Chapter 123: Acceptance
It cracked. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just the specific unguarded half-second of someone whose face forgot to perform for one moment.
She reached across the table and took his hand.
Both hands, actually, around his, the grip of someone reacting faster than they’d intended to, and the smile that arrived on her face had nothing professional in it at all, the pure unfiltered expression of something she’d been hoping for and hadn’t quite let herself believe was going to happen.
"Thank you," she said. "Really. Thank you so much, I—"
She stopped.
Looked down at her own hands holding his.
The composure came back, flooding in, and she released his hand immediately with the specific energy of someone who had just noticed they’d knocked something over.
"I apologize," said Vanessa. "That was— I don’t usually—"
"It’s fine," said Sean. He let out a small chuckle, genuine, warm.
"It was unprofessional," said Vanessa.
"It was honest," said Sean. He looked at her steadily. "It’s an honor to come with you. You’ve been putting me in exceptional clothes since I walked through that door without an appointment. Going to Paris is the best I can do to repay that."
Vanessa looked at him. "You don’t have to frame it as a favor to me."
"No no," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I should be thanking you. The fact that you’re willing to come at all, you’re a busy person, I know that, you don’t have to spend a weekend in Paris just because I—"
"Vanessa," said Sean.
She stopped.
"I said I’ll come," said Sean. "That’s the answer."
She held his gaze. Something in her settled, visibly, the last of the anxious energy finding somewhere to go.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Good." A small pause. "Good."
A silence that was considerably warmer than the ones preceding it sat between them for a moment.
"Is that everything you wanted to tell me," said Sean.
"Yes," said Vanessa. Still trying, visibly, to fully reassemble her composure, getting most of it back except for something around her eyes that had apparently decided it wasn’t cooperating anymore. "That’s everything."
"Then I’ll be off," said Sean. He stood.
Vanessa stood with him and they walked back through the store toward the front entrance, and when he reached the door he pushed it open and paused.
Vanessa stood a few feet behind him, her folder in her hands, and she looked like someone who had just successfully navigated something that had required considerably more preparation than she was going to admit to anyone including Sarah.
"I’ll send you the flight details the day before," she said. "Your ticket number, the hotel information, the full schedule."
Sean looked back at her. "I’ll be expecting it."
He smiled once, brief and real, and walked out.
The door swung closed behind him.
=======
Vanessa stood in the middle of the store floor for exactly one second.
Then she turned and walked back through the store at a pace that was not technically running but was not her usual pace either, past the new collection pieces and the accessories wall and the consultation room where Sarah’s shoes had been visible for the last twenty minutes, and straight to her office at the back.
She pushed the door open.
Sarah was already inside, sitting in her chair with her notebook open, with the expression of someone who had taken a slightly longer and more circuitous route back to the office and was absolutely not going to bring up the partial wall.
Vanessa closed the office door.
She stood in the middle of the room.
Then she jumped.
Not a small jump. A full, both-feet-off-the-floor jump, the kind that belonged to someone entirely alone, accompanied by a sound that was not technically a word but communicated everything a word could have communicated and several things words couldn’t.
Sarah stared at her.
"I have never," said Sarah, very carefully, "seen you do that."
"I didn’t do anything," said Vanessa, who had both feet back on the floor and was already smoothing her blazer with the specific efficiency of someone who intended to pretend the last four seconds hadn’t occurred.
"You jumped," said Sarah.
"The floor shifted," said Vanessa.
"The floor," said Sarah.
"Old building," said Vanessa. "Settlement issues."
"This building was constructed four years ago," said Sarah.
"Early settlement," said Vanessa.
Sarah looked at her notebook. Then at Vanessa. Then at the spot on the floor where the jumping had taken place. "I told you," she said. "I told you any man would—"
"He’s not any man," said Vanessa. "That was your point and also my point and somehow both of those things are simultaneously true."
"He said yes," said Sarah.
"He said yes," said Vanessa, and did not jump again but looked for one moment like she was considering it very seriously.
"He said it was an honor," said Sarah. "To go with you."
"He did," said Vanessa.
"An honor," said Sarah. "His word."
"I was there," said Vanessa. "I heard it."
"And you grabbed his hand," said Sarah.
"I," said Vanessa. "That was a professional acknowledgment of—"
"With both hands," said Sarah.
Vanessa looked at the mood board. "I don’t know what you’re referring to."
"I was pre-filing," said Sarah. "I had a very good view."
Vanessa pressed her lips together. Then she let out a breath that had apparently been waiting since Sean walked out the door, long and genuine and entirely unperformed, the specific exhale of someone who had been managing something carefully for a while and had just been allowed to put it down.
"When was the last time," said Sarah, "you were this happy about something that wasn’t a collection."
Vanessa looked at the mood board. At eight months of work. At the Paris venue photographs and the fabric swatches and the structural pieces she’d been developing since before Sean Miller had ever walked through the front door in a worn-out shirt.
"I need to design something," said Vanessa. "For both of us. Something specific to the show but not of it. Something that suits us correctly together without overpowering either."