her studio and assessed the dressmaker’s dummy that stood half-clothed with her latest design.
Although the bride wasn’t getting married for a year, the young woman was in the mood to experiment, and Cassidy had promised a preview of some mocked-up designs by the end of the following week.
The opportunity was a new one and she enjoyed the challenge of designing something with the wearer in mind. Even so, she was still struggling with the sweep of silk she’d planned at the waist.
Gaze speculative, Cassidy kept her distance from the dummy, considering the angles as she stood across the room. The cut of the neckline negated an empire waistline but the gathers she’d planned didn’t quite fit, either.
The dress looked like every other dress and the carefree artist she was designing it for was anything but traditional.
Unlike Tucker Buchanan.
She settled her now-empty mug on the edge of her desk and considered her neighbor. The man had traditional and old-fashioned stamped across every inch of him. He was smart, strong and capable, with that damnable streak of chivalry she’d have never known she even liked until he found her standing in the middle of Dragon Street.
“He even has a dog,” she muttered to herself as she padded back to the kitchen to make a second mug of tea. “A freaking dog. With a smooshed-in face and a big loyal gaze.”
Other than Vi and Lilah, commitment and lasting bonds were not her strong suit. And a man with a dog had commitment painted across every inch of him.
There was no way she was getting herself mixed up with a modern-day version of the Lancelot she’d teased him about. Nor was she a tease, so their hot kiss would have to be the end of things.
When she saw him next—and based on what they’d discovered she knew more time with each other was inevitable—she’d keep her distance.
She’d be polite.
Friendly.
Warm, without being a tease.
It was only right. They were neighbors, after all, running up-and-coming businesses.
The whistling teakettle added a smooth punctuation to her thoughts, confirming the finality of her decision. She had no real interest in Tucker Buchanan. They’d shared nothing more than a luscious lip lock between two healthy adults, capping off a tense and action-filled day.
It was understandable. And really, it could happen to anyone.
She’d nearly convinced herself as she carried her steaming mug back toward her office, once again determined to figure out the lines of the gown.
But when images of Bailey—curled at her feet while she sat with a sketch pad working on dress designs—floated through her mind, Cassidy had to admit the truth.
Who, exactly, was she trying to convince?
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