Falling into Forever

by Phyllis Bourne

  Isaiah crossed his arms and leaned against the counter as they waited for the bread to toast. “I guess I’m not the only one who’s had to deal with that particular monkey on their back,” he said. “Your father didn’t exactly encourage you to become a designer.”

  “That’s an understatement,” she said. “Nothing would make him happier than for me to close Swoon Couture and go to work at Woolcott Industries.”

  “You know, we’ve spent so much time talking about our family businesses, we haven’t talked much about yours.”

  Sandra raised a brow. “We don’t spend a lot of time talking,” she teased.

  “Can I help it if you can’t keep your hands off me?” Isaiah wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her to him.

  She’d licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss when the timer on the oven chimed.

  Isaiah brushed his lips against hers in the briefest, sweetest of kisses. “Later,” he promised.

  A promise she could hardly wait for him to deliver on.

  He slowly released her, and Sandra wished dinner had a fast-forward button and they could speed through it straight to her bedroom. She sighed as she watched him bend over to pull the baking sheet from the stove. The man had an incredible ass.

  “Eyes on the recipe,” Isaiah said, his back to her.

  “How’d you know I was...”

  “I can feel you.”

  Sandra thought back to Halloween night, when she, too, had felt his eyes on her body as if they’d been his hands. She felt a sudden rush of heat that had nothing to do with the open oven door.

  Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.

  Isaiah took over reading the recipe aloud as Sandra followed his instructions. They kept their conversation to a minimum, allowing her to focus solely on preparing the meal. Isaiah intervened only to double-check the spices and make sure the paprika was indeed paprika, not cayenne pepper.

  It was after seven when they finally sat down at her dining table to eat. A bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers, which she’d brought home from Petals last week, adorned the glossy black tabletop, adding an air of festiveness to the meal.

  “Well, it certainly appears delicious,” Isaiah said.

  Sandra picked up her fork and poked at the stuffing. She had to admit it did look pretty good. However, given her history, who knew what it would taste like?

  Isaiah fearlessly took a huge bite of stuffing. Sandra stared across the table as he chewed, half expecting him to spit it right back out.

  A slow smile spread over his face, and he nodded. “Go on, try it.” He helped himself to more.

  Sandra lifted her fork to her mouth and took a tentative bite. The savory flavor of seasoned bread tinged with apple sweetness flooded her taste buds.

  “It’s good!” she said, excited. “It’s really good.”

  Isaiah confirmed it by digging enthusiastically into his plate. Sandra joined him, relishing every single bite.

  “Congratulations. I believe you’ve officially broken your kitchen jinx,” he said after dinner, as they made quick work of the kitchen cleanup.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I agree tonight was a good start.” Sandra rested a palm on his forearm. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “Yeah, you could have. You’ve grown into an amazing woman, Sandra. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t accomplish,” he said. “I’m just glad we have this opportunity to get to know each other again.”

  She swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat. As she met his intense gaze, Vicki’s warning to guard her heart sounded in her head. Sandra averted her eyes to pull herself together.

  Friends, she reminded herself. It was what they both wanted. Also, at this stage in their lives it was what they both needed.

  “Me, too,” she said.

  Catching a glimpse of the time on the microwave clock, Sandra remembered the election.

  “The polls are closing.” She scooted out of the kitchen into the living room to turn on the flat-screen television anchored above the fireplace. “The election returns should start coming in soon.”

  “You’re caught up in all the hubbub surrounding the big Howerton-Windom race, too?” Isaiah sat beside her on the black-and-white graphic print sofa.

  Sandra flipped the channels on the remote until she came to a local station broadcasting election coverage.

  “Not me,” she said, “but Jordan’s running Oliver Windom’s campaign.”

  Isaiah lifted a brow. “Is that awkward for you, being such good friends with Janelle?”

  Sandra shook her head. “Not really. Neither of them ever asked who I’d planned to vote for, and I didn’t volunteer the information.”

  “Smart thinking.”

  “I’m not about to let politics get in the way of a lifelong friendship or my relationship with my big brother.” Sandra eyed the incoming vote tallies scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. “Besides, the governor’s race is the one I’m interested in.”

  “What issue are you concerned with?”

  Sandra liked the way he leaned forward and focused all his attention on her. It had always been that way with Isaiah. Everything in his body language conveyed that he genuinely cared about her thoughts, her feelings and what she had to say.

  “Actually, my reason is going to sound pretty selfish, considering serious problems across the state like unemployment, education and the environment, just to name a few,” she said. “And believe it or not, I would have voted for him, anyway.”

  Isaiah touched a hand to her knee. “No judgment from me. I was just curious.”

  Sandra inclined her head toward the television, where one of the candidates for governor was being interviewed at his campaign headquarters. “If he wins, I’m on the short list to design his wife’s gown for the inaugural ball.”

  After the interview, the reporter announced that both the Howerton-Windom and the race for governor were too close to call. “The tallies are coming in, but it’s going to be a long night.”

  Isaiah rose from the sofa, yawned and stretched.

  “You leaving?” Sandra asked, disappointed. However, she understood he’d had a long day.

  “With you having a shot a designing a gown that would be seen statewide, or maybe even nationally? You’re kidding, right?” he replied. “I’m headed to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I want to be wide-awake to see how this turns out for you.”

  As Sandra watched him walk into the kitchen, something else Vicki had said came to mind.

  “Prince Charming won’t divert you from your goals...he’ll want to be there to cheer you on...”

  * * *

  Two cups of coffee and a bowl of popcorn later, Isaiah watched the election coverage on television with a sleeping Sandra snuggled against him on the sofa.

  The Howerton-Windom race had been called over an hour ago, with Darren Howerton declared the winner. However, Isaiah didn’t disturb Sandra with the news, deciding to wait until a winner in the governor’s race had been announced.

  As she slept, he studied her flawless dark skin, unable to find words to describe its luminous glow. It was as if crushed diamonds shimmered beneath its rich mahogany tones. He didn’t want to disturb her rest, but he couldn’t resist smoothing the back of his hand down her satiny cheek.

  God, he loved looking at her.

  Loved.

  What the hell? Isaiah blinked hard, pushing away the errant thought and snapping the spell the woman in his arms had managed to cast over him in her sleep.

  He glanced around her cozy, comfortable little house.

  It was a little too cozy, and he was becoming way too comfortable here and with its owner.

  You’re friends
, Isaiah reminded himself.

  The sex? It was simply a novelty they’d get out of their systems soon enough. He likened it to kids who’d been denied their favorite ice cream and then suddenly were allowed to eat as much as they’d wanted, as often as they liked.

  Eventually, they’d tire of it, he reasoned, because even the sweetest, most decadent treat got old after you overindulged.

  Isaiah stole another look at her, closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.

  In a parallel universe this would have been his life.

  He and Sandra would have spent the evening cooking dinner together and talking about their workday. They might have gone for a walk on the beach after dinner or snuggled up on the sofa, just as she was doing now. Later, he’d have taken her not to her bed, but their bed, where he would have made love to her deep into the night.

  Isaiah glanced around the chicly decorated living room. As relaxed as he felt here, it wasn’t his home. Sandra wasn’t his, either. He’d forfeited his right to both when he’d done what he believed was his duty instead of following his heart.

  Now he and Sandra were at different stages in life.

  She was already living her dream and doing exactly what she’d set out to do back in high school. Meanwhile, he was still reaching for his, which meant he would be on that flight to London the day after Thanksgiving—no matter what.

  Isaiah gently removed his arm from around Sandra and stood. He stretched and stifled a yawn with his fist.

  “And in the governor’s race...”

  His ears perked up and he turned toward the television.

  “We’re just moments away from declaring a winner,” the news anchor said.

  Isaiah leaned over a sleeping Sandra and nudged her. “Wake up, baby.” The endearment slipped out as if he’d been calling her it for years.

  She looked up at him, blinking away sleep.

  “They’re about to call the governor’s race,” he said.

  Sandra pushed off the sofa and looked up at the television. Isaiah saw her gnaw at her bottom lip and reached for her hand.

  “And now let’s go live to the headquarters of Massachusetts’ new governor-elect,” the news anchor said.

  Seconds later, Sandra’s candidate appeared on the screen.

  “He won!” She dropped Isaiah’s hand and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He lifted her until her feet dangled off the floor, and planted a kiss on her lips. “Congratulations.”

  She slid down the length of his body as he lowered her back to the ground.

  “Well, this is just the first hurdle,” she said, bracing her hands on his biceps. “I’ve sketched out a few ideas, but I still have to decide on one to send his wife. Also, she mentioned considering a few Boston-based designers who are very talented.”

  Isaiah dropped a kiss on the top of Sandra’s head. “I’m sure whatever you submit will be her top pick.”

  Sandra laughed and playfully slapped at his arm. “And what makes you so sure?” she asked. “You haven’t seen a dress I designed since high school.”

  He looked over her head and let his eyes wander around their surroundings again. The bold black-and-white would have been austere anywhere else, but the yellow and red accents made it both chic and homey. From the sunflowers on her dining table to the red pillows on her sofa and bed, it just worked.

  “If this place is any indication, you have excellent taste.”

  She thanked him. “It’s a little much for some, but I like it,” she said. “Oh, would you like to see some of the designs I have in mind for the governor-elect’s wife?”

  He did. In fact, he wanted to hear all about her business.

  Isaiah reluctantly released her from his embrace.

  Sandra retrieved a tablet from her bag. She swiped her fingers across the screen a few times, before handing it to him.

  As he scrolled through images of evening gowns, she picked up the television remote and turned up the volume. “I nearly forgot about the Howerton-Windom race,” she said. “Did they say who won?”

  “Janelle’s dad is going to the state house of representatives,” Isaiah said absently, absolutely riveted by Sandra’s work.

  “I’m happy for Mr. Howerton and Janelle.” He heard her sigh in the background. “But Jordan put a lot of effort into trying to get Oliver Windom elected. He must be so disappointed.”

  “Politics is a rough game,” Isaiah mumbled. His attention was focused on an image of an orange silk gown. He was no expert on women’s clothing, but he knew enough to know what looked good, and the gowns he was gazing at were all stunning.

  “I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” Sandra said.

  Finally, Isaiah glanced up from the tablet. “Your designs are amazing,” he said.

  Sandra laughed. “You used to say the same thing back in high school.”

  “No, really,” he said. “I don’t think the governor-elect’s wife will have a problem deciding on you as her designer. Her trouble will be picking one of these amazing gowns.”

  Sandra beamed up at him. “Thank you. Those words mean a lot coming from you.”

  It was true, Isaiah thought. “Your work really is amazing,” he said. “I know I keep saying it, but it’s the best word I can think of to describe it. Amazing.”

  Sandra turned off the television and then switched off the lamp on the end table.

  “I’m flattered you think the things I do with clothing are amazing.” She slowly undid the top buttons on her blouse. “But I believe you’ll find the things I can do out of my clothes truly amazing.”

  She slipped off the blouse, dangled it in one hand before letting it drop to the floor.

  Isaiah licked his lips. His eyes were glued to her hand on the front clasp of her black lace bra, and his cock was hard as a rock.

  Sandra pivoted and began to walk slowly down the hallway toward her bedroom. Removing her bra, she flung it over her shoulder.

  Isaiah caught it with one hand as he followed her, prepared to be amazed.

  Chapter 11

  A week later, Sandra pulled a nearly completed gown from a cloth garment bag for her client’s final fitting.

  “Oh, my! It’s exquisite.” Octavia Hall gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand at the sight of it, and then her red lips firmed into a hard line. “This will help me show that bastard I’m married to, and his barely legal girlfriend.”

  Sandra smiled, gratified her client was pleased.

  A Swoon Couture gown usually took months to go from imagination to finished product. However, in light of Octavia having been one of her first customers, whose influence had helped build her fledgling business, Sandra had accelerated the process. She’d quickly made a pattern for the design her client had selected, and pulled two of the three seamstresses she contracted off other gowns to work exclusively on this one.

  Despite the frantic rush, the dress was indeed exceptional, and perfect for Octavia, Sandra thought. The garment’s bodice was satin, in a shade of metallic copper that would pick up the golden tones of the older woman’s skin, while the floor-length skirt was fashioned in a blush-pink swath of flowing silk.

  She could hardly wait to see her client in it.

  Octavia quickly shed her cashmere sweater and wool slacks, and Sandra helped her into the dress.

  This time the gasp came from Sandra. “Y-you look beautiful,” she stammered.

  The word beautiful was an understatement. Octavia had always been a striking woman and was aging exceptionally well. However, the sight of her in the gown caught even Sandra by surprise.

  Crossing the fitting room to retrieve a wrist pin cushion from the cabinet, Sandra returned to find her client staring at herself in the three-way mirror. Sandra went through her normal paces for fittings, and beg
an studying the dress from every angle, looking for spots requiring mirror alterations. She paused when she noticed Octavia hadn’t moved. Her client continued to stare at her reflection, frozen to the spot.

  “Are you okay?” Sandra asked. “You need me to get you a bottle of water or something?”

  “I’m fine, dear.” The older women nodded absently, but her gaze remained fixed on her reflection. “It’s just this dress. I haven’t seen myself look like this in quite a long time.”

  Sandra could see tears forming in Octavia’s eyes, but the woman quickly blinked them back.

  “It’s the perfect dress for you,” Sandra said, and then the description she’d been searching for popped into her head. “You look like royalty.”

  Her heartfelt words sounded corny aloud, until Octavia agreed with her assessment. “I do look regal, don’t I? Like a queen.”

  She did.

  Sandra’s chest could barely contain the swell of emotion. This was the part of her business her father didn’t see. Even if he did, he’d never understand it.

  At heart, Swoon Couture wasn’t about fashion or pretty dresses, she thought. It was about how those dresses, which started out as fuzzy images on the edge of her imagination, made women feel.

  Sandra glanced at Octavia’s reflection in the mirror, detecting a shift in the woman’s demeanor. Octavia’s spine seemed to stiffen as she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

  However, the biggest change was in her face. The hard line of her mouth softened as she smiled, making her appear younger than her years. “I can’t continue to let his behavior eat away at me,” she said. “I’m better than bitter and worthy of more than revenge.”

  Octavia Hall had always been a client, not a friend, but hearing her revelation, Sandra couldn’t stop herself from wrapping the older woman in a brief, sisterly hug.

  “I can’t explain it, but seeing myself in this dress...” Octavia paused and dabbed at the corners of her teary eyes with a fingertip. “It gave me back something I think I lost in the midst of the hurt and anger. My pride.”

  Sandra sniffed back a tear of her own. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of anyone.”