Page 34 of Last Letters to Ara
My jaw hits the floor, he can’t be serious. “You don’t even know how to measure.”
“I think I can figure it out,” he says with a grin.
I can do nothing but stare, utterly floored.
“Where is this deer-in-the-headlights look coming from? You were mighty confident about two minutes ago.”
Logically, I know that a small child could outrun me, and therefore there will be no escape. It doesn’t stop me from fleeing to the other side of the couch, doing nothing for my sense of security as I realize he could probablystepover it with his long legs.
Theo knows it, breaking into a laugh, fuller than I’ve ever had the pleasure to witness until now. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I shake my head, panic entering my voice. “You’ll never catch me.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ve seen you reach your top speed, and it’s about as impressive as a basset hound.” I don’t have time to get offended, because with that he launches into a chase.
I take off squealing, hoping to get the dining room table between us, my socks sending me into a slide. My apartment isn’t that big, but we manage to make a real game out of it. I’m laughing so hard that I can’t breathe as I manage to fake him out and reach my kitchen island, except he launches himself over the island like one of those crazy Parkour people.
“Shit!” I take off toward the only room that would keep him out, throwing open the door to my creative space, stopping in the middle of the room to catch my breath.
Theo stops just outside the threshold just like I knew he would, his eyes not straying a centimeter, resting only on me. I’m barely getting any air down, still laughing and adrenaline pumping. My exhilaration is reflected back to me by the gleam in Theo’s eyes and his splitting grin.
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he would rather give up a game than risk making me uncomfortable, or the fact that he’s keeping his eyes only on me and not even looking at my designs without permission, but it has me saying, “You can come in” andmeanit.
“You’re sure?” he asks, giving me the opportunity to change my mind.
I nod.
A look of awe takes over his face as his eyes leave mine and drift toward my creations, walls covered in drawings of future projects. My stand-alone racks are filled with everything I’ve ever made, and the mannequins I snagged at a close-out sale are my personal favorites.
Theo walks up to my most cherished piece, a dress which took me over six months to perfect. I was feeling particularly inspired one day and bought some sparkly silver tulle just to see where it would take me, and ended up going back and buying every foot they had. Somehow, it became a gown that would rival that of a princess.
The bodice features a straight cut, strapless neckline ruched with the same glittery tulle as the skirt. With the built-in corset underneath, it allows just the right amount of decolletage to show. Below the neckline, I hand sewed bead after bead all the way down the bodice, letting it trickle over the skirt and disappear into the silver tulle.
Theo’s fingers hover over the dress, as if he’s dying to touch it but afraid to ruin it. “Ara, this is amasterpiece.”
A blush from hell climbs up my neck, reaching my cheeks, my inexperience of receiving such compliments revealing itself.
“Women would go intowarto wear your designs.” He turns in a circle, taking it all in and shaking his head. “Every. Single. One.”
I could cry right now.Shit. I AM CRYING.I wipe my face furiously, trying to hide the evidence.
Theo doesn’t ask why I don’t do anything with my designs, sharing this with him doesn’t feel insignificant. I feel seen, respected, and for once, I feel like I’ve done my creations the justice they deserve.
“You can’t find anything as beautiful as these out there.”
That does it. The tears begin to fall freely.
One blink. Two blinks. Three blinks.
I make it to twenty-seven blinks before the tears finally stop.
Theo gives me a reassuring smile, before wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me back out to the living room. I’m deposited on my couch before he moves to my kitchen, opening the fridge.
“Tortilla chips...shredded cheese…ground beef...sour cream...salsa…guacamole…” Theo lists off the only items in my fridge. “Are you a nacho enthusiast?”
“There’s nothing better in the world,” I say matter-of-factly, and if Theo disagrees, he can find a new friend. “And don’t question the chips being kept in the fridge, it keeps them from going stale.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He begins pulling out the supplies, making us a jumbo plate of nachos.
