De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

He just gives me a nod then chuckles as he walks by.

  “See you both tomorrow,” he calls out as all the guys head out the side door.

  I turn to look at Aaron and shrug. “What do I do for them? For you? I mean, all of you have done so much.” I pause and look around again. “It’s beautiful.”

  He pats my shoulder. “This was for your dad. Thank you is plenty.”

  We stand silently, looking at one another for a few seconds too long. I’m the first to look away.

  “So, I should start the upstairs.”

  “No.” He pulls out his phone and sends a text. Then I hear my phone that’s on the counter.

  “Did you just send me a text?” I ask, walking toward the counter to grab my phone. “It’s freaking noon! How did you let me sleep in so damn late?”

  I have messages from Natasha, Bruno, and Elijah. My heart sinks when I see Elijah’s was from two o’clock this morning.

  Elijah: Just got back to my place. Hope you made it home okay. Sorry to cut things so short tonight. I’m not sure I even thanked you for helping me relax. You’re the best, Stella.

  When I see a text from me in response, I look over at Aaron.

  He shrugs then turns away.

  I don’t even bother telling him how wrong it was to send it, because I’m too worried about what he said.

  Me: Made it home just fine. Sleeping in. This work has been exhausting.

  Elijah: I’ll see you Saturday.

  Ouch.

  I hit back and read Natasha’s text.

  Natasha: Heads-up, Oliver contacted Aaron.

  Natasha: I think he likes you.

  Natasha: Message me back when you get home. I want details.

  Me: She’s home. She’s asleep.

  Natasha: Um…who’s this?

  Me: It’s me, fancy face.

  Natasha: My hubby was right!!! I hope things work out for two of my favorite people on the planet. BTW, you hurt her, I’ll kick your butt.

  Me: Never gonna happen.

  Natasha: Well, maybe not, but Oliver could kick your ass.

  Me: I meant, I would never hurt her.

  Natasha: Good.

  What the hell? I think.

  Bruno: Send pics. Sorry I can’t be there. Glad Esposito is though. He’s a good friend.

  Me: The best.

  I hit back to the messages again.

  Aaron: Staging items needed for open house on Sunday.

  - A few houseplants. (Hearty plants)

  - Sheer curtains for the downstairs’ windows. (Think natural light)

  - Welcome Home mats. (2)

  - Some girly shit, but natural colors.

  - Blankets to drape over the furniture. (Homey)

  I turn around and look for Aaron, having to walk through the downstairs where I find him leaning against the double doorway to the old toy room, looking at it with a blank expression on his face and a cup of coffee in hand. I stand next to him and nudge him with my hip. He looks down at me.

  “Open house Sunday?”

  “Ox’s wife’s a realtor.”

  I nod then ask, “You think it’ll be ready by then?”

  “I know it will. The keys to the Jag are on the counter. You could go do some shopping.”

  “You wanna come with?”

  He shakes his head then looks away.

  “Aaron?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “But…?”

  “Stop replying to my messages.”

  He shrugs. “You’re going to have to change your password then.”

  I don’t like the distance settling between us, but the closeness is just as bad.

  “You’re going to let me take your Jag?”

  He nods.

  “I don’t know how to drive stick.”

  “Shit,” he sputters.

  “I can order everything. I know there’s a lot to do. Here and—” I stop when I see him pull out his phone and start texting.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out as I smile at him then look down at the phone.

  Natasha: Meet me for a late lunch in two hours?

  I shake my head and sigh.

  Aaron asks, “What’s the issue?”

  I look up. “Natasha wants to meet for lunch in a couple hours.”

  “And you don’t want to?”

  “It’s not that. We have until Sunday to get this—”

  “I think you need a break,” he interrupts.

  “Well, you certainly don’t need to take care of this while I’m out shopping and having lunch with a friend.”

  “I made a promise to a man. And you most definitely need a break.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.

  He looks down at my chest then rolls his eyes and looks away.

  Feeling self-conscious, I look down and notice my boobs are nearly spilling out of my tank.

  He murmurs, “I most definitely need a break from those.”

  Standing in the middle of the candle store at Staten Island Mall, bending over probably the twentieth candle, I inhale its scent. Then I read the place card. Mandarin, Black Pepper, and Sandalwood. I like it. It’s strong.

  I place it in the basket that’s hung over my arm, lift the huge bag from the Container Store and another from Trendy Homes—all the items Aaron suggested, except the plants already bought and bagged—and move left. I pick up another, inhale, and then scrunch up my nose. Sighing, I move on down the line, almost ready to give up on finding the perfect homey scent when I see a sky-blue color. I pick it up and inhale. It’s calming, gentle, perfect.

  I read the description on the place card. Lavender, rosemary, cypress, moss, and musk.

  When I walk out of the store, I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but I bought a dozen flameless candles and three regular jar candles. The good news is that I got a free box of tart melts and two half-price warmers.

  “Hey!”

  I turn toward the familiar voice and my most favorite smile.

  “I was just going to message you!”

  We hurry toward each other and give an awkward hug, due to my arms being full.

  “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She looks over her shoulder at Oliver. “Do you mind?”

  “I’ll take the bags. You two go have lunch.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stella

  Sitting in the middle of the mall, on a bench with an iced coffee with almond milk, a shot of vanilla and, at Natasha’s suggestion, liquid sugar, I take a huge sip of the drink that, no matter what you add to it, it’s still coffee. It still sucks.

  As I’m trying to come up with more questions to ask, keeping the conversation on her, I take another sip.

  I do not want to talk about me.

  Not. At. All.

  I’ve already fired off a dozen questions all focused around Natasha. And now she’s staring at me.

  “Can we talk about it now?”

  Busted.

  “Well, I’ve been drinking a lot and haven’t found an apartment yet, so I’m basically a homeless drunk.” I shrug.

  She laughs. “You have a house.”

  “Open house on Sunday. So, not for long.”

  “Wow, that was fast.”

  “Do you know Aaron?” Shit. I look away.

  “And she opens the door to the avoided topic.” She grins. “Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito.”

  “What?”

  “Oliver calls him Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito.”

  Now I laugh. “Why?”

  “Because men get a little crazy and overstep when they know they’re in love.” Her smile broadens. “Like returning messages from your phone.”

  When I don’t respond, she nudges me with her knee.

  “I always thought he was the perfect guy. Hence the reason I wrote about the man of my dreams being someone who dressed and looked like Aaron Esposito, a man who was so confident and pers
onable. Little did I know I’d fall head-over-heels in love with the exact opposite of him.”

  I look at her out of the corner of my eye.

  She sighs. “Talk to me, Stella.”

  “It’s … weird.”

  “It’s not. It’s obvious he’s in love with you, and you have a decision to make.”

  “I love Elijah,” I state firmly.

  She raises her eyebrow.

  I look down and admit, “And I have always loved Aaron.”

  When she claps her hands together, I look up at her smiling face. “It’s not something to celebrate, Natasha. Aaron and I can’t happen. I love Elijah.”

  She leans forward, still smiling. “Why?”

  “Why do I love Elijah?”

  She nods.

  “That’s easy. We’ve been friends forever.”

  She nods.

  “He’s very good-looking.”

  She nods again.

  “He’s driven.”

  Another nod.

  “We are better together than apart.”

  She looks down, and I correct myself, “We will be once we get back into our groove.”

  She looks at me like I would a puppy without a leash, walking down the street alone, without its person.

  “He needs me. He’s always needed me. I love that he needs me. I love him.”

  I hadn’t realized I had raised my voice, hadn’t realized I was tearing up, hadn’t realized how hurt I sounded until I see tears pool in her pretty green eyes.

  “Don’t cry.” I hug her.

  “Then you don’t.” She hugs me back.

  I sniff back my tears. “Okay.”

  “I know you think he needs you, Stella, but I wish he acted like he wanted you just as badly.”

  As I feel my body tense, she rubs my back.

  “And I’m sorry, but I think Aaron needs and wants you. Why else would he have pretended to be interested in me for all those years when it is now so clear that he only has eyes for you?”

  “He’s a slut.”

  She laughs. “Sometimes, the less intelligent sex makes stupid decisions.”

  “Or maybe men have to make damn sure they can be the man that the one he wants deserves.”

  We both look up at the same time and sigh.

  “Oliver.”

  Natasha smiles, hugs me, and then whispers, “I want you to have what I have.”

  “Six-foot-tall, inked, ex-military, brute, overprotective—”

  “I’m six one,” he interrupts. “And there’s no such thing as overprotective.”

  Natasha smirks. “He pays attention to details.”

  “This isn’t necessary,” I say for the third, maybe fourth, time since Natasha and Oliver insisted that they give me a ride and not let me take a cab back to my childhood home.

  “It’s summer. Olivia is with her moms for another two weeks. We need an excuse to get used to switching from rated M for mature to PG.”

  Oliver smirks and shakes his head.

  My best friend’s husband came from rough and humble beginnings, while my best friend came from an upper-middle-class split family and somehow fell into a dish full of caviar and was still as humble and grounded as Ox and his crew.

  Oliver has a little girl, Olivia, who has two moms, Natalie and Grace. I would say it sounds incredibly … unreal, but it’s actually pretty much the norm nowadays.

  “I’d love to see her again.”

  “You will. Now that you’re staying in New York, you’ll see her a lot actually. Long work weekends in the Hamptons sounds like a really good idea.”

  “Which means the de la Porte penthouse will be available.” Oliver winks at Natasha.

  “That’s cool. I can hang out with Olivia while you two slip away for a night or two of rated M—”

  “Oh my God,” Natasha interrupts. “I never even thought about that.”

  “I’m serious. Elijah is always busy and—”

  Natasha laughs as she interrupts me again. “You ever watch The Jeffersons?”

  “The 80’s TV show?”

  Oliver laughs. “None of us were even alive.”

  Natasha smirks. “Reruns.”

  “Right, the movie girl. You and Angela clearly watched a lot of TV, as well as Disney movies and rom-coms.”

  “I think Dad watched that, too.”

  She gives me a sweet smile.

  I heart her so much.

  “You should stay at the penthouse until you”—she pauses—“until you don’t want to anymore.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t!” I gasp.

  “You have to. No one uses it in the summer. You must.”

  I feel almost panicked as I shake my head back and forth. “No way. It would be like looking behind the curtain at Emerald City, Natasha. No. It’s fucking Oz.”

  “Stella …” she begins.

  “Nope. I’m already the luckiest girl in the world. I have you, I have a job, I’m breathing, I have … friends.” I cover my face. “I have so much.”

  “Aw, Stella.” She unbuckles her seat belt, climbs into the back seat of the Mustang muscle car, and tackle-hugs me. “You get what you give. You deserve so much happiness, and you deserve love.”

  A few minutes later, Oliver clears his throat to get our attention. “Get it together, ladies. We’re here and so are a bunch of others, guessing by the number of vehicles.”

  I see Ox’s van and four pickup trucks on the side of the road.

  He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. He then drapes his arm across the back of the seats and looks back. “You good?”

  I nod.

  He pulls his shades off his head, covers his eyes, and then opens the car door before walking around to the passenger side of the car.

  “He looks badass,” I tell Natasha as I shake my head.

  He opens the door.

  “It’s like twenty-four-hour security.” She smiles as she slides over and takes his outstretched hand.

  When we walk into the house, the first person I see is Aaron. The entire roomful of people surrounds him. He’s of course smiling, and everyone is focused on him.

  Magnetic.

  He’s wearing a white tank top and army green cargo-looking shorts, but a slimmed down version of the ones the other guys have on. On his feet, I assume, Cole Haan sneakers. Always looking tailored and GQ fresh.

  He turns and looks at me, lifts his chin, and then winks. Then he looks at Oliver and nods before he walks over to him. They do a bro-type handshake and a shoulder bump-type hug. Then he looks at Natasha and grins.

  “Fancy Face.”

  She hugs him. “Hey, Aaron.”

  He steps to me next. “No bags?”

  He looks from my hands to my eyes to my lips and then back to my eyes.

  “Yeah.” I look over at Natasha, who is leaning against Oliver, her back to his chest, smiling and looking at me in an almost motherly fashion. “I think the bags are in the car.”

  He nods. “I’ll go get them.”

  “I’ll help,” Oliver says.

  Aaron raises his eyebrows. “That bad, huh?”

  Oliver shakes his head. “Nah, not bad.”

  As he walks past me to follow Oliver out the door, he places his hand on my shoulder then lets it run slowly down my arm as he steps by, leaving goosebumps beneath where he touched.

  As soon as he closes the door behind him, Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “I told you—”

  “Excuse us, little ladies.” Ox winks at me then calls behind him, “Bring it out, boys.”

  Natasha and I part ways, making room for two amused boys carrying a rolled-up carpet that I recognize as the shaggy beige carpet from upstairs, from my bedroom.

  This is really happening.

  When two other boys follow behind them carrying Bruno’s bedroom carpeting, one of them begins whistling a very recognizable tune.

  Natasha laughs, and then all four boys laugh, snapping my focus from the last remaining parts of my bedroom and b
ack to them.

  One of them beams at me. “Moana’s sober.”

  I hear Aaron’s laugh before he says, “The night’s early.”

  “Which means we still have time to go out,” one of them announces to the others.

  Natasha and I walk out onto the side steps and watch them walk down the driveway where they put the old carpet in the back of two of the pickup trucks.

  When I feel two hands grip my shoulder from behind me and squeeze, I look over my shoulder then up at Aaron.

  “Been a busy day.”

  “Apparently,” I say on a sigh.

  Natasha takes my hand as more men carry furniture out while two others walk out of the garage with the couch.

  Less than half an hour later, the living room couch, coffee table, and the TV are back in the house. Next is a dining room table and six chairs, all now painted black and looking like new.

  “We’re out.” Ox claps his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’ll swing by tomorrow to grab the rest of the tools.”

  “Thank you, Ox.” I walk over and hug him. Stepping away, I then look at the rest of them. “Thank you all so much.”

  Caught up in the kindness of these men who knew my dad, I don’t hear everything they say, but it’s all thank yous and smiles.

  I stand and wave as the trucks pull away from the curb, and then continue to wave as Ox pulls out of the driveway.

  “Come on in,” Aaron says from the door. “I’ll order dinner.”

  When we walk in, I look around and inhale, only smelling a faint memory of home. Then I hurry to the candle store bag on the new kitchen counter and pull out four of the flameless candles. I place one on the kitchen counter, one on the dining room table, another in the living room, and another in the toy room. I feel anxious as I inhale deeply and smell only paint.

  “Damn it,” I mumble as I grab more candles out of the bag then head toward the stairs.

  Aaron grabs me from behind and whispers, “Can that wait?”

  “No!” I yell as I turn around and look at his expression that changes from shock to a small smile. Immediately, I feel horrible. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I turn and take a step.

  “Hey, Lala,” he stops me again. “Natasha and Oliver are still here.”

  “I’ll go with her.” Natasha walks toward me.

  “Fuck,” Aaron whispers then sighs.