Baby In The Making. Elizabeth Bevarly

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СКАЧАТЬ that tantalizing scent of raspberries in her wake—and strode to the rolling rack, from which she withdrew one of the plastic-covered garments. As he followed, he noted a half-empty bottle of wine on one of the end tables by the love seat. He thought maybe he’d interrupted a romantic evening she was spending with someone else—the bathroom door was closed—then noted that the near-empty glass sitting behind the bottle was alone.

      “Do you want to try it on before you take it?” she asked. “Just to be sure it fits?”

      Yeager figured it probably wasn’t a bad idea, since he was leaving in two days for South Africa and there wouldn’t be time for Amira to come back for it if it needed alterations. Truth be told, he also wasn’t sure he should leave Hannah alone just yet, what with the wine, the distraction and the anxious look...and, okay, all that naked skin.

      “Yeah, I guess I should, just in case,” he replied.

      As she removed the plastic from the shirt, he tossed his suit jacket onto the love seat, tugged free his tie and unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing. By the time he shed it, she was holding up his new one for him to slip on. She looked a little steadier now and seemed more like herself. His concern began to ease a bit. Until he drew near and saw that her eyes housed a healthy bit of panic.

      It was obvious there was something bothering her. A lot. Yeager told himself that whatever it was, it was none of his business. But that didn’t keep him from wondering. Boyfriend troubles? Family conflicts? Problems at work? He knew nothing about her outside her job. Because there was no reason for him to know anything about her outside her job. There was no reason for him to care, either. That wasn’t to be cold or unfeeling. That was just how he was. He didn’t care about much of anything outside his immediate sphere of existence. Somehow, though, he suddenly kind of cared about Hannah.

      “I’m sorry,” she said as he thrust his arm through the shirt’s sleeve, “but the fabric isn’t exactly the same as the original. Since I was moonlighting, I couldn’t use what we have at work, and that came from Portugal. But I found a beautiful dobby in nearly the same color. I hope it’s okay. It brought the price down a bit.”

      Yeager couldn’t have cared less about the price. He cared about quality and style. Maybe it was superficial, but a man who was the face of a Fortune 500 company had to look good. And, thanks to Hannah, he always did.

      “No, this is good,” he said. “It’s got a great texture. I actually like this one better than the one you made for me at Cathcart and Quinn. Why aren’t you the one they’re sending on buying trips to London and Portugal?”

      “You’ll have to ask Mr. Cathcart that question,” she said in a way that made him think she’d already broached the topic with her employer and been shot down. Probably more than once.

      “Maybe I will,” he said, wondering about his sudden desire to act as her champion. “Or maybe you should just open your own business.”

      As she studied the fit of his shirt, she gestured to the rack of clothes against the wall. “I’m trying.”

      Out of curiosity, Yeager walked over to look at what she’d made for her other clients. He was surprised to see that the majority of items hanging there were children’s clothes.

      “You mostly make stuff for kids?” he asked.

      Instead of replying, Hannah moved to her sewing machine to withdraw a business card from a stack and handed it to Yeager. It was pale lavender, imprinted with the words, Joey & Kit, and decorated with a logo of a kangaroo and fox touching noses. Below them was the slogan, “Glad rags for happy kids.” At the bottom were addresses for a website, an email and a PO box.

      “This is your business?” Yeager asked, holding up the card.

      She nodded. “I’m an S-corporation. I trademarked the name and logo and everything.”

      “Why kids’ clothes? Seems like other areas of fashion would be more profitable.”

      “They would be,” she said. He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. He was about to ask her to when she told him, “Turn around, so I can make sure the back darts are aligned.”

      He did as she instructed, something that left him looking out the apartment’s solitary window. He didn’t know why, but it really bothered him that Hannah only had one window from which to view the world. His West Chelsea penthouse had panoramic views of Manhattan and the Hudson from floor-to-ceiling windows in most rooms—including two of the three-and-a-half baths. Not that he spent much time at home, but his office in the Flatiron District had pretty breathtaking views of the city, too. No matter where Yeager went in the world, he always made sure he had a lot to look at. Mountain ranges that disappeared into clouds, savannas that dissolved into the horizon, oceans that met the stars in the distant night sky. Some of the best parts of adventure travel were just looking at things. But Hannah lived her life in a square little room with one window that opened onto a building across the way.

      “You know, I don’t usually have to put darts in a man’s shirt,” she said. “But the way you’re built...broad shoulders, tapered waist...”

      Yeager told himself he only imagined the sigh of approval he heard.

      “Anyway,” she went on, “I think this looks good.”

      She ran her hand down the length of his back on one side, then up again on the other, smoothing out the seams in question. The gesture was in no way protracted or flirtatious. Her touch was deft and professional. Yet, somehow, it made his pulse twitch.

      She stepped in front of him, gave him a final once-over with eyes that still looked a little haunted, and told him, “You’re good to go.”

      It was one of his favorite statements to hear. Yeager loved going. Anywhere. Everywhere. Whenever he could. Strangely, though, in that moment, he didn’t want to go. He told himself it was because, in spite of the relative ease of the last few minutes, there was still something about Hannah that was...off. He’d never seen her be anything but upbeat. This evening, she was subdued. And that just didn’t sit well with him.

      Before he realized what he was doing, he asked, “Hannah, is everything okay?”

      Her eyes widened in now unmistakable panic. She opened her mouth to reply but no words emerged. Which may have been his biggest tip-off yet that there was something seriously wrong. Hannah was never at a loss for words. On the contrary, she was generally one of those people who had a snappy reply for everything.

      He tried again. “You just don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

      For a moment she looked as if she was going to deny anything was wrong. Then she made a defeated sound and her whole body seemed to slump forward.

      “Is this about the weird news you got today?” he asked.

      She nodded, but instead of looking at him, she lowered her gaze to the floor. Hannah never did that. She was one of the most direct people he knew, always making eye contact. It was one of the things he loved about her. So few people did that.

      “What kind of news was it?”

      She hesitated again, still not looking at him. Finally she said, “The kind that could not only completely change my future, but also confirmed that my past could have—should have—been a lot better than it was.”

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ