mention of Scott’s name instantly brings back a familiar, cold spike of anxiety. I look over at the mood board pinned to the wall. Swatches of heavy silk, sketches of sharp, tailored blazers, and small jars of Gideon's refined beeswax are arranged in a tight, meticulous grid. The collection is beautiful, but it is a massive gamble.

"Do you think he'll get it?" I ask softly, tracing the edge of a silk swatch. "The wax-resist hemlines and the wax designs? It's a completely different texture than anything he's used to seeing on any runway."

Ezra stops pinning. He walks around the table, his expression turning serious and oddly reassuring. He places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "Scott is a cynical, ladder-climbing critic, Avery. He wants to see us fail because it validates his own miserable life. He has given many of my friends horrible reviews. But he isn't blind. When he sees the way this wax gives fluid silk a structural silhouette—something that can literally only be created using the raw materials like this—he won't be able to say a word. We’re going to freaking blow him away."

I nod, taking comfort in his confidence. "Yeah. You’re totally right. We are."

For the next four hours, Ezra and I work together seamlessly. The studio becomes a blur of activity. I manage the large sewing machine, the steady click-click-click of the needle echoing through the studio as I assemble the seams of the first three garments. Ezra follows right behind me, using a specialized heating tool to prep the fabric for the wax applications. God, I can’t believe this is my life; working for my idol in a cozy small town, while dating my one-night stand. My bestie was right. I’m living in a damn romance.

We don't talk much, lost in our work. This is my element. This is the work I loved before becoming a fashion reporter for Dee Rama Magazine. I don’t want to write about fashion, I want to create it. And here, with Ezra, every stitch feels like art.

By the time the clock on the wall ticks past six, my back is aching and my fingers are stained with a faint trace of fabric dye. The sun has softened into a deep, purple and amber sunset.

"That’s a wrap for today," Ezra announces as he stretches. His arms lift over his head, and his yellow crop top rises higher, showing off a toned stomach. "My eyes are practically crossing.” He laughs. “Go wash up, Avery. You've earned a quiet evening off.”

"Thanks. You too, Ezra," I say, switching off the light on my sewing machine.

I head back up to my apartment, stripping off my work shirt and throwing it into the laundry hamper. I wash my hands and face in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My well-trimmed scruff has officially turned into a beard, and my dark hair is slightly messy, but there is a genuine, relaxed brightness in my eyes that I haven't seen in years.