She withdrew her hand from underneath herself and settled it in his. He closed his fingers around hers and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.
“H-how was your day?” As the words left her mouth, she recognized it was the first time she’d asked him that. It wasn’t the first time she’d wanted to know. Was it too personal? Could she ask him things like that?
His lips twisted with something between a smile and a grimace. “It’s prom season. Not my favorite time of year.”
“Lots of alterations?”
“And squealing teenaged girls.”
“They must all crush on you instantly.” That had to get pretty exhausting.
“I have my mom do most of those fittings, so it’s not so bad. But I am going cross-eyed from all the spaghetti-strapped gowns. Your picture was the highlight of my day.”
That sounded terrible. Her picture hadn’t even been that good. “Do you wish you could work with more menswear, then?”
The thought that he wasn’t doing what he loved felt like a sharp bur in her side. She would need therapy if she had to do work she detested all day, every day, every week.
He shrugged, but his expression was thoughtful. “I prefer the creative side of the work, making something new. I don’t mind the actual constructing and altering, but it’s not very challenging.”
“Have you thought of starting your own line?” She covered her mouth as the idea occurred to her. “You could go on one of those reality TV fashion contests. You would win.”
He smiled down at their joined hands, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Three years ago, I got selected for a spot on one of those. I think they liked my face better than my portfolio, but whatever. An opportunity is an opportunity. Stuff happened, though, and my mom got sick. I had to turn it down.”
The blood drained from Stella’s face as her chest broke open. Of course, he would do that for his mom.
He glanced up at her, and his expression went tender. “Don’t look so sad. She’s doing really well lately.”
“It’s . . . cancer?” She vaguely recalled hearing his sisters mention chemo while they were fighting, but she’d been so overwhelmed she hadn’t fully absorbed the information. How had that gotten past her? What kind of person was she?
“Stage four, incurable, inoperable, lung cancer. No, she’s never smoked. She just has bad luck. The latest treatments are working for her, though. Things have been good,” he said with an encouraging smile.
She squeezed his hand tight as she gazed at him. Did he have any idea how indescribably wonderful he was?
The waiter arrived, and Michael asked her, “Want me to order?” When she nodded, he rattled off the names of a few dishes without looking at the menu.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He grinned and pinched her chin. “Details, Stella.”
“Oh. Well . . . I’ve encountered an interesting puzzle with my work. There is this fascinating phenomenon I can’t expl—why are you looking at me like that?”
His head was tilted to the side, his smile particularly fond. “You are adorably sexy when you talk about your work.”
“Those things don’t go together.”
He laughed. “They do with you. Continue, puzzle fascinating phenomenon.”
“I’ll tell you when I figure it out. Which I will. Let’s see here. What else happened? Oh, my boss is pressuring me to hire an intern. And I took my first selfie today.” She left out everything relating to Philip. There was no need to mention that uncomfortable encounter.
“Does your boss think you’re working too much?”
She shrugged. “Who doesn’t think that?”
“It’s not too much if you love it. Like you do.”
“Precisely. Please tell my mother that.”