Page 60 of Savored Sins
twenty-nine
AUTUMN
Autumn: Ummm are you on the way?
Autumn: Hey.
Autumn: EZEKIEL HOLLOWAY.
Autumn: Goddammit Zeke, answer your fucking phone!
It’s twenty minutes to showtime and Zeke still isn’t here. I’m running around the boutique like a crazy person, making sure the rows of chairs are all aligned around our makeshift runway, that the gift bags for the VIP row are perfectly placed and the models dressed and in sync. And although all the models were supposed to be here over an hour ago, Zeke’s still nowhere to be found, and my texts and calls are going unanswered. To say I’m freaking out would be a huge understatement.
“Try him again,” Trey urges. He covers one of the model’s eyes as he sprays her head with hairspray. “He probably just overslept. I’m sure he’ll be here any second.”
I stand on my tiptoes to peer over the model’s head and down the sidewalk. Nothing. No one. The street outside is scattered only with a few random passersby, probably on their way to Brewed Awakening for their morning coffee.
I press the phone to my cheek, willing the incessant ringing to stop abruptly, for Zeke’s velvety voice to cut in, no matter how sleepy it sounds. I turn back to Trey. “Still no answer. You thinkyoucan fit in his clothes?”
Trey winkles his nose. “Honey. If I could fit in those clothes, Zeke wouldn’t even be in this show, and you certainly wouldn’t have?—”
“Point taken,” I say loudly, cutting him off.
I know where that sentence was going, and I also see the interested way the model on the stool in front of Trey is looking at me. Her curiosity’s been piqued. These girls are from the modeling school in Boston, but I’m pretty sure they all know Zeke. At least, I heard quite a bit of whispering at this morning’s run-through when his name was announced. The run-through Zeke should’ve fucking been at because he has no clue how to walk on a runway, and even if he shows up now… god. This is bad.
Just then, Lydia comes striding through the door, and I run so fast to meet her it’s a wonder I don’t bowl her over. She frowns at me at the same time I gasp out, “Lydia!”
“Wow, hey. Everything okay? Call me naive, but this isn’t exactly how I pictured you looking the morning of your big show. I thought you’d be exci?—”
“Iwillbe excited—once your fiancé’s stupid brother gets his ass in here!”
Lydia’s eyes widen. “Wait—Zeke’s not here yet? Didn’t you say he was supposed to be here at eight thirty?”
“Yep. But he’s sure as hell not here yet. I’m freakingout, Lyds.”
“Fuck.” Lydia chews her lips, casts a worried glance around the shop. I can tell by the disappointment in her eyes that she’s been down this road with Zeke before. “Okay. Um… Let me text Will. He can run down to the cabin quick and bang on the door. That ought to wake him up.”
“If he’s even sleeping! How do we know it’s that? I mean, what if he’s justbailed?”
Lydia’s fingers are moving so fast across her phone keyboard they’re a blur. When she finally stops her tapping, she looks up to study me. “Bailed? What do you mean? Did something happen?”
It’s a question I’ve been desperately trying to answer myself. Things got a little weird last night after we found that drawing of Lena—the vibe had definitely shifted—but nothing reallyhappened. Knowing that Patrick’s great-grandpa killed his mistress and covered up the murder was a lot for me to take in, and Ireallywasn’t feeling like sex at that moment—which I thought was pretty understandable.
But Zeke seemed kind of offended, and sure,maybeI was a little harsher than necessary—but to just not show up to the fashion show he agreed to walk in? That he knows matters so much to me? He wouldn’t. Would he?
At that moment, Trey comes and drags me out of my thoughts, hooking both me and Lydia by the elbows and guiding us to the back of the room for a mic check. We’ve got ten minutes left. People are already starting to arrive.
“Testing, testing,” Dustin says into the microphone. He raises a tentative thumbs up to Trey, and Trey nods. “It’s good? Loud enough?”
“It’s fine,” I say. I’m having a hard time caring about the volume level of the microphone when there’s no one to model my menswear line. It feels a little like putting the cart before the horse.
“Hey,” Trey says, putting an arm around my shoulders and squeezing. He looks down at me, and I can tell he’s trying to stay relaxed for me. “I was thinking—what if we switch the order a little bit, have the women walk first? I know it won’t match what we’ve got on the programs, but it’d buy us a little more time...”
I take a deep breath in, mulling his proposition over. He’s right. Zeke’s probably just running late, and having the women walk first wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Atta girl,” Trey says. “I’ll go let the models know. They’re good to go with hair and makeup, so it shouldn’t be a problem. You stay here and breathe. Everything is going to be just fine.”
