Her chin quivered, sinking toward her chest.
Now Theo held her work. The silence suffocated Josie. Or perhaps that was the impending rejection. Had she created a dress for any bride, or something special enough for Adriana? She should’ve never added the ombré tulle. Or the cap sleeves.
Josie pressed her damp palms against her legs, stilling the urge to flee on a passing cable car. She had often wondered if that A-in math had given away the truth: she hadn’t been—and still wasn’t—perfect. Families she’d come in contact with, looking to adopt, had only wanted perfect children.
Theo Taylor wanted perfection.
Her pulse chased through her body like short-circuited Christmas lights, igniting every nerve inside her. Her gaze fixed on a corner of the restaurant, the space empty and wasted. She blurted, “Fountain.”
“Excuse me,” Theo said.
“Sorry. Bad habit. I’ve been working on a mental filter since grade school.”
“How old were you when you decided you needed a mental filter?” The slight curiosity in his voice echoed the obligatory interest of so many distracted caseworkers she’d met with throughout the years.
“Seven. I was at an adoption fair.” Those fair days had always made her heart race and her stomach queasy. Like right now.
“You were at an adoption fair?” Theo set the designs on the table and shifted toward her. His gaze settled fully on her, his interest no longer cursory.
Josie’s stomach turned inside out. “Several. I grew up in the foster system.”
Theo’s gaze searched her face, unblinking and somber.
Josie rushed on, skimming over the inevitable pity he was sure to aim her way. Business luncheons had no place for pity. Or outbursts. Or distressing backstory. That filter failed her again. “I brought my report card and artwork with me to the adoption fair to show potential families.”
To prove to those potential families that she was more than a reserved little girl. More than the label of being withdrawn that had been stuck on her.
Now she was only showing Theo her insecurities. Her words kept spilling out. “A woman picked up my paperwork. I panicked, grabbed my artwork and yelled, ‘bathroom.’”
Josie had escaped into the girls’ bathroom, unwilling to wait for the disappointment and the forthcoming rejection by another stranger. Before Theo could react, she added, “A fountain would be nice in that empty corner over there.”
Preferably a fountain large enough for Josie to sink herself and her mortification into.
“I’ll mention the fountain to the owners when I see them next.” His voice was gruff, as if charred by an iron. “And, Josie, those families that didn’t adopt you—they lost out.”
Josie nodded, realigning her focus. Tears had no place in business luncheons, either.
He returned his attention to the designs. Tension moved across his face, from his firm jaw to his thin mouth. Deep concentration perhaps. Or the look of displeasure.
Josie adjusted the copper brooch on her hand-knit royal blue scarf. She should’ve worn her only business suit, a leftover from her marriage. The appearance of power might’ve stiffened her shoulders.
Years ago, she hadn’t been enough. No family had adopted her. They’d rejected her heart, her love and her artwork. Worry slumped over her.
“I’ve seen this before.” Theo sat back and drummed his fingers against the design on top.
Despair drummed through Josie. Not from his words, but from the snide laughter of her inner critic chanting told you so.
Theo had passed judgment. His nose had already turned down, to better look over her. He tapped his finger against the first drawing. His tone was careful and even. “This gown is quite nice.”
Nice. The word tumbled through Josie. He might as well have used bland or boring. Nice created no impression. Offered no viewpoint. There was nothing unique or special about nice.
Josie had also been dubbed nice on her foster paperwork. Nice hadn’t gotten her adopted or helped her find a family who wanted her. As for her clothing designs, her ex had often reminded her that it was nice to have a quaint hobby, but her designs should be tucked away, not worn. Or, even better, donated to charity.
Pull yourself together, Josie. Crumpling the designs and hiding under the table wasn’t an option. She had to compete on Theo’s level. She had to fight. “Can you be more specific?”
He studied her. “There is nothing wrong with nice.”
“There is nothing exceptional about nice, either.” She stayed there, beside Theo, as if this was about more than Theo liking her designs. As if this was about Theo liking her. “You’re just being kind using the word nice.”
“I’m not kind—not in business.” Theo rocked back in his chair. “What do you want me to do? Be blunt.”
“Yes. Tell me the truth.” Tell me why you don’t like me. Tell me why I’m not good enough. No one could ever answer that question.
He reached over and slid the ombré-inspired design toward him. “It is a nice gown.”
Josie groaned. How many times had she heard? It was nice to meet you, Josie. But it was never nice enough for those prospective families to return for her. To take a chance on her.
“Hear me out.” Theo leaned toward her, his gaze pinning her in place. “There’s nothing unexpected in this gown. Nothing in the details that captures the attention and holds onto it.”
Josie glanced at her monochrome sweater and scarf. She’d never wanted to stand out. She’d wanted to be normal, like all the other kids. To blend in. “The details come from the bride.”
“But you’re the designer. This gown is yours to create as you envision it.” Theo tapped his finger on the paper, his tone firm. “It’s your name on the design. It’s your brand.”
“But it’s the bride’s wedding. The brides themselves inspire those unique details.” Josie unwrapped her infinity scarf. The thick blue seemed to be absorbing the negative, not repelling it. But the color blue was supposed to ward off negative energies. At least that was what Mimi had always told her. “Who inspires all the Coast to Coast Living items?”
“Me.”
Josie concentrated on closing her mouth. Surely she’d misheard. Surely the company created for the customer they wished to attract. The image of Theo wrapped in one of their signature fleece blankets, wearing their popular fluffy reindeer socks and drinking their signature hot chocolate from the current season’s Santa mug, was impossible to envision. The tension in his jaw spread to his quiet gaze, locking in his serious expression. Now wasn’t the time to question him. Now was not the time to notice the whisper of pain in his eyes as his gaze slid away from hers.
Now was definitely not the time to become aware of the man beneath the smart dress shirt, slacks
